#the detail that’s gone into that shirt alone

[lifeofpriya]

pls could you do one based on staying over at Jack’s for the first time 🥹🫶

omg, of course i will!!! 🥺🫶🏼 i may have gone a little steamy with it, but oh well, i don't regret one bit heheh 🤭

Night of Love

wc: 3.63k

"The rain isn't letting up," Jack says, peering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his London apartment. His eyes follow the rivulets snaking down the glass, blurring the city lights into a watercolor canvas of yellows and reds. His voice is a comforting bass, the kind that resonates in the quiet spaces between heartbeats.

You nod, watching him from the plush armchair, a cup of tea cradled in your hands. The warmth seeps into your skin, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The apartment is a testament to Jack's minimalist taste, with clean lines and a muted color palette. Yet, there's a coziness to it, a homely embrace that makes you feel welcomed. You've seen it in photos, of course, but being here, surrounded by his life, is different. More real.

Jack turns away from the window, a soft smile playing on his lips. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and joggers, his athletic frame relaxed but still hinting at the strength beneath. His dark brown hair is damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends. He's barefoot, and you notice the calluses on his feet, a map of his dedication to the sport.

You set your hot beverage aside and stand, stretching out your legs. The fabric of your jeans whispers against your skin, the denim a stark contrast to the luxurious carpet beneath your feet. "I didn't pack an umbrella," you admit, half joking.

Jack frowned briefly, his eyebrows knitting together in a moment of concern, "wait, you're not planning on leaving in this weather, are you?" He took a step closer, the air between you thick with unspoken invitations.

You smile shyly, nodding your head, "Yeah, I guess I didn't think it through."

Jack chuckles, a warm sound that fills the room. He steps closer to you, his eyes searching yours. "Why don't you stay the night?" He asks, the question hanging in the air like the scent of rain.

You hesitate, your heart racing. This is new territory, uncharted waters in your relationship. You've been seeing each other for a couple of months, but this is the first time you've been invited to spend the night in his personal space. His apartment reflects his life—structured yet comfortable, a place of rest after the chaos of the tennis courts that he shared with his best friend, Paul, and his older brother/agent, Ben.

Jack's gaze holds yours, his eyes a warm caramel that seems to melt the tension in the air. He's tall, with broad shoulders that speak of hours honed on the practice courts. His t-shirt clings to him in a way that's not at all ostentatious but still highlights the muscles earned from years of dedication. The room feels smaller with him so close, his presence a gentle force that makes you want to lean in.

"Stay," he says again, his voice softer this time, a whisper of a promise. You can see the hope in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability that you haven't noticed before. It's endearing, and it makes your decision easier. "Please?"

You bite your bottom lip, feeling the weight of the moment. You've been careful not to rush things, not to assume. But here, in the sanctity of his apartment, you feel like you're standing at the edge of a cliff, and all you need is a gentle push to leap into the unknown. "Okay," you reply, your voice barely above a murmur.

Jack's smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling with relief and happiness. "Great," he says, reaching out to squeeze your hand. His touch is firm but gentle, a silent reassurance that you're not alone in this.

You look around the apartment, taking in the details that you missed before. The framed photographs of Jack with his family, the well-worn tennis rackets standing like sentinels in the corner, the books stacked neatly on the shelves—a mix of biographies, strategy guides, and a few novels that hint at his diverse interests. There's a guitar in the corner, a dusty reminder of a hobby he picked up and hasn't had much time to revisit.

Jack notices your gaze and nods towards the instrument. "My attempt at being a rock star," he says with a self-deprecating smile. "It's not my strongest suit, but it's a good way to unwind."

You laugh, feeling the warmth of the moment expand in your chest. "Maybe I can convince you to play something?"

Jack's eyes light up. "Yeah?" He says, his voice hopeful. "I'd love that."

He leads you over to the guitar, and you take a seat on the floor in front of him as he settles onto the plush sofa. The rain outside is now a backdrop to the intimate moment, a soothing rhythm that seems to echo the beating of your hearts. He strums a few chords, his fingers moving with surprising grace over the strings.

You immediately recognize the tune being that of Wonderwall, his favorite Oasis song, which he had mentioned in passing once during a lazy afternoon at the park. The melody fills the room, and you can't help but feel a flutter in your stomach. It's as if the universe has conspired to make this moment as perfect as it could possibly be.

Jack's eyes never leave yours as he sings, his voice a bit raspy but earnest. You listen intently, watching his fingers dance over the strings, creating a symphony of emotions that resonates within you. His words aren't just a cover of a classic song; they're a declaration of his feelings, a serenade to the quiet moments you've shared and the potential of those to come.

You lean in closer, the warmth from his body radiating towards you, mixing with the scent of the rain outside and the faint aroma of his aftershave. It's a heady combination that makes you feel alive, as if the air around you is charged with something electric.

Jack's fingers still the guitar strings as the last note of "Wonderwall" fades into the patter of the rain. He sets the instrument aside and looks at you, his eyes searching yours. "I meant every word," he says, his voice low and earnest.

Your heart skips a beat, the words resonating within you like the lingering vibrations of the song. You lean in, closing the space between you, and press your lips to his in a soft kiss. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the world outside the apartment ceases to exist.

The rain's rhythm becomes the soundtrack to your newfound intimacy as you explore each other, the gentle caress of Jack's hands leaving trails of warmth across your back. His scent, a blend of rain and something uniquely his, fills your nose. You deepen the kiss, feeling the roughness of his stubble against your skin.

Jack's apartment, usually a bastion of order, now holds a chaotic beauty—the cushions askew from your earlier sit, the half-empty mugs of tea forgotten on the coffee table. It's a mess that feels like a declaration of human presence, a reminder that even in a space so meticulously curated, life can be spontaneous and unplanned.

As the rain drums on, Jack reaches for your hand, leading you down the hallway. You follow, the plush carpet a soft whisper underfoot. His bedroom is a sanctuary of dark woods and navy blues, a stark contrast to the rest of the apartment. The bed, a king-sized retreat with crisp white sheets, sits in the center, beckoning you both.

Jack pulls you closer, his eyes searching yours for permission. You nod, the anticipation palpable. His room feels like a secret garden, a place where you can shed the layers of the outside world and just be. He turns off the lights, leaving only the glow of the city outside to cast a soft, flickering light through the gap in the curtains.

The bed is cool and inviting as you both lay down, the rain now a lullaby that sings you into a place of peace. You tuck your legs into his, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. He's gentle, his hands tracing patterns on your skin that tell a story without words.

Jack whispers something in your ear, but the words are lost in the symphony of the rain. You don't need to hear them, though; the sentiment is clear. His eyes hold yours, and you realize that this is what it's like to be seen, truly seen. You're not just the person he's dating; you're the person who's sharing this moment with him.

The bed is like a cloud, enveloping you both in its softness. The city lights outside play tag with the shadows on the ceiling, painting a silent, ever-changing picture of the night. His hands are tentative but sure, a dance of curiosity and care. You melt into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body seep into your very soul.

Jack whispers your name—no, not your name, a word that's just for him, a secret between the two of you—and you smile into the darkness. He's always had a way with words, a gentle poetry that seemed to flow from his fingertips as he played tennis. It's as if he's learned to weave the same magic with his touch, making you feel seen and cherished.

You lean in, the fabric of your shirt cool against your skin as his hands explore the contours of your body. The rain outside is now a cacophony, a crescendo of sound that seems to crescendo with your heartbeat. Each drop hits the window like a drumbeat, setting the rhythm for the dance unfolding in the dim light.

Jack's fingers trace the line of your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His kiss is tender, a silent promise that whispers of a future filled with moments like this. You're acutely aware of every sensation: the way your breath mingles with his, the softness of the pillows beneath your head, the steady beat of the rain outside.

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a gentle rumble. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together. "But I didn't want to rush things."

You nod, understanding his caution. After all, your relationship has been a dance of respect and patience, a delicate tango around the edges of intimacy. But here, in the warm embrace of his bed, it feels as natural as breathing.

Jack pulls away, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble.

You nod, the word "yes" a whisper that barely leaves your lips. The anticipation is a tangible force in the air, a silent symphony that crescendos with the sound of the rain. He kisses you again, his hands moving with newfound confidence. The fabric of your shirt is a barrier that seems to melt away as his fingertips graze your skin.

The room is a cocoon of warmth, the coolness of the rain outside forgotten. Jack's touch is a story in itself, a narrative of yearning and care that you've felt in every moment of your time together. His hands explore your body, each caress a verse that leaves you breathless.

You reciprocate, your own hands learning the landscape of his skin. Each curve and muscle tells a tale of his discipline and passion. You trace the lines of his arms, the sinew and strength that propel him across the tennis courts, and feel a surge of admiration for the man he's become.

Jack pulls you closer, his chest a warm shelter from the storm outside. His heartbeat is a steady bass to the rain's rhythm, a reminder that you're both flesh and bone, both equally affected by the tempest of emotions swirling around you.

You feel the heat of his breath as he whispers sweet nothings that mean everything, words that resonate deep within you like the first chords of a favorite song. His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand, a silent reassurance that he's here, that you're both in this together.

The rain outside is a serenade to the intimacy growing between you, a crescendo of droplets that mirrors the racing of your heart. The sound of the city is a distant lullaby, muffled by the walls of the apartment. It's just you and Jack, the rain, and the rhythm of your intertwined hearts.

Jack's hands are warm, a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. He's careful, reading the subtle cues of your body, making sure that every touch is a step in the right direction. You can feel his passion, his desire, but it's not rushed. It's a gentle exploration, a silent conversation of skin and breath.

As the rain crescendos outside, so does the intensity of your connection. Your hands wander up his back, feeling the contours of his muscles, tracing the lines that speak of countless hours on the tennis court. His skin is smooth, a testament to the care he takes in maintaining his physique. You press closer, feeling the heat of him, the steady rhythm of his heart matching the pulse of the rain.

Jack's eyes, those greenish hazel pools that could melt the toughest of hearts, searched yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. He found none. The rain outside had turned into a soothing lullaby, and the warmth of his apartment was a stark contrast to the cold, wet world beyond the windows. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of rain and the faint aroma of his aftershave swirling around you.

You reached up, your hand brushing against the scruff on his cheek, feeling the roughness that was so at odds with the tenderness of his kisses. His hand slid up the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. The world outside the apartment faded away as you became lost in the dance of your limbs, the gentle give and take of your kisses.

Jack's apartment was a fortress against the storm, but the rain was a persistent drummer, setting the tempo for the crescendo of your feelings. His room, usually so orderly, reflected the tumultuous beauty of the moment, clothes scattered and the scent of rain mingling with the faint musk of arousal.

Jack's eyes searched yours, questioning, as his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips grazing your waist. You nodded, a silent yes that seemed to echo through the room, resonating with the pitter-patter outside. His touch was like a secret promise, a gentle caress that whispered of things to come.

He pulled away for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face as if memorizing every detail.

Jack's hands were warm and calloused as they traced the lines of your body, a stark contrast to the smoothness of your skin. His touch was a story in itself, a narrative of longing and care that you felt in every moment of your shared intimacy. Each stroke, each caress, was a verse that left you breathless.

You felt the rain's rhythm pulsing through the room, setting the pace for the passion building between you. The city lights played tag with the shadows on the ceiling, casting a soft, flickering glow that painted the room in a palette of midnight blues. It was a silent conversation, one of skin against skin, of breath mingling with whispers of love.

Jack's hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair. His eyes searched yours, a question lingering in the air. You leaned into his touch, your heart racing as his fingertips traced the line of your collarbone, the fabric of your shirt giving way to the warmth of his skin. His eyes were pools of molten emotion, and you felt yourself drowning in them, a willing participant in this silent ballet of desire.

The rain outside had become a backdrop to the symphony of your breaths, each inhale and exhale a crescendo of passion. The room was a cocoon of warmth, a sanctuary from the cold embrace of the London night. The scent of rain mixed with the musk of your bodies, creating a heady perfume that seemed to thicken the air.

Jack's eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the space between you. You nodded, the word "yes" a silent agreement that echoed through the room. The rain's rhythm grew softer as he gently tugged your shirt over your head, revealing the softness of your skin. The fabric whispered against your body, a sweet goodbye as it fell to the floor.

You sat before him, a canvas of desire, your breathing shallow and quick. He took in the sight of you, his eyes roaming every curve, every inch. His gaze was a warm caress, a silent promise that you were the most beautiful person he'd ever laid eyes on. The room was bathed in the flickering glow of the city lights, the shadows playing across your skin like lovers' hands.

Jack leaned in, his breath a warm whisper across your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His hands, those capable, strong hands that had sent countless tennis balls flying across the courts, were now tender, exploring the landscape of your body with a gentle reverence.

You felt the rain's rhythm pulsing through the room, a living, breathing entity that mirrored the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Each drop hit the window like a heartbeat, a reminder that outside this haven of warmth and passion, the world continued, unknowing of the transformation occurring within these four walls.

Jack's eyes searched yours, and in that moment, you realized how much you'd come to trust him. He wasn't just the charming, talented tennis player; he was your confidant, your partner in navigating the tumultuous seas of life. You nodded, the word "yes" a silent agreement that seemed to echo through the apartment, resonating with the rain's melody.

He leaned in, his breath a warm caress against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His fingertips traced the contours of your body with a gentle reverence, a silent declaration of his intentions. The rain outside was a serenade to your burgeoning love, each drop a note in a symphony that sang of desire and vulnerability.

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, feeling the roughness of his scruff. Your eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt, any reason to hold back. But all you found was the same yearning that mirrored your own, the same need to be closer.

Jack leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed you, the gentle pressure of his lips telling you that he felt the same way. The rain outside had turned into a symphony, a crescendo that seemed to pulse in time with your heart.

You reached up to trace the line of his jaw with your fingers, feeling the scruff that had grown over the day. His skin was hot, and you could feel his pulse racing under the pad of your thumb. You kissed him back, eagerly, and with every passing second, the barriers between you seemed to dissolve. The rain outside had become a gentle lullaby, the perfect score to the tender dance you were engaged in.

Jack's touch grew bolder, his hands exploring the softness of your skin as if he were learning the strings of a new guitar. Your heart raced with every brush of his fingertips, the rain outside a gentle crescendo that seemed to encourage your intimacy. The room was alive with the sound of your breaths, the whisper of fabric, and the sweet nothings you exchanged in the candlelit darkness.

"You're so beautiful," Jack murmured against your neck, his breath hot and tantalizing.

You felt your cheeks flush at the compliment, a smile playing on your lips. "And you're not so bad yourself," you teased, running your fingers through his damp hair. The rain outside had turned into a gentle patter, a soft serenade to the unfolding passion.

Jack chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He leaned back, taking you with him so that you were straddling his lap. His hands slid up your back, pressing you closer, as if trying to meld your bodies into one. The heat between you was palpable, a force that seemed to charge the very air.

You felt the rain's rhythm in your bones, a pulsing beat that matched the throb of desire. Your breath hitched as Jack's hands slid up your back, the fabric of his shirt a whisper of resistance against your skin. He kissed you again, his lips parting, and you felt yourself falling into him, a willing participant in this dance of love.

Jack's bedroom was a sanctuary of warmth, the rain outside a gentle serenade to the intimate moments you shared. His hands were sure, yet tender, as they traced the contours of your body, each touch a declaration of his affection. You felt the coolness of the rain-kissed air as he slid his shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, a testament to his athletic prowess.

The room was alive with the sound of the rain and the symphony of your intertwined breaths. The scent of rain and desire filled the air, a potent blend that made your heart race. His eyes searched yours, asking for permission, for reassurance that this was what you both wanted.

You nodded, a silent confirmation that sent a rush of excitement through his veins. His hands, so adept at wielding a tennis racket, now moved with a different kind of finesse as they traced the lines of your body. Each touch was a promise, a whisper of things to come.

[jimjamgem]

So it was the 5 year anniversary the other day right? I think this is one of the first Good Omens pieces I did. Look how much my style has changed!

Finally finished! Aziraphale’s realisation… God I love this scene. 

I think my obsession with detail draws the line at tartan. The bow tie was torturous.

[girlgenius1111]

my business

barcelona femení x teen reader after losing her best friend, r gets a meaningful tattoo, but gives her teammates no details about it. her older teammates, especially alexia whom she lives with, are furious that she didn't talk to them first. angst city, sprinkles of comfort [loss, grief]

—

It had always been the two of you. From the first day of kindergarten, when you’d both found yourselves playing with the toy cars in the corner of the room. You were fast friends; probably because there was something about the other that drew you together. You both came from broken homes, barely enough pieces of parents to craft together a family between the two of you. She’d been your family, for as long as you could remember. 

Even when you’d moved across the continent to Spain to play for Barcelona, you’d remained close. You facetimed at night, scrolling through tik tok compatible silence. As everything changed for you, things remained the same for her. She was stuck in that broken home, a mirror of the one you’d escaped. Football had saved you, but Jackie hadn’t had a savior. And when you left, she was all by herself. 

Now you were too. 

—

You lived with Alexia, which wasn’t quite your choice. You’d started off in an apartment in the same building as some of the other younger players, but an amalgamation of circumstances had you moving into Alexia’s only a month into your first season at Barcelona. 

The call had, ironically, come in the middle of a very long 10 days all by yourself in Barcelona. It was just your luck that you’d picked up a strain in your calf the week before, leaving you off the squad for your own national team. Initially, you’d been looking forward to some down time. Then the call had come in, and you were thrust into the painful realization that you were all alone. 

Olga was kind, above anything else, and she hovered a lot less than her partner did. The first five days had been a nice break from the rush and chaos of your regular schedule. Maybe you would have told her, when you got the call, if she’d still been there. Olga had to go to Madrid for work. After dropping Olga off at the airport in Alexia’s cupra [though you had an identical one, you swore hers was better], you’d gone home, the prospect of complete freedom very appealing, not that you’d really do anything crazy. 

The soft jingle of your ringtone broke through the silence, a silence that felt full of opportunity, even if it was just cooking in the kitchen with the music blaring. Sometimes, as you lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you wondered what would have happened if you hadn’t answered the phone. It wouldn’t have changed anything. Jackie would still be dead. The car that sped through the crosswalk without looking would still have slammed into her.  

You answered the phone. Jackie was dead. Your world fell apart. There was nothing more to it. There was nothing you could do, no way to think yourself out of the pain. It was there, hot and searing. All for you to deal with, all by yourself. 

It was a weird form of karma, perhaps, that you were now just as alone as you’d left Jackie to be. 

—

It wasn’t entirely a conscious decision that brought you to the tattoo shop. One minute you were looking back through your texts with Jackie, and the next, you were in the chair, shirt pulled up as the buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room. 

It was a small black and white illustration of a lemon tree. The school where you’d met each other had a lemon tree in the back, next to the playground. The two of you would sit there together at recess and talk. As you got older, you still returned to the lemon tree, even once you were both much too old to be sitting next to a playground. 

Under the lemon tree had been the last place you’d seen her in person. You’d gone home to visit her for a few days, and you’d spent your last few hours under the lemon tree together, talking about everything and nothing. That had been months ago, now. 

Your calf injury had not only taken you out of the international break, but it had ruined your plans to see Jackie whilst you were back home. It had been a long time since you’d seen your best friend, and you were more than a little disappointed that you couldn’t. After several profuse apologies, Jackie had told you not to worry about it. She’d see you sometime soon, and she didn’t need to watch you play in person to be proud of you.

 ‘I’m always proud of you,’ she’d said. 

There were about 2 months until your 18th birthday, but it turned out that in Barcelona you didn’t need to be 18 to get a tattoo, you had to be 16. So, off to the tattoo shop you’d gone, with nothing more than Jackie’s last text repeating in your head over and over. You didn’t think about the consequences, didn’t really think about anything until it was done, until the tattoo artist was carefully laying the second skin over the raw patch on your upper arm. 

Lost in your head, you left the tattoo shop. The habit you had of not watching where you were going, instead staring at the ground under your feet as you walked, was something that had caused you trouble more than once. And now, it seemed it would again as you practically crashed into someone the minute the door shut behind you. 

“¡Oye, cuidado!” 

You stumbled backwards, eyes still fixed on the ground, opening your mouth to apologize before you froze. You knew that voice. Your head snapped up and, ironically, the first thing you spotted was ‘looks can be deceiving’ inked into your teammates neck as her tattooed arms flew into the air with exasperation. Her face turned from annoyed to surprised, and then she broke into a wide grin.“¿Pequeña?” 

“Hola, Mapi.” You replied quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” 

“No, no, it’s��...” Mapi trailed off, something on your face, something raw and painful catching her attention. She studied you for a moment, both of you blocking half the sidewalk as people grumbled and stalked past you. You waited for her to realize, her eyes flicking up to the sign above the door behind you. 

Mapi’s jaw dropped, her hand coming to grip your elbow and pull you over to sit at a nearby bench. “Did you get a tattoo?!” She hissed, surprise and concern etched deep into the lines of her forehead. 

She was downright floored. You were the team’s resident well behaved teen. Not since you’d moved in with Alexia had you stepped a toe out of line. Undertaking the extra film sessions and disgustingly high protein dinners with little complaint, you were practically a miniature version of your captain. 

And it wasn’t that everyone was opposed to tattoos or something, it was just that you were so young. You’d talked about getting a tattoo before but Alexia and Mapi had convinced you to wait until you were older. For you to break that promise, to go behind Alexia’s back while she was out of town… it was completely out of character. And it was for this reason that Mapi wasn’t upset. She was concerned. 

How you could have forgotten Mapi was still in Barcelona, seeing as though she wasn’t playing for Spain any longer, you weren’t sure. But that miscalculation had backfired greatly. Something in the very back of your head begged you to take the hand that was suddenly outstretched, trying to pull you out of the ocean you were drowning in. Mapi was right there, and she’d listen. Mapi always listened. You didn’t have to be alone anymore, but the thought of saying it out loud… that Jackie was gone and you were broken, you just couldn’t do it. Letting Mapi in would hurt too much, you decided. 

“Yes.” You answered shortly. 

The defender looked taken aback, her brow knitting together. She seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment, her concern for you doubling as she took in your appearance. You looked like you had barely slept in days, eyes red and puffy. It seemed impossible for you to sit still, your knee bouncing rapidly as your hands fidgeted with the sleeves of your sweater. Eyes anywhere but on her face, Mapi realized that whatever was wrong with you was serious. 

“Are you… what’s wrong, pequeña? What’s happened?” María inquired gently, her hands resting on your knee. You shifted away from the touch, your whole body suddenly seeming to tense. 

“Nothing. Nothing happened. I just wanted a tattoo.” You replied mechanically. 

“But… we talked about this. Me, you, and Ale. I thought you were going to wait–”

“Well, it isn’t up to you and Ale, it’s up to me.” You hated how hostile you were being whilst simultaneously having no idea how to behave any differently. Your body was in fight or flight, refusing point blank to admit to Mapi that you were very far from okay. 

To your chagrin, Mapi only seemed to soften further, the sympathy and concern on her face making your chest feel like it was on fire. “Nena, I don’t think–”

“I have to go, María. I have… I have an appointment. I’ll see you at training on Monday.” Abruptly, you stood, only just catching the way Mapi tried to reach out for you again. You didn’t listen as she tried to stop you, didn't look back once you turned around and speed walked away from her. 

You weren’t sure what you were doing, and maybe that was just what life would be like from now on. You weren’t sure. You just knew that verbalizing the grief and emotion you felt would make it unbearable. 

And behind you, still sitting bewildered on the bench, Mapi wasn’t sure what to do either. She could follow you home, insist you talk to her. That didn’t feel right, because you clearly wanted space. 

You’d been fine when she saw you at training last week, which made her think that the rest of your teammates wouldn’t know anything either. Mapi knew you loved your younger teammates, the ones much closer in age to you, but she also knew how careful you were about bothering people. No, you wouldn’t have called one of them for help. 

She’d definitely be calling Ingrid, but that was more for her own sake than yours. Ingrid wouldn’t have the answers, because she’d been gone, too. 

The most likely option of who would have more information was Alexia. Obviously, because you lived with her, you were close. But if Alexia knew something was wrong, she never would have left you behind without a word to Mapi to check on you. Likely, Alexia didn’t know anything either.  

And of course, María could call Alexia, but she knew her captain well enough to know that whatever overbearing reaction Alexia would have to try to figure out the problem and solve it would be suffocating to you. 

That left only one person.  

—

The noise of your rather melodramatic playlist must have drowned out the front door opening. You weren’t expecting anyone home today, so you froze when you heard footsteps beginning to ascend the stairs. Terrified, you grabbed the bat you kept under your bed and crept closer to the door, allowing the music to keep playing. 

Counting to three in your head, you grabbed the knob and twisted, flinging the door open and holding your bat up in the air at the ready. Olga jumped back, her hand raised as if to knock. 

“¡Joder!” 

“Jesus!” 

You both exclaimed simultaneously, Olga putting her hand over her heart and you dropping the bat to the ground. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow?” You questioned. 

Olga had been looking at you in alarm, evidently still startled from the scare she’d just had. But as soon as you asked why she was home early, she seemed to gain control of herself, her body language softening as she stepped closer into your room. 

“Mapi called me.” The brunette said gently. Instinctually, you took a step back from her, trying to put space between you and the wrecking ball that was trying to break down the walls you’d so carefully crafted over the past few days. Olga didn’t move any closer, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. “Can I see your tattoo?” 

Her question caught you off guard enough that you nodded rather dumbly, rolling up the sleeve of your sweatshirt so that your bicep, and its new lemon tree, was exposed. 

Olga studied it for a moment, reaching out to grab your arm and have a closer look. “It’s pretty.” 

“Thanks.”

There was a beat of silence, both of you waiting for the other to address the elephant in the room. The brunette broke first, raking a hand through her loose hair. 

“Alexia is not going to be happy about this, pequeña.” Olga sighed, running her thumb over the pink tinged skin. 

You shrugged, pulling your arm from the older woman’s grasp. You didn’t care if Alexia wasn’t happy about it. In fact, that was the absolute last thing on your mind. 

“María told me that–”

“I don’t care what Mapi said.” You snapped. Olga simply raised her eyebrows at you. “I have a headache, Olga, I really don’t want to talk right now.” 

You turned, walking back over to your bed and sitting on the edge. Your posture was stiff, everything about your body language screaming to Olga that Mapi had been right, that something was really wrong. 

“But you know you can talk to me, yes?” Olga called after you. Freezing, the words sent a pang of anxiety through your chest. Another hand, the same ocean of grief. You couldn’t take it. Forcing a smile, you looked up at the brunette. 

“I’m good, I don’t have anything to talk about.” 

Olga sighed again, a sound you were beginning to hate. Her eyes bore into yours, and you knew she didn’t believe you for a second. “I can tell something is not okay. You are not okay. I came home to help you, pequeña.” 

Something between a scoff and a huff of air escaped you. “I am okay. I don’t need your help.” 

Olga shook her head, pulling the sleeves of the oversized Barcelona sweatshirt she was wearing down over her hands and crossing her arms. She looked so concerned, and it made your skin crawl. You couldn’t. You couldn’t. If you said it out loud, that made it true, and a part of you wasn’t prepared to accept that truth yet. 

A beat of silence, then another. Finally, Olga broke eye contact, resigned. 

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m here for you. And I won’t tell Alexia about that,” she nodded her head at your arm, “but you need to.” 

That, at least, you already knew. 

—

As luck would have it, no one’s paths really crossed the day Alexia came home. She’d stopped at her mother’s house for her Uncle’s birthday dinner, and by the time she got home, you were in bed, asleep. It had been oddly quiet on your end while she’d been gone, which she had chalked up to frustration with your injury. 

Alexia cracked open your door, finding you fast asleep in your bed before walking into her bedroom, body drooping with exhaustion. Captaincy duties had kept her in Madrid for an extra day, and she’d gone straight from the airport to her Mami’s house. She was more than ready to take a quick shower and collapse into bed before she inevitably had to get going again for the training session in the morning. It was just recovery, but still. 

As she entered her room, feelings of both love and sadness washed over her. The bed was still made, a soft pair of pajamas and a soothing face mask laid out on the bed for Alexia by her girlfriend. It made her smile, just briefly. Though Olga had gone to spend the night at own parent’s house, she’d thought to do something so simple and so kind for Alexia. 

Alexia stepped in closer to the bed, her lips quirking up into a small grin as she noticed the pajamas Olga had laid out were her favorite pair. Something on her nightstand caught her eye, though, a piece of paper with Olga’s familiar neat cursive marking it. 

Something is up with pequeña. I promised her I wouldn’t say anything, but go easy on her, and see if she’ll talk to you tomorrow after training. I love you. Olga. 

Alexia studied the note closely, feeling like she was missing something. You’d been fine when she left… and now you weren’t? Something was so wrong Olga felt the need to warn her yet still wouldn’t give Alexia a clue as to what was wrong because she’d promised you she wouldn’t? It was all odd, to say the least, but Alexia truly didn’t have the energy to try to figure it out at the moment. Instead, she set the note aside to be dealt with in the morning, and began her nighttime routine. 

Completely unaware that on just the other side of the wall, you were sobbing into your pillow, wishing for anything at all to make the pain stop, even if it was just for a second. 

—

You managed to keep it a secret until the next day, at training. Alexia had kept a very close eye on you all morning, which was odd, but you weren’t really paying attention to it. It was obvious you were just going through the motions, numbly and robotically hugging Alexia back when you wandered into the kitchen for breakfast, politely listening to Alexia’s stories from camp in the car. Still, her eyes were on you, and you didn’t think she was the only one watching. 

You’d almost made it through training, in fact, just pulling on a fresh shirt before you headed home when you heard Alexia’s sharp voice ring out through the locker room. 

“What is that?” She hissed. 

You jumped away from her like her words had scalded you, immediately tensing and crossing your arms over your chest. Your shirt was fully on, now, so the rest of your teammates were looking at you in confusion. Well, all of them except for Mapi. 

Alexia stomped closer, grabbing your arm and shoving your sleeve up once again. “You got a tattoo!” She gasped. “What were you thinking?! Who did it? Who would do this to a child? This is unacceptable, you are too young to be making a decision like this–” 

“Well, in Barcelona, actually, the age without parental consent for a tattoo is 16, and nena is 17.” Pina piped up from behind your captain. You shot her what you hoped was a grateful look, but you were pretty sure it just came across as terrified. Alexia turned slowly in Pina’s direction, glaring at the young forward for a moment. 

She was visibly fuming, nostrils flared, face red, vein in her forehead beginning to pop out. Angry Alexia was not a person anyone wanted to cross, and before she even had to speak a single word, Pina was throwing her bag over her shoulder, grabbing Patri’s hand, and all but dragging her out of the locker room. It would have been amusing if you weren’t so utterly terrified. 

You shrunk under Alexia’s gaze, and she tried to remember Olga’s note, telling her to go easy on you because something was wrong. All Alexia could think about, though, was when you’d promised her, sworn to her that you wouldn’t get a tattoo before you turned 18 and had properly considered what you wanted. It wasn’t so much the tattoo as it was the blatant breaking of a promise you’d made her. Well, it was the tattoo, too. 

Wordlessly, Alexia grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the locker room and into the hall. You knew better than to try to pull away. She was going to yell, it was just a matter of location. 

“What were you thinking?” Alexia asked, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at you. All she saw was a kid, a kid who had been left alone for a week and broken a promise she’d made. A kid who’d just permanently inked something into her skin without so much as running the idea by anyone who cared for her. 

And you… well, you were a shell of yourself, truly. Somewhere deep inside you, anger began to bubble up. 

“I was thinking that I am legally allowed to get a tattoo.” You stated plainly. 

“You promised me that–”

“Well, I changed my mind.” You interrupted. “I am an adult, I’m allowed to change my mind.” 

“You are not an adult! Are you insane? This is not a decision an adult would make, I do not understand how you can stand here in front of me without any guilt–…”

 You began to tune your captain out, because she’d gotten that one part wrong. You felt guilt. Guilt and regret and pain. She didn’t even know the half of it, and she hadn’t even tried to ask. 

Olga and Mapi, they’d known something was wrong, but you hadn’t wanted to talk to them. If Alexia had asked, you would have told her, but instead she was shouting, yelling at you like you’d done something wrong and it was all too much for you to take. Without thinking about the consequences, you shoved past Alexia and made a break for the door, breaking into a full sprint as you exited the building. You weren’t sure where you were going, just somewhere far. Far away from questions and feelings and disappointment. 

—

Somehow, you ended up sitting under a tree in a park near Alexia’s house. It was an unconscious decision. Sometimes you’d come here to facetime Jackie, and both of you could pretend you were in the same place, back home. Pretend you were under the familiar branches, sitting in the patchy shade the tree provided. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine the trunk behind you, with both of your initials carved into the bark. 

But this wasn’t a lemon tree. Jackie wasn’t next to you. She wasn’t even on the phone with you. Jackie was gone. And for the first time, you felt the gravity of what that meant hit you fully in the chest. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. 

Jackie would never get to leave your hometown like you had. You wouldn’t grow up together. She wouldn’t come see you play at Camp Nou. She’d never become a vet like she wanted to. She’d never hug you again. 

And you… you’d never have a chance to tell her the truth. To grab her hand in yours and whisper the words you’d been terrified for years to say. You’d never know what it felt like to have her lips on yours, to hear her heartbeat in your ear as you fell asleep. You’d never know what she would have said when you told her that you’d been in love with her for years. That there wasn’t anyone else on earth for you. All you wanted was her. 

She’d never get to know that.

You’d never get to know if she felt the same way. 

The not knowing… that was almost as painful as her being gone. But not quite. Because you’d make a deal with the devil in a minute if you could, settle to just be her best friend if you could have her back. Having her in your life, in any capacity, would be better than the aching emptiness that currently suffocated you. 

You hadn’t known life without Jackie since you were very small. And secretly, you’d hoped you’d never know life without her. You dreamed of her moving to Barcelona, into an apartment the two of you shared. Bickering over the decor, and making sure she didn’t study too hard. 

With Jackie gone, she took that dream with her, and the reality you’d suddenly give anything to have back. 

Your best friend was never coming back. You didn’t care about football, or Alexia, or tattoos, or any of it. You just wanted Jackie back. 

It wasn’t entirely clear to you when the tears had started, but you didn’t think they’d be stopping anytime soon, and it was starting to get dark out. Crying your eyes out under a tree in a park as the sun set below the horizon didn’t seem like a phenomenal plan. And though it felt like a gargantuan task, you sat up and took a few deep breaths. 

It wasn’t lost on you that while your entire argument hinged on being an adult, you were not acting like one right now. You swiped at your face, trying to rid it of tears while you pulled your phone out of your pocket. You had 15 missed calls from Alexia, 10 from Olga, and a handful from a few of your other teammates. It was mostly annoying, honestly, until you opened your text chain with Alexia. She was panicked to begin, beside herself after her 6th test. 

Come home, now.

We need to talk about this.

Tell me where you are, I will come get you.

Nena, this is not funny. Answer the phone.

I know you are upset with me, but you need to answer. Now.

Just tell me that you are safe, please.

Nena?

You felt bad for worrying Alexia, and disappearing, but somewhere in between your sadness and your guilt,  anger had taken root. Replying to Alexia over text, as opposed to calling her, was fueled by your anger. And maybe a bit of fear. 

It was a short walk home, not nearly enough time for you to rid your face of all evidence of your emotional breakdown. Maybe, though, Alexia would stop and listen, if she saw the state you were in. 

Gripping the knob in your hand, you took a deep breath. You pushed the door open warily, and Alexia stopped her pacing to turn just in time to see you walk into the house. You were still a bit tearful, and still very angry, but Alexia didn’t care. She crossed the room in a few long strides, placing her hands on both your cheeks. 

“Are you okay?” She asked urgently, eyes flitting over you to check for injuries. Honestly. You’d been gone for two hours. 

“I’m fine.” You snapped, shoving her hands away from your face. That was all it took for Alexia’s face to drop into one of anger. Or maybe, the anger was just veiling her hurt. Either way, she was suddenly just as furious as you. 

“What were you thinking? Running off like that, not telling me where you went. You are irresponsible and thoughtless, and this is exactly why you are not mature enough to be making permanent decisions about your body, like getting a tattoo. I am so angry with you, nena-” 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” You scowled, shoving Alexia’s hands even further away from you. “I am an adult,”

“Adults do not storm off for several hours. Adults do not act like you are acting, and I-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t understand!” You knew you sounded like a teenage cliche, but you were past caring. 

“I do understand. You want to feel like an adult, so you make a stupid decision you think is mature-”

“It’s not stupid.” You snapped, anger growing by the second. The insult felt like a knife to the chest. Your lemon tree wasn’t stupid, your Jackie wasn’t stupid. 

“Well, it wasn’t smart! You are going to regret this, look back on it and wish you hadn’t gotten a ridiculous, idiotic tattoo for no reason other than-”

“Shut up!” You yelled. “Shut up Alexia! You have no idea why I got it, you haven’t even asked, you don’t get to yell at me when you haven’t even tried to understand.”

Olga had moved to hover in the doorway, motioning wildly for Alexia to calm down. Alexia’s eye twitched, and she took a few calming breaths. “Then tell me. Help me understand.” 

You didn’t even want to tell her anymore. You didn’t care if she understood or if she forgave you or stayed mad at you forever. You didn’t care about anything. All the fight seemed to drain out of your body, eyes fixing on your shoes as you finally told the truth. 

“My best friend from home… she died, last week, while you were away. I got it for her.” 

Alexia’s jaw dropped in horror, regret hitting her like a train. God, what had she done?

“I… oh, nena. I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t. I don’t need your pity, I just need you to leave me alone.” With that, you turned on your heel and headed for your room, 

—

You wished you didn’t need Alexia. You wished you could take the space you’d asked for, wished you could hold onto your anger and make her hurt the way she’d hurt you. As it was, though, you couldn’t. You managed 20 minutes alone in your room, sobbing into your pillow before you pulled your phone out. It was too much, it was all too much, and you knew that despite the colossal fight you’d just had with her, Alexia would want to help you. And you needed help.

Your breaths were coming in short gasps, spots dotting your vision. You weren’t even sure if you were still crying, or just hyperventilating, or maybe dying, but you had tried and failed to calm yourself down. You threw your pride to the side, and sent the text. 

Help please.

It had barely been marked delivered for a second before you heard Alexia’s thundering steps heading for the stairs, pounding up them, and then she was throwing your door open. She took one look at you before turning and shouting down the stairs to her girlfriend. 

“Olga, get her medicine from the cabinet please!” 

And then her hands were pulling yours away from your face, her comforting voice breaking through the deep ringing in your ears. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You just need to breathe, slow down and let yourself breathe.” She encouraged, shifting so that she was sat next to you. Her hand began to slide up and down your back, and you gripped at her free hand in panic. 

“I-I can’t-” 

Your captain shushed you softly, using her free hand to turn your face in her direction. “You can, just slow down, everything is okay.” 

How could she say that? How could anything be okay? 

“It hurts,” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands and leaning into Alexia’s embrace. 

“I know.” Her voice sounded choked up, her hands shaking just barely as she pulled you in tighter. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Your chest burned with a need for oxygen, but just in time you heard footsteps rushing into the room, and Olga was pulling your hands away from your face, your anxiety medication in hand. Everything seemed slightly blurry, slightly out of focus, as you took the small pill and a sip of water from the glass in Olga’s hand. You could hear both of them talking, but the words weren’t processing in your head, which was pounding with an incessant headache suddenly. Flopping back onto the bed, you shut your eyes tightly, pressing the heels of your hands to your face. 

It seemed as though the unintelligible voices quieted, Alexia probably realizing you weren’t quite there with her anymore. You felt her grip your hand in hers, and you focused on the rise and fall of your chest, picturing your lungs steadily filling and emptying over and over until it no longer felt like someone had your chest in a vice. Alexia’s voice began to filter through again, soft reassurances whispered in the very quiet room. 

“You’re okay, hermanita.” Alexia murmured. She slipped and called you that sometimes; little sister. You pretended to hate it, normally, but now you just squeezed her hand tighter. 

 “You can breathe, you are safe.” Her voice was comforting in a way you couldn’t explain, washing over you and reinforcing the similar mantras you were repeating to yourself. You were okay. You could breathe. You were safe. 

Somehow, you felt yourself getting drowsy. Probably a combination of the anxiety medicine, the intense emotional stress of the day, and the fact that you’d barely slept the last few days. Eyes falling shut, you felt the bed shift next to you. Soon, a blanket was being draped over your body, a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead. 

“Rest, nena. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” 

You let yourself drift off, hoping somewhere in your head that you’d dream of Jackie. 

—

It felt like hours had passed when you woke, and the numbers on the clock agreed with that sentiment. Your body felt stiff, your head still ached, but you didn’t feel as though you were suffocating anymore. Gingerly, you rose from your bed. You had to face the music; better to get it over with now than wait and make the anticipation worse. Unsure of what awaited you, you cautiously crept downstairs, hearing the soft murmur of several different voices. They fell quiet as you shuffled down the hall and turned into the living room, Finding Alexia and Mapi sitting in the armchairs next to the window. 

Wordlessly, you moved over to the sofa, falling down onto it and waiting for the impending… well, you weren’t sure. Maybe they’d yell. More likely they’d have a billion questions. You’d almost prefer the yelling. 

“Feeling better?” Alexia inquired, shifting in her chair to face you instead of Mapi. Her fading blonde hair was in a lopsided ponytail, as if she’d thrown it up while pacing, something you’d seen her do more than once. Mapi, too, looked stressed, her fingers fidgeting and pulling at her cuticles in her lap. 

“Yeah.” You shrugged. In a very general, baseline way, you supposed you did feel better.

It was quiet for a moment longer, and you really couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was heavy, weighted, and it was grating on your nerves. “Just you two here? I expected half the team.” 

Mapi, bless her, cracked a smile, but Alexia remained solemn. 

“They wanted to come, but we decided it would be better just us for now.” Mapi explained. You were about to reply with another quip when Alexia seemed to burst, unable to contain her questions for a moment longer. 

“Nena, why didn’t you tell me about your friend? Why didn’t you tell anyone about it?” 

You shrugged. “You were all busy with your national teams. I didn’t want to bother you, and you were all far away. I dealt with it myself, it’s fine.”

“It is not fine. You lost someone important to you, and you did not tell me. You did not tell Olga, you did not tell Mapi when you saw her. You were all alone dealing with this.” Alexia’s voice seemed to waver and you flinched. This was why you hadn’t said anything. You didn’t want to burden anyone else with your issue. 

‘Did you not think we’d care? I would have come home in an instant if you’d called–”

“I know you would’ve. I didn’t want you to.” You cut in, trying to assuage Alexia’s guilt, but somehow only making it worse. 

“But why?” 

“I just needed to… process. I need to figure it out, and I didn’t want to talk about it.” 

Alexia still looked bewildered, but Mapi was nodding sympathetically. 

“That’s okay. I know Ale is doing a really bad job of showing it but we aren’t mad at you. We are just worried, we just want to help.” 

You nodded mechanically, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. How you weren’t cried out to the point of dehydration, you weren’t sure. 

Alexia cleared her throat. “I.. I’m just so sorry. This was Jackie, yes? Your best friend?” 

Best friend. Yes, she was. She’d never be more than that. You’d lost the person you loved and your best friend in one fell swoop, and the agony of that reminder didn’t fail to bring tears to your eyes again. wordlessly, you nodded, resting your elbows on your knees and putting your face in your hands. 

You felt both Alexia and Mapi move closer, squeezing onto the sofa on either side of you, but the comfort suddenly felt suffocating. 

“Please, guys, just leave me alone. I just need a minute and I’ll get it together.” You mumbled, trying to stand and make a break for it. Two sets of hands pulled you back down, though. 

“No. You are crying, I am not going to leave you alone. I am going to sit right here. We can talk or we can just sit, but I am here for you, okay? You do not have to deal with this alone.” Alexia promised, her voice thick with emotion. Mapi’s hand rested on your back, hand running soothing circles over your shirt. 

It was at this moment that you knew you couldn’t keep it in any longer. try as you might, Alexia and Mapi weren’t leaving you to deal with this on your own, weren’t letting you deal with this on your own. You’d never been able to tell Jackie your true feelings. But they had to be shared, had to exist outloud or you were sure the love you had for her would fade in time, and you never wanted that to happen. 

“I loved her.” You admitted quietly. 

“I know. She was your best friend–” Mapi soothed, squeezing your knee with her free hand. 

You interrupted her, pulling your hands from your face and looking between your teammates with bloodshot eyes. “No. I.. I loved her.” 

Mapi and Alexia froze almost simultaneously, matching shocked looks etched into their faces. Then, Alexia was wrapping her arms so tight around you that it hurt, pulling you into her. 

“Oh, nena.” She whispered. 

You were crying again before you could even try to stop it. 

“I never got to tell her. She never knew. And now she’s gone, and she’ll never know.” 

It was too much pain for one person to carry, more than both Alexia and María knew they’d be able to handle well. And you were so young, and so shattered. They didn’t have the right words to fix this, at least they didn’t think they did. All they could do was try. 

“She knows now. She knows how much you love her now.” María said quietly. 

Your bottom lip quivered as you looked at her, so much hope in your eyes that Mapi almost cried herself. 

“Do you think so?” Maybe you were desperate to believe anything that would make you feel better, at this point. But you didn’t really care. 

“She knows.” Alexia affirmed. 

Nodding shakily, you fixed your gaze on the fluffy white carpet underneath you. “I don’t know how to do any of this without her. I don’t want to.” 

Your teammates sighed, exchanging a glance as they shifted closer to you. 

“I don’t know how to help you.” Alexia admitted. “But we’re going to figure it out together, sí? Whatever you need, however you need to process this. We’re here. You aren’t alone, pequeña.” 

Mapi hummed her agreement, and you seemed to relax for the first time all day. Perhaps this whole time, that was all you needed to hear. 

That even if no one could make it better with a snap of their fingers, you weren’t alone. 

You settled back onto the couch, squished in between your two teammates, somehow knowing that fact, even if they hadn’t said it. 

Nothing was fixed, your very soul still hurt. But you weren’t alone. 

—

i did not proofread and i dont love the ending but here we are! i hope you enjoy <3

[moonlight-prose]

For the touched starved scenarios maybe Logan with "hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters ^^ the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt"?? I think it would be so cute with logan finally breaking his own barriers, reaching out to the one he adores (or*cough* is very much in love with *cough*) bc HE doesnt realize how touch starved he is and becomes slightly nervous at initiating contact at first😫

how it lingers

a/n: have i shoved this into the small world i made with the previous ask from this list? probably. but they're just so cute and i'm in love. plus just the fact that reader is also probably really timid to initiate contact with him physically. but logan finally reaching out for touch (cause he's so starved for it), and getting a response such. just let this man be happy and in love.

summary: when affection is coupled with pain logan learns it's not worth asking for. what does he need with it? but a difficult mission has him seeking the warmth of a lover in the arms of a friend.

word count: 0.7k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: fluff, blooming romances, the start of a relationship, soft logan.

It happens after a mission gone wrong. Tension hung thick in the air when the X-Men entered the front entrance, their suits charred and ripped, faces lined in pinched frowns that said far more than they wished. Logan hung back on the porch, smoking the cigar to appease the growing anxiety building in his chest. He'd never been a fan of the crowd this group accumulated—especially not when kids were involved.

But somewhere in the throng of people stood you, waiting with hope in your chest and a light in your eyes that beckoned him closer. Charles held your attention for a moment, Jean meandering over to explain in grave detail what exactly happened. You did your best to cling to every word. Even as your mind wandered to the man still stuck outside—his hands curled into fists and eyes shut to the rest of the world.

"We aren't sure what happened," Jean mumbled, a dazed expression glossing over her eyes. "If it wasn't for Logan well…Scott and I wouldn't be standing here."

The echo of his name shot through your heart—his pain bleeding into your veins the longer you stood there listening to Jean explain what happened. He saved them. He was the hero. So why was did he remain outside? Entirely separated by the people who would happily welcome him in—the ones he silently considered family.

"Is he hurt?" you asked hesitantly, entirely aware of his healing capabilities.

Nothing could hurt the Wolverine.

Not physically anyways.

Jean shrugged, fatigue settling over her face in a darkened cloud that might take days to pass. "He's…Logan."

Which meant he was taking this time to shove away emotions he didn't want to feel—things that would wreak havoc on his mind. He pushed down things he didn't want to feel; the parts of himself that left him with the bitter taste of fear on the back of his tongue. So he smoked to distract himself and left everything else up to the rest of the team.

He found it was easier to mull over his actions alone. Safer.

You tuned out the remainder of the conversation, eyes catching on the subtle shift of the crowd as Logan finally made his way inside. He clung to the wall in the hopes of going unnoticed. A familiar act of self preservation he often grew fond of at times like this. He never liked being the center of attention—why would that change solely because of one mission?

“I’ll meet you guys later.” Their responses went directly over your head, your body drawn to the man who attempted to vanish into the corner beside a plant desperate for more water.

“Bub,” he greeted, arms crossed at his chest—face turned away from your welcoming smile, from the warmth you tried offering to keep the darkness at bay.

“They said you saved them.”

He grunted, eyes flicking back to see your shoulder slump forward an inch. Barely noticeable to others in the area, but Logan clung to every slight shift of your body. Each look and half hearted smile. He tucked them into his chest in the hopes of one day wiping them away. All the stress of being a professor, of choosing to get to know a man who barely spoke more than a few words at a time.

His hand tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan softly. Barely a brush against your arm, but the grin you gave in return lit a fuse he didn’t know resided at the back of his heart. Over the years he understood what connection meant. How to form them, why he should. But staying in solitude favored him best; he couldn’t hurt anyone if he avoided them.

Until you offered him a smile bleeding enough warmth to soothe his aching heart.

A silent agreement passed between your eyes, loud enough to echo in the back of his mind as your arms curled around his neck. And with a blissful sigh filled with contentment, he melted into your touch, hands clasping around your back—arms tight and strong across your waist. Logan hugged you with his whole body, a swathing blanket of heat that poured out of him and enveloped you in love.

“Thanks bub,” he mumbled into your shoulder, head ducked as he shifted back to the corner—still tightly wound around your body.

You smiled, burrowing your face in the soft leather of his jacket. “Anytime Logan.”

[roosterforme]

Vintage | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love teasing your husband about his deep and unwavering devotion to his Bronco, but he's insistent that it would come in second place to you every time, and he intends to prove it. While you're away on deployment, he concocts a plan to get you behind the wheel of your very own vintage beauty.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, mentions of smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"Sometimes I swear you love that thing more than you love me."

Your voice startled Bradley as he ran the wet, soapy sponge along the hood of his vintage Ford Bronco, pulling him from his thoughts. That was something you frequently said to him, jokingly claiming that you were the second love of his life. But you both knew it wasn't true. Especially not tonight.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered, coaxing you closer to him as he tossed the sponge back into the bucket. "Come here."

The setting sun painted your face with orange and gold, and he noticed the sadness in your eyes. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans and then held them out to you, and you were in his arms in an instant. "Bradley," you mumbled against his chest as he squeezed you, getting your shirt a little damp in the process. But you didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to miss you."

Detailing and cleaning what used to be his dad's 1973 Bronco had become a way for him to relieve stress. He would get out the soap and turn on the hose when he needed a few minutes to himself. It was easier to be alone in his head, processing his thoughts and worries when he was washing the light blue masterpiece he'd spent so many years and a lot of money preserving. He always found himself in a better headspace to deal with whatever was troubling him when he spent some time with the Bronco. And today was no exception. 

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sometimes it felt like the nearly five years you and he had been married were just spent alternating deployments. First he would be gone on an aircraft carrier for months on end, and then it would be your turn. You'd be sent abroad with the Navy before returning to him, and then the cycle would begin anew. Everything felt harder when you weren't around, and maybe that's why Bradley was out on the driveway right now instead of helping you pack for your early call time tomorrow morning. 

With your cheek pressed to his sternum, you cried softly. "It's only two months this time. And I'll have access to my phone. And I'll even be home in time for our anniversary. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional about this."

He pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "It's not like it gets any easier. You know that. I know that. It's going to feel like two months of hell on my end."

You sniffed hard then looked up at him with a little smirk. "At least you'll have the Bronco to keep you warm."

Bradley groaned and started to walk you backwards toward the house. "I mean, she's pretty and all, and I've definitely spent a night or two curled up around her gear shift, but I never gave her a diamond ring."

Your lips and your soft laughter against his neck sent a jolt of physical pleasure through his body, but he didn't want to rush this. He needed this to last, to hold him over for two months without your touch. Both of you tripped along to the bedroom where he smiled and whispered, "Let me show you that you're my number one girl. Let me prove you always will be."

Bradley was meticulous. He knew every inch of his Bronco, inside and out, but he knew you better. The sounds you made were prettier. The way you clung to him as he brought you pleasure was unparalleled. Your fingers laced with his as he connected his body with yours in the most intimate way, and it left him breathless.

"I love you."

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

Two days. He'd only been alone for two days, and he was already halfway through binge watching a season of a show that wasn't even that interesting. When he got home from work, he eyed up the couch and TV before ultimately changing into some sweats and heading back out to the driveway. He looked over the Bronco from hood to taillights, making a mental list of what she needed: new wiper blades, two new tires, and an oil change.

When he took his phone out to order the parts from his favorite website, he must have typed something wrong. It rerouted him to a vintage Ford resale page that left him staring at a sage green 1975 Bronco in rough condition. Man, she was still pretty though, with her original chrome and hubcaps. She was just an hour away, and the price wasn't too bad...

He glanced up at the blue gem in front of him. An idea started to take shape. He wondered how you would feel about it. With a smile, he ordered the wiper blades and oil filter that he needed and went inside to make dinner. But he couldn't stop picturing that chipped, green paint, and the vinyl that needed to be patched. 

If he knew he could get you hooked on a Bronco of��your very own, he'd make this purchase. Two months to go. Shit, he might have just enough time to pull this off. He could practically picture you cranking the engine to life and waving goodbye as you pulled out of the driveway and took your Bronco for a spin. He wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face, but he'd say it anyway. "You love that thing more than you love me, Baby."

When he was stretched out on your side of the bed later that night, enveloped in your sweet scent that clung to the pillows, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. It would be fun to prove to you once and for all where his loyalties lie. Or maybe it could just be a project that would keep him busy, and if you didn't like the idea, he could resell it after you got home. Either way, he drifted to sleep as he thought about you behind the wheel, and he knew it was too perfect to pass up.

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

"Hey, Baby," Bradley said with a smirk as he answered his phone.

"Bradley! I miss you like crazy!"

"I miss you, too," he promised as he looked at the rather beat up, green Bronco before him. He got it for a great price when he offered to pay cash, and the tow truck just dropped it off a few days ago. Half of the engine was taken apart on a tarp at his feet, and it was currently jacked up so he could replace the oil pan. But he thought it was gorgeous. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home."

"A surprise?! Tell me. You know I can't wait that long."

"Nah," he said, kneeling down to check the wiring for the headlights. "I think I'll make you wait this one out."

"Rooster!"

"What?" he laughed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slipped his work gloves on and pulled at the loose wire. "You know, this is what you get for always giving me a hard time about my dad's Bronco. I love you so much, Baby, I'll make you wait for the surprise. It'll be sweeter that way."

"You're the worst," you groaned playfully. "Now I'll be thinking about what it could possibly be the whole time I'm gone. I'll be wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"As long as you're thinking about me, I'm happy," he rasped, and your pretty sigh in response left him a little breathless.

"I'm always thinking about you. Promise me as soon as I get back, we'll go for a long drive? Up along the coast? Late at night?"

He loved that idea. It would just look a little different than you were probably imagining if he could get this thing up and running again in time for your return. "We'll make a night of it," he promised. "I'll pack some blankets, and we can sit in the back and look out at the ocean. Can't guarantee I'll be able to keep my hands to myself though."

"Mmm. That's what I'm counting on."

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

After about two weeks of watching a lot of YouTube videos posted by professionals, Bradley finally had the engine rebuilt. He was just waiting for some parts to arrive before he could put it back in place. "You're a needy one, aren't you?" he asked the green Bronco. "Nothing like her. She's a saint." He nodded his head toward the blue one before kneeling to replace the taillights. 

He was quickly realizing that the money he saved on the cost of the actual vehicle was being eaten up in the expensive, vintage parts. He was lucky he knew how to do most of this himself, even if it took twice as long. Today he was replacing the brakes and listening to a Motown playlist, and he fully realized that he felt calmest when he was with you or a Bronco. He snorted at how ridiculous that fact was as he scooted under the vehicle, but it was true. And having you tucked away in the back with the tailgate dropped, all wrapped up in a blanket while you turned him on just by existing.... well, that's when he would be happiest of all.

As the weeks wore on and the project progressed, the day finally arrived when it was time to try to start her up and take her for a little drive. Everything smelled like new rubber from the tires he'd just put on. The vinyl seats were still in bad shape, but when he slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purred to life.

Bradley's head tipped back as he groaned softly. "So fucking pretty. My god." He tapped the accelerator gently with his foot, enjoying the rev of the engine. He smoothed his hands along the steering wheel and the dashboard before he adjusted the rear view mirror to accommodate his height. Then he flicked the chrome switch and turned on the radio which he was surprised still worked.

My Girl by the Temptations poured from the speakers as the station crackled to life, and that felt like a very good sign. "Let's get out of here, Sweetheart," he whispered before shifting into reverse and leaving the driveway and his toolbox behind.

She was smooth and steady and everything he was hoping for. Would it ever fully compete with Goose's Bronco? Probably not. Was it worth the investment anyway? He'd find out next week when you got home. There were just a few things left to do before he dropped it off to be repainted and have the interior patched, and then she'd be good as new.

Bradley's phone rang in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw it was you. "Hey, Baby."

"Bradley! I miss you so much. I swear, if this thing was longer than two months, I wouldn't make it. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just out for a little drive."

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

After eight weeks of nothing more than a few scant phone calls, Bradley was more than ready to have you home again. Maybe you and he could take a few days off from work. He'd help you catch up on some sleep after initially keeping you up all night. He already had some blankets ready to go as soon as you said you wanted to drive up to Carlsbad and watch the surfers at sunset before making love in the back of your Bronco.

Your Bronco. His wife's Bronco. It would take some getting used to, but it already made him smile every time he thought about it. With his hands on that familiar steering wheel, he drove toward the Naval base where both of you spent so much of your time. He waited, leaning against the light blue hood until you came running toward him in your uniform with your bags.

"Bradley!" you shrieked as you landed in his arms where you belonged. 

"I missed you," he promised, finally kissing your lips again after so many weeks. He felt your bag hit his foot, and he smiled as he tilted your face up for better access to your mouth.

"I missed you, too," you moaned softly, and he was already making the move to get you back home and remind you what you meant to him. But you dug your feet in outside the passenger door. 

"Where's my surprise?" you asked as you tucked your fingers into the top of his jeans and grinned up at him. "I've been thinking about it nonstop. Is it you?"

"No," he replied with a chuckle as his gaze drifted toward the Bronco. "You'll see soon enough."

You glanced at where he was looking, and you rolled your eyes before kissing his chin. "Did she keep you company while I was gone? She looks pristine, like you spend some time working on her."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "Just get in, Baby," he rasped. "The sooner we get home, the sooner your little surprise will make sense."

He knew the routine by heart now. The short ride home would start out with you holding his right hand and playing with his fingers while he drove. Then your hand would migrate to his thigh when the Bronco was about five blocks away. Then as soon as the tires touched the driveway, you'd unbuckle your seatbelt and make your way over to his lap.

The routine was important to him. He loved it. He loved taking you inside and directly to bed before coming back out much later to get the bags. He thrived on the return to normal life that was triggered by the routine. But today, he knew you weren't going to end up on his lap, and that was more than okay.

When your hand settled on his thigh exactly five blocks away from home, Bradley smiled. Your fingers crept up inch by inch as you leaned closer and whispered in his ear that you had their fifth wedding anniversary all planned out for the following weekend. You were playing with the zipper of his jeans by the time he could see the house, and he just waited for it. He was not disappointed.

"What the fuck is that?" you gasped, both hands going to the dashboard in front of you as you leaned to check out the freshly painted green Bronco as he coasted into the driveway. "Bradley?" you asked, glancing at him with wide eyes as he shifted into park.

He smiled and leaned over to kiss your softly parted lips. "This is your surprise. You're always joking about how much I love my Bronco, but I'll never love anything more than I love you."

You pressed your lips to his once before pulling away, shaking your head slightly. "So you got me one of my own?" you asked, jerking your thumb toward the green one.

He nodded and pulled his key from the ignition before pressing it into your palm. "Yep. She's all yours."

"Wait," you whispered, your brow creasing in confusion as you looked down at your hand. "This is your key."

"No, it's your key. The key to the green one is in the house. That's my key."

You gaped at him as your eyebrows shot upwards. "You're giving me your Bronco?"

"Yep."

"But," you whispered, turning to look out the window, "I can drive the other one."

"No, I bought the green one with myself in mind," he replied, taking your chin gently in his hand so you were looking at him again. "This one's better. She's sweet. Like you. She's yours."

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He was wrong; you did end up in his lap. Right where you belonged. His hands settled at your hips as you kissed every inch of his face while he laughed.

"I want to take her for a spin," you whispered, nudging him out of the driver's seat with your knee. "Go."

He smiled as he walked around to the passenger side of the blue Bronco, and he barely had the door closed before you started the engine and shifted into gear. "Pretty soon you'll love this thing more than you love me, Baby."

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

He gave you his Bronco. The green one was for him. That's how you know he loves you. I hope they do some nasty shit in the green one to break it in. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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@furiousladyking

[jenosbliss]

pls write a smut where haechan looks extra pretty before performing and his makeup artist can’t help but want to fuck him before he goes on stage

pairing. afab!reader x idol!haechan | genre. smut | wc. 1k | mdni!

warnings. hard!dom haechan, unprotected sex (don’t try in real life), slight hair pulling and spanking, mirror, creampie? calls the reader princess but also a slut

a/n: it took me 3 weeks to write this as i had a lot of uni work. Please please pardon me this time if it’s not well written.

Maybe it was the blush that made his cheeks look impossibly soft and warm, or the tiny stickers under his eyes that added a playful touch to his sharp features. Maybe it was the way his dark hair fell perfectly in front of his eyes, or how his lips—full, red, and devastatingly distracting—seemed to curve into the kind of smirk that could undo you in seconds. Whatever it was, something about Haechan today had you undone.

You told yourself it was just your work. You’d perfected the art of making him look his best, every contour and color carefully applied, every detail deliberate. But today was different. Today, his presence alone made it impossible to stay steady, his every glance and smirk making your hands falter and your professional demeanor unravel. It was the way his eyes locked onto yours like he could see right through the flimsy wall you were trying to build, the way his fingers brushed too casually against your waist when the room was packed, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of your shirt. It was the way he tilted his head just enough for you to lean in closer, as though daring you to close the space between you.

And you weren’t exactly innocent either. Your fingers lingered too long on his jaw as you blended the last touch of highlighter. Your breath ghosted over his skin when you worked on his eyeliner, your chest brushing against his shoulder in ways you knew weren’t entirely necessary. Then there was the lip tint—your thumb dragging over his bottom lip a fraction slower than you should’ve, your eyes dropping to his mouth, betraying just how much control you were losing.

“Careful,” he murmured when you pulled back, his voice low enough that no one else could hear over the bustle of the staff. His smirk deepened, a flicker of mischief lighting up his gaze. “You keep touching me like that, and I might think you’re trying to make me lose my job.”

Heat flared across your cheeks, but you refused to look at him as you turned away, busying yourself with cleaning up your station. You couldn’t let him get to you, not when the room was still crowded with staff and members. But when you bent down to grab a makeup sponge that had rolled off the counter, his voice came again, soft and teasing.

“Was that for me, or do you just like testing my patience?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words—and the low rasp in his tone—sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins, as he looked right through your little game. Without thinking, you straightened and turned, locking eyes with him as you reached out, brushing your thumb over the corner of his mouth. “You smudged your lipstick,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

It was a lie. You both knew it.

His gaze lingered on your face for a beat longer than was appropriate, and for the first time, you saw something shift behind his playful exterior. Something darker. Hungrier. Something that made you feel you won in this game.

Moments later when everyone was leaving for the final mic test, he straightened in his chair, stretching his arms with a casualness that didn’t fool you for a second. “Think I need a touch-up,” he said suddenly, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear as the members emptied out the room. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Before you could process what was happening, he was already locking the door behind you, his smirk gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.

If you thought you won the game, you were wrong because in no time Haechan had you bent over the same vanity. Your shorts and underwear were pooled around your ankles and fingers gripping the edges of the wooden table tightly as he pounded into you from behind.

He had one of his hands wrapped around your throat putting just enough pressure on your veins which made you lightheaded while he delivered hard thrusts from behind pushing you more into the table. “Had fun teasing me princess?” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he bit down on the sensitive skin of your neck before sucking harshly.

You let out a low whimper, eyes rolling back to your head as he hit that spot again and again. If the pleasure of him moving inside in that brutal way was not enough to send you into an overdrive, the moment his free hand slid down to press against your clit did break you apart. “Fucking princess can’t go a minute without my dick shoved in her little pussy?”

He moved his hand from your throat to grab your cheeks harshly as he lifted your head to make you look in the mirror in front you, your nose almost brushing against it. “Look at yourself…” he groaned, feeling you tighten around him “...why do i always have to remind you not to behave like a slut at work?”

He thrusted deep with each word making your eyes roll back. “Look at yourself” he whispered, tilting your head up. Your eyes roamed over the smudged mascara and disheveled hair as you met Haechan’s dark ones in the mirror. He leaned down to whisper again “What do brats like you deserve?”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, you knew what he meant and when he stopped his movements you almost cried out “Please… don’t stop.” He chuckled, running his thumb over your lower lip “Don’t worry Princess. I’ll take my time with you after this concert.”

If you weren’t crying before you did now. He moved relentlessly, holding your hips with both hands in a bruising grip as you fell flat on top of the vanity. The wooden frame shaking beneath you due to the intensity as he moved deeper and deeper.

Your orgasm left you trembling even more as he didn’t stop thrusting in you. “Haechan please” you cried and he yanked you up by a tight grip in your hair “Take it like the slut you are.” He groaned and your whimpers turned into the cries of his name pushing him closer to the edge.

And with one final hard push he came inside you, moaning as he pulled out before spanking your cheeks. “Stay like this. With my cum inside you, don’t you dare clean up.” He said pulling up your panties and shorts and zipping up his own pants.

“You know princess this isn’t over, is it?” you managed to mumble a small no as he ran his fingers through your hair. “So be ready when we get back home… I’m going to ruin you so well tonight.”

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

navigation.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! CEO Headcanons

Just a little idea I had some time ago of a rather bizarre dynamic: a CEO with no time to spare, introduced to a young student his wife befriended. Perhaps he does have a moment, after all. (I need to dump my preference for a cultured older man somewhere)

Content: female reader, age gap, older yandere, NSFW, dating the wife is optional

[Original works masterlist]

Yandere! CEO who is in his mid 40s and terribly invested in his job. So much, that he and his wife agreed on an open relationship many years ago and barely interact anymore. Not a gloomy business by any means: she gets to meet new people and he can enjoy his work and hobbies in peace and without guilt.

Yandere! CEO who doesn't think much of it when his wife brings home a young student she befriended at a convention. He nods dismissively, returning to his papers and phone calls. At dinner, he just hums in acknowledgement and fiddles with the cutlery while the woman talks about you excitedly. "You know, (Y/N) reminds me a little of you." Nonsense.

Yandere! CEO with whom you scarcely interact: he's a borderline workaholic, and your relationship is cordial at best. That is until you're asked by the wife to retrieve some important documents from their ridiculously luxurious apartment. You quietly tiptoe past the office, but can't help glancing at the imposing library, stacked with books. The man's sudden arrival startles and you begin to mumble apologies, but he seems more interested in your curiosity than anything else.

Yandere! CEO who can't believe you both like the same authors. He discreetly removes the folder from your hands, tasking one of the assistants to deliver it to his wife instead. There are more important matters at hand. Have you had your coffee yet? Oh, you must stay longer. What's the hurry?

Yandere! CEO who has become awfully perceptive whenever your name is mentioned in conversations, innocently probing for more details. Naturally, he wouldn't mind meeting you again, but it's not...a need, per se. He was just pleasantly surprised to find someone he could so easily engage in conversation with. Hell, you're old enough to be his daughter. Don't be ridiculous, he'll scold himself sternly whenever his mind wanders too far.

Yandere! CEO who begins to feel like each encounter is a flirty tease. Is it just wishful thinking, or are you becoming cheekier by day? The way you bat your eyelashes, the way you cast your eyes down whenever he looks at you. The next time you're alone in the apartment, he's too far gone in his delusions to act rationally. How unusual for him to act so nonchalant. Unbuttoning your shirt with haste, trailing your neck with hot kisses, lifting your leg and pressing you against the wall. He never considered himself the type to fuck a much younger woman out of raw lust.

Yandere! CEO who loves taking you on dates despite his busy schedule. Art museums, theatres, the Opera. He is eager to introduce you to his interests and will answer any question or curiosity you have. Who would've thought everything is better in two? Of course, there could be other factors involved. Like the added bonus of watching you squirm in your seat and biting your lips to be quiet while he fingers you at the peak of Act 3. Then smirking to himself when everyone stands up for applause, and you have to rearrange your dress to hide the wet mess underneath.

Yandere! CEO who worries about you when he's on work trips, so he tasks his right-hand man to look after you and keep you company. If you ever get lonely, you can rely on his assistant to take care of all your needs. Now, he's not one to share, despite his marital arrangement. As bizarre as it sounds, he just sees the employee as a mere toy, an idle occupation who can temporarily entertain you in his absence. What he does perceive as a threat is swiftly taken care of. It's enough for you to mention another student flirted with you, and you'll never see that person again. You have to understand that he doesn't play around with his assets. One he has something, he holds onto it with ironclad strength. And he's never been more desperate to keep something in his possession.

Yandere! CEO who makes sure to remind you why dating him is your best (and only) choice. You would've wasted your time with boys your age. He can offer you the world and more, all you need to do is ask for it.

[soangelbaby]

thinking about pervert!clark kent and my brain is allll fuzzy 😵‍💫😵‍💫

pervert!clark . . . would definitely use his x-ray vision to peek under your clothes and see your lingerie, he can’t help himself, you always have the cutest lace sets, it’s like you do it on purpose just for him. delicate lace hugging your soft skin, sheer fabrics barely covering you, tiny little bows and intricate details that he knows you chose carefully. he’s memorized every lace pattern, every bow, every strap placement. that he could sketch them blindfolded, that he knows which sets are your favorites, which ones you wear when you’re feeling confident, playful, soft.

pervert!clark . . . would use his heightened senses to smell everything about you. from the soap you use, perfume, even your natural scent. it’s addicting to him and he can’t get enough of you. he’d always be standing just a bit too close, savoring it all. he might even smell areas you were just sitting or standing just to inhale the vanilla warmth of your lotion, the floral sweetness of your perfume, the fresh, clean scent of your shampoo.

pervert!clark . . . would listen in on your private conversations or alone time. he’d overhear you sharing secrets to your friends, possibly about him. your voice dropping into a hush, playful, teasing, as you talk about him. about how he’s so tall, broad, strong. about how his voice does something to you, how his hands are so big, how you can’t stop thinking about him, how you wonder what it would feel like to be touched by him—

pervert!clark . . . he’d overhear your intimate time, listening in on your moans as you touch yourself to thoughts of him. those soft little gasps, the hitch in your breath, the way your sheets rustle, the way your voice catches when you try to stay quiet. the way you whimper his name, the way you sigh, the way your heartbeat spikes. he’s already rock hard, just listening to you fall apart for him—without him even being there. even while you’re in the shower, he’s outside the door—listening, the soft hum of a song you don’t even realize you’re singing, the sighs of relaxation when the heat soaks into your muscles, he’s probably getting off too as he uses his x-ray vision to see through the walls. and he tries not to. he really does. but then you sigh, body shifting under the heat of the water, and he caves. his x-ray vision flickers on. and there you are—completely bare, steam curling around your skin, water tracing paths down every curve. you have no idea. no idea that clark is right outside your door, stroking his dick, his grip tight as he chases his orgasm, biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. no idea that he’s watching you, hearing you, soaking in every fucking second. that if you even cracked that door open, you’d see him standing there—flushed, panting, wrecked just from looking at you.

pervert!clark . . . with his super speed could disappear right before your eyes, and you’d never know he was there. he’d be in your room, possibly watching you sleep as he fucks his fist in the dark corners of your room. it’s too easy to be right here, in your space, watching over you while you’re completely unaware. and fuck—you look so soft. so peaceful. so vulnerable. he’d probably open up your closet or drawers needing to feel a piece of your clothing between his hands, even the smell of you, he’d hold the shirt up to his face, palming himself through his sweats as he breathes you in, again and again, inhaling the sweet smell as it conveniently muffles the desperate little moans slipping past his lips.

pervert!clark . . . would sneak into your room while you’re gone, running his hands over your blankets or pillows. the satin sheets feeling like liquid under his fingertips. then he does what he always does—he buries his face in your pillow, inhaling deeply, letting your scent fill his lungs like it’s something he physically needs to survive. would you feel his presence in your sheets when you slide into bed tonight? would you toss and turn, restless, wondering why your skin tingles, why your breath comes just a little quicker?

clark hopes so….

a/n ; i have so many thoughts for this cause our boy ck is already a bit of a freak and i’m alr thinking of a part two 🫣 lmk if you guys like ! show me luvv 😚

[hazelira]

love in the details

Jake stirred awake, his eyes blinking open to the soft light filtering through the curtains. He instinctively turned his head to check on the baby and froze. She was lying on her stomach, her tiny face smushed into the mattress, her little body sprawled out in an uncoordinated but somehow adorable position. Her hair was sticking out in all directions, a wild mess from her restless movements in her sleep.

A pang of worry shot through him, his instincts kicking in immediately. “Hey, little one,” he murmured softly as he sat up, careful not to startle her. Gently, he reached over and adjusted her position, turning her onto her side and making sure her face was no longer pressed into the mattress. The last thing he wanted was for her to have trouble breathing.

“There we go,” he said quietly, his voice low and soothing as he ran a hand over her messy hair in an attempt to smooth it down. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her tiny lips parting as she let out a soft sigh. Jake felt his chest tighten at the sight—how could someone so small, so fragile, have such a hold on him?

As his gaze shifted downward, he noticed her socks were slipping off her pudgy little feet, one barely clinging to her toes while the other was halfway off. He shook his head with a faint smile, leaning down to adjust them. “You’re a little troublemaker even when you’re sleeping, huh?” he muttered under his breath, carefully pulling the socks back into place.

Once he was satisfied that she was safe and comfortable, Jake sat back for a moment, his gaze lingering on her. The wild mess of her hair, the way her chubby hands clutched at the blanket beneath her—it was all so chaotic and yet so endearing. He couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him, the sound soft and warm in the quiet room.

He glanced around and realized you weren’t in bed. Your side of the mattress was empty, but you’d strategically placed pillows around the baby, creating a makeshift barrier to keep her from rolling off. It was thoughtful, something he should’ve thought to do himself, and he felt a flicker of guilt at how much you always carried the weight of caring for her, even when you were exhausted.

The faint sound of movement downstairs caught his attention, and he realized you must’ve gone to make breakfast. For a moment, he debated staying in bed to watch over the baby, but the thought of you downstairs alone made him hesitate. You were still recovering from the fever, and he didn’t like the idea of you pushing yourself too hard.

Standing carefully so as not to disturb the baby, Jake pulled the blanket higher over her small frame, making sure she was snug and warm. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, the action instinctive and full of affection.

“You stay put, alright? No more wild sleeping positions,” he murmured softly, as if she could understand. He straightened and took one last look at her before heading toward the door, his footsteps quiet as he made his way downstairs.

The scent of breakfast greeted him as he descended, and he found you in the kitchen, standing at the stove with your back to him. You were moving slowly, clearly still not at full strength, but there was a determined set to your shoulders as you flipped something in the pan.

Jake paused for a moment, taking in the scene. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts, your hair tied back in a loose bun, and even though you looked tired, there was a calmness about you that made something in his chest ache.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked, his voice soft as he stepped into the kitchen.

You turned, surprised to see him, and offered a small smile. “You looked like you needed the rest. She kept you up for a while, didn’t she?”

Jake shrugged, leaning against the counter as he watched you. “I don’t mind. She’s... persistent, but I think I’m getting used to it.” He paused, his gaze softening as it lingered on you. “You should’ve stayed in bed. You’re still recovering.”

“I’m fine,” you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. You turned back to the stove, but Jake was already moving.

“Go sit,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Before you could protest, he gently took the spatula from your hand and nudged you toward the table. “I’ll finish this. You need to rest.”

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes—firm yet full of concern—made you relent. With a quiet sigh, you took a seat, watching as Jake effortlessly took over. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. For a man who was often cold and distant, moments like this reminded you that there was more to him beneath the surface.

As he worked, Jake glanced over his shoulder at you. “She’s still sleeping,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But her hair’s a disaster. I think she might’ve inherited that from you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the playful comment made you smile despite yourself. “Maybe she got it from you, Mr. Perfect.”

Jake chuckled softly, the sound light and unguarded. For a moment, the tension between you seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet, shared understanding. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

@seonhoon @dollrincess @ethanatvre @rei4sunoo @shxhdsstuff @jakeflvrz @laylasbunbunny @jiiyen @saphiranishimurashan @lovelycassy @starry-eyed-bimbo @babyboomysweetie @24svnn @pinkglitterpuke @mellowgalaxystrawberry @heavenki

[jjscrybaby]

rafe or jj request!

his girl gets into a minor car accident and she calls him because she needs him.

maybe while he’s away for work or after they got into a fight — honestly anything angsty where he takes care of her 🤍 love your writing xx

jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (car accident, blood, stitches.)

thankyou baby!!! hope this is okay, i’m sick atm so not got a whole lot of energy to put into finding out info and stuff so i tried to rush past the hospital side of things😭

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

You’d never gone this long without talking to your boyfriend; three days. You felt ridiculous at this point, but at the same time your point had been valid. You and JJ hadn’t gotten to spend any time together over the last few weeks, not since he started this ridiculous treasure hunt with John B and his other friends.

It wasn’t that you weren’t friends with the Pogues, you were, but not close enough to be involved. You’d tried, and even Kiara had invited you over with them a couple times too, but JJ always said no. It was dangerous, he’d say. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d enjoy — and maybe he was right. Except, not getting to be apart of it meant you didn’t see him, and your final straw was when he was late to your anniversary dinner.

That was three days ago, and you hadn’t spoken since. The blowout had been crazy, you accused him of not putting in enough effort and he went on the defence and said you were being dramatic, that this was for John B. You understood that, you did, but you hadn’t gotten in this relationship to be second place.

Kiara ended up drinking too much at a kegger, and you had the honour of going to pick her up and drive her home. You were on your way back to your place, still wearing just your pyjama pants and one of JJ’s shirts, when a car swerved around the corner and hit right into you. Your head smacked against the wheel and you groaned in pain, pressing your fingertips to the place you felt blood oozing from.

“Shit, shit! Are you okay?” There was a girl banging on your window, whilst also turning back to the car and yelling at the boy behind the wheel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, you didn’t feel fine. You felt dizzy and nauseous, your neck ached and your head hurt even worse.

“You’re bleeding pretty bad, let’s get you to the hospital and then we’ll deal with insurance.”

She drove you to the hospital in her car, leaving yours on the side of the road. She gave you her details and then left, leaving you alone in the chemically smelling place with blood covering your face. You got seen almost immediately, they needed to check for a concussion or brain damage. You did have a concussion, and you had to get stitches.

“Do you have anyone you can call, sweetheart?” The nurse asked you once she’d finished up.

“Yeah,” you nodded. You didn’t care that you were mad at JJ, you needed him right now. You pulled your phone out and dialled his number, praying he’d answer.

“Hello?” He sounded irritated, he’d probably put it on just to talk to you.

“JJ?” A wave of emotion hit you, your voice coming out shaky.

“Hey, you okay?” The irritation washed away, he sounded worried now. Worried and guilty; he probably thought you were crying over him, maybe you were.

“I’m— I’m in the hospital, can you come and get me,” you croaked out, wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve.

“What?” He exclaimed. You could hear him rustling about, presumably trying to find the keys to the Twinkie. “What’dya mean, baby? What happened?”

“I got in an accident,” you explained quietly. “A car came out of nowhere, I hit my head on the wheel.”

He cursed under his breath, the sound of the door slamming closed came through the phone as he ran outside the Chateau. You could hear the engine to the camper-van start up, spluttering to life.

“Gonna be there soon, alright sweetheart? Want me to stay on the phone?” He offered gently, although you could hear the anger in his voice that he was trying to hide.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly.

JJ talked to you as he drove, telling you how much he loved you, how sorry he is for not being there with you. You weren’t really listening, to focused on the pain you felt in your head and the anxiety over being in the hospital. It didn’t take long for JJ to be walking into the room, a worried expression on his face as he knelt down in front of you and held your face gently in his hands.

“Hi, baby,” he greeted softly, eyes scanning the stitches just above your eyebrow. “How many did y’have to get?”

“A few,” you murmured, not wanting to talk about it anymore. “How bad does it look?”

He shook his head, giving you a reassuring smile. “Still hot as hell, baby. Don’t gotta worry about that.”

JJ spoke to the doctor, booking an appointment for you to come in and get your stitches out, and the two of you left. You complained about your car and having to go and get it, but he reassured you it would still be there in the morning; “the thing’s a piece of junk, no one’s gonna want to steal that.”

He took you to the Chateau, instantly dragging you into his bedroom before John B could see you and go protective-mode over the stitches. He figured that would just give you a headache, and that was the last thing you needed right now.

“C’mere, honey,” he murmured, opening his arms for you to crawl into. You wanted to be stubborn, continue with your fight and refuse, but you didn’t have the energy. You laid on his chest, his arms tightening around you. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I should’ve been there, if we weren’t in this stupid fight I would have.”

“It’s not your fault, Jayj,” you soothed, reaching up to stroke his messy hair.

“I’m really sorry, about the other night,” he said quietly, voice emotional. “I— I fucked up so bad, baby, I know I did. You mean everything to me, fuckin’ everything. If you want me to drop this whole thing, I will. I’ll tell John B I can’t be apart of it anymore.”

You forced yourself to sit up, his hands guiding you as if you were made of glass. “I never said I didn’t want you to do it, JJ. I just never get to see you anymore. I miss you, that’s all. I don’t get why you won’t let me be apart of it.”

“It’s dangerous—”

“You’ve said that. I don’t care if it’s dangerous, I want to join in. I want to be with you and your friends. I want to be apart of your life, not on the sidelines,” you explained, crossing your legs.

He hesitated, the room silent for a few moments before his arms wrapped around your waist and dragged you back into his arms. “Okay. Next time we go on another mission you can come. If you promise to stick by me.”

“Mission?” You snorted, earning a swat on the thigh.

“Shut up. I’m serious, promise me?” He urged, although a small smirk played on his lips.

“I promise,” you nodded, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Already got stitches, what’s a few more?”

“That’s not funny, dude!”

[erwinsvow]

𝐫𝐜 - 𝟐:𝟏𝟏𝐩𝐦

you slept at tannyhill every night now.

it was commonplace to see you making breakfast in the kitchen, by the pool with sarah or inside watching some silly movie with wheezie. that was only sometimes though, since all your time was usually spent with rafe.

he liked having you around at tannyhill all the time—he thought it was cute. you wait for him to get back like a little housewife, looking pretty and pampered and tan, like he wants.

he doesn’t like waking you up early when he’s leaving for the day. you used to set your alarm to get up and drink coffee with him but he’s started turning it off—you don’t have any reason to be up that early.

sweet and always compliant, you do as he says, sleeping in. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead in the morning before he leaves, day filled with meetings and business things that he doesn’t always tell you about in detail. you just know that he’s gone.

“stoppin’ by barry’s and then the club with kelce. we’re playing golf with-” you listen to rafe while he puts on his watch and his rings, but you drift off half way through. you feel the warm press of his lips on your skin and the sound of him saying goodbye.

you’re not sure when it happened—you used to get up early and get ready for the day, filling your summer days with friends at the beach and your books by the pool and never going more than an hour alone. but now that you’re with rafe, it’s so easy to sit around and wait for him. you don’t even want to see anyone, you just want the hours to pass until he’s back.

maybe it’s not healthy. you don’t really care much even if it’s not.

you fall back asleep, and wake up when the sun is pouring in between rafe’s dark curtains. you stretch and debate going downstairs to eat something, but after brushing your teeth you crawl back into rafe’s bed. the sheets smell like him and you stare awfully long at the pillow he sleeps on. shifting the pillow to lay on it, you fall back asleep, not waking up until you hear the door to his room open.

rubbing your eyes, you glance up, hoping it’s not ward looking for him since you’re just in one of rafe’s shirts and nothing else, but the shape in front of you gets closer and clearer.

“what’s this? been in bed all day, kid?” you yawn again.

“what time is it?” you question, laying back down against rafe’s pillow.

“two in the afternoon.” he comes and sits by the edge, stroking your hair while you melt into his touch. “got any plans to get up today?” you shake your head.

“your bed’s comfy. and it smells like you.”

“that’s cute, kid. gotta get up eventually.”

“you’ll have to make me.”

“that can be arranged.” you giggle, lifting yourself up to give rafe a hug, head resting on his shoulder. "but i like you like this. don't have to lift a finger, do'ya?"

“no," you agree, nodding your head. maybe you could get used to this. "missed you.”

“i’m back now. nothin’ to miss.”

“i still do.” rafe presses another kiss to your forehead, and you nestle in further. “i could fall asleep like this.”

“yeah, no.” in one motion he scoops you up, placing you on your feet. you yelp in surprise, fighting against his grip.

"i'm still tired! i thought you wanted to spoil me, this isn't spo-"

“shut up. c’mon, we’re gonna go shower.” that shuts you up right away. 

“okay,” you sing sweetly, suddenly compliant. 

“yeah, i knew you'd get out of bed for some dick. little freak.”

[uwtloml]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄 - 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈

Ѽ 𝘤𝘸: 𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨), 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘷𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, (𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱)

The sound of talking and music filled your ears as you stood watching Mina and Kirishima play beer pong. Denki had barely left your side since the two of you arrived, always making sure to keep a firm hand secured on your waist.

You could feel him pressed up against your back, gently rubbing his hand on your hip. Suddenly, you felt his warm breath against the side as he leaned in towards you.

“Wanna sneak away for a bit?” he whispered into your ear. Without hesitation, you nodded. He smiled in response, “Come on.” Denki moved a hand to your lower back, and began to guide you through the crowd.

Your heart pounded with anticipation as he flashed you a mischievous smile, his eyes glittering with excitement beneath the fake fangs he wore. “Think they’ll notice we’re gone?” you asked, a playful tone in your voice as you glanced back at your friends.

“Not a chance,” Denki grinned, pulling you closer against him, and grabbing both of your hands to hold in his own. “Besides, I think we deserve a little fun of our own, don’t you?” His words sent a shiver down your spine, feeling your panties grow wet.

Away from the noise and the prying eyes, it was just the two of you, desperate for each other. You could feel yourself getting hot in anticipation. Denki led you through the dimly lit hallway, his fingers tracing light circles over your hand, making your skin tingle. The two of you passed by a few occupied rooms before you finally reached a secluded corner, a small guest room with the door slightly ajar. The faint glow of the moon seeped in through the window, casting soft shadows across the floor. It was quiet, the loud noises of the party now a distant hum, and the tension between you two was evident.

Denki turned to face you, his grin widening as he gently pressed you against the wall, his playful energy now mixed with something a little more serious. “You look incredible tonight,” he murmured. His eyes scanned over your costume, appreciating every detail, every curve. “I honestly don’t know how I’ve lasted this long without stealing you away.” He let out a laugh.

You laughed softly, your heartbeat quickening. “You’re one to talk. You look so fucking good as a vampire.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing just beneath your ear, sending a shiver through you. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re alone now, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, and you could feel the electricity in the air; both figuratively and literally, as small, harmless sparks danced off his fingertips where they touched your waist. You could tell he was holding back, trying to be playful but eager all the same.

He quickly captured your lips with his own. The kiss was hot, sloppy, both of you equally as needy. He pulled away from your lips, moving down towards your jaw. You let out a breathy moan, feeling your pulse quicken as Denki’s lips trailed lower, brushing along your jawline. His hands, still sparking with faint electric sparks, slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer to him. You tilted your head back slightly, as he started to lightly suck on your neck.

“God, I love you” He murmured into your skin, opening his mouth to gently bite your skin. The feeling of his fake fangs your mind go blank, moaning even louder now. “Fuck did you like that?” The smile was evident in his voice. You grabbed his shoulders, pushing him off of you.

“I need you, now.” You grabbed him by his shirt, and pulled him towards the bed. The two of you quickly laid down, Denki positioned in between your legs.

“Let me taste you, please baby.” He begged, spreading your legs wider.

“Denki please.” You whined.

“That’s my girl, I’ve been wanting to see what’s under this costume all night,” sliding off your panties and pressing a soft kiss to your clit before wasting no time, beginning to lap at your folds. Your hands immediately found their way to his hair, lightly tugging on the roots.

“Oh my god.” You moaned in pleasure. His tongue moved quickly, fingers digging into your legs to keep them spread. Muffled groans could be heard spilling out of Denki’s mouth as he started to suck on your clit.

Your back arched off the bed, pressing your pussy against his face even further. His mouth felt unreal against your soaking core. Your pleasure was growing an overwhelming amount, fingers tugging even harder at his hair. “Denki, I don-, don’t know how much longer I can last.” You cried out.

“I know, baby.” He moaned out, face red and his chin covered in your slick. He brought his thumb to rub on your clit, shoving his tongue into your hole. “‘M gonna use my electricity.”

You barely had time to even acknowledge him before small sparks started coursing through your body. You let out what was almost a scream, as your legs started to shake uncontrollably. The pressure in your stomach was quickly growing “Cum for me please, please, please.”

He moved his thumb faster, trying to bring you to your high. His tongue was moving at a rapid pace, licking your walls intensely.

Your eyes began rolling back as you continued to let out moans. Denki gave one last spark to your clit. “Fuck, Denk-” was all you could let out before you started to orgasm.

Your vision was blurring as you arched off the bed. Denki let out a loud moan, before suddenly pulling away from you. Both of your bodies were covered in sweat as you began to breathe out trying to catch your breath. It remained silent as you came down before Denki broke the silence

“Holy shit, I didn’t know you could squirt.” Denki let out a breathy laugh.

You immediately shot up from your position on the bed, seeing your boyfriend smiling, fangs prominent, with your liquid covering his chin. You brought your hands up to your face, closing your legs. “Stoppp, don’t be embarrassed that was so hot.” Standing up, he made his way over to you and positioned himself next to you.

“No, that’s so embarrassing.” You whined, scooting away from him. He moved closer to you in response, running his fingers along your back.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I came in my pants.”

[princessbrunette]

feel like bunny!reader would get so deep in subspace cause rafe was gone all day that she is BEGGING HIM to put the pink bunny tail plug in and he’s just like 😟😟

౨ৎ🐰 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

rafe is instantly on edge when he arrives home and hears you sniffling.

he had been handling business all day, going from investor to investor, meeting to meeting. he didn’t like that he had to leave you alone, and not because you missed having eachother around, no — he was a grown man, he could handle that. he didn’t like not being around incase something happened to you. he’d get so paranoid that sometimes he’d even send topper, or someone of the same genre to check on you, make sure everything was okay at tannyhill.

the sound of you sniffling sadly made alarm bells ring in his head, and he set down his briefcase of money and pushed his way into your bedroom— nearly jumping when you ran straight into him in the doorway, manicured nails struggling to keep ahold on his shirt.

“hey, talk. why are you crying?” he pulls you back urgently, needing to get to the nitty gritty of the problem so that he could fix it as fast as possible. if someone had made you cry, he would be out that door in a moments notice.

“couldn’t— couldn’t do it!” you warble, now pressing your wet cheek to his chest for comfort. he peels you away, hands on your shoulders as he frowns.

“do what? i need details here, kid— m’not a mind reader.”

you let out another cry and force yourself to stand back, pointing pathetically towards the bed. on his sheets lays your buttplug, the pink fluffy tail of it a lonesome puff on the large sleeping space with the metal end lubed up, sat alone. “want it in.” when you speak next, your voice rasps brokenly, projecting you no more above a whisper. his shoulders relax as he exhales, the slight panic of seeing you so upset leaving him.

“you know you really scared me, dumbass. get on the bed. on your belly.” he flicks his arm out in a point before pinching at his nose bridge, letting you scramble to lay on your front with your dress flipped up. he lazily drops onto one knee on the mattress, your body bouncing slightly with his weight and he yanks your dress higher. “you couldn’t get it in? that’s the problem?” he lifts the plug, inspecting it before pulling your ass cheek apart, tapping your thigh. “c’mon, open these.” he adds in a murmur and you oblige, still sniffling as you spread your legs on request.

“s’too hard.” you continue to cry, frustrated with your attempts.

“okay, okay. relax, yeah? you—you got me now, daddies here.” you feel the cool plug press to your puckered hole and you squirm with a mewl, not expecting it. “relax, i said.” he presses a spare hand to your lower back and you do, but you cry all the same.

as soon as he pushes it in, you go limp— letting out a sleepy hum as he makes sure it’s in properly. “there. jesus, all that fuss for what, huh?”

you sniff, pushing up shakily onto your hands as you try and help yourself up. “just needed—”

“just needed daddy to get you right, yeah i know. do everything around here, don’t i?” you hear his tone lighten up just a tad, pulling your elbow so you wind up on his chest, head resting beneath his chin. he doesn’t say anything for a bit, just lets your breathing regulate.

“gotta stop scaring me like that, alright? when you cry i—i don’t know what to think.”

“sorry, just can’t think properly when i miss you.” you slur, rubbing your cheek against him as if collecting his warmth.

“mm,” he hums and the rumble is deep against your ear. “thats that fuckin’ bunny brain right there. right?” he taps the side of your head with the back of his knuckle like he’s knocking and you nod. “lucky i do all the thinking for the two of us so shit always works out.”

౨ৎ🐰 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[darknight3904]

You're a Liar

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋᴇʟᴇᴛᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ' ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴛ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ / ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ / ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ (ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ʙᴀᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ)

ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ꜱᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ. ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴛᴅ ꜱᴏ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ/ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ʀᴏᴛ.

Mornings might just be your favorite time of day. The way the sun just barely peaked through the curtains and shimmered its way across the bedspread made your shared room with Coriolanus look simply divine.

Mornings might just be your favorite time of day. The delicious scent of bacon and freshly cooked pancakes wafted through the mansion and under your closed door. The promise of fresh orange juice and perfectly hot coffee was enough to rouse anyone from their slumber.

Mornings might just be your favorite time of day. Coriolanus is still asleep beside you. Curly hair is splayed on the pillow, free from whatever styling gel he put in it. His face is relaxed and peaceful as you run your fingertips across his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. The stress of being president is gone from his face when he sleeps and that's how you know, mornings are your favorite time of day.

"I can feel you staring at me."

His voice was still muddled with sleep, deep and scratchy as he batted at your hands trying to keep them off his gorgeous face.

"I'm appreciating the art in front of me," You smile as he finally opens his eyes.

"Your hands on my face are making my nose itch." He says grabbing your right hand and gently squeezing it as he sits up beside you.

You hum a tune of acknowledgment and take in his appearance. Coriolanus' pale skin was a wonderful sight to behold as the blanket slipped and fell into his lap.

"You're staring again." He says playing with your fingers

"An incredibly attractive man seems to be missing his shirt, can you blame me for staring?" You state a playful smile pulling on your lips.

Coriolanus lets out a snort and gets out of bed with a grunt. Long red scratches adorn his back as you watch your fiancee walk across the room towards the bathroom, ready to scrub last night's activities off himself.

Yes, mornings were your favorite time of day. You had warm sunshine, delicious food, and Coriolanus by your side.

But, most of all, mornings were your favorite because you weren't alone.

Coriolanus never truly wanted to leave the bedroom he shared with you. Even now as you groaned and begged him to just lounge around the mansion with you, he wished he could go back to when he felt your soft fingertips brushing the bridge of his nose. He had woken up beside you, cleaned himself, and eaten a wonderful breakfast, now the next step was simple. The next step was attending to his duties as the President of Panem and leaving you to your day in the south wing of the mansion. Despite the tempting idea of staying with you, he knew you'd be eagerly awaiting him, tonight at the dinner table, ready to listen about his day. It was the perfect daily routine and Coriolanus never wanted it to change.

He could feel the press of your lips on his lingering hours later as the newest Head Gamemaker listed detailed plans for the games that were two months away. Dr. Gaul's death had been a blow to the way the Hunger Games functioned as a whole. Now, Coriolanus wasn't sure if the new man chosen for the job was truly the correct choice, he didn't have any of the ruthlessness Gaul had. Sure, he could've stepped in but how would he run the country and dream up deadly traps and mutts for tributes. Sure, he probably could've but that meant so many hours of overtime and leaving you to sleep alone in those overly soft sheets you had hand-picked for your shared bed. This new game maker would just have to do, he didn't want to imagine your sad little face if he didn't sit down for dinner with you each night.

The hours after Coriolanus left you at the breakfast table were terribly boring. There wasn't anything for you to do anymore.Sure, you could've gone shopping or gone to a local park but you hated doing all those things alone. Coriolanus had convinced you that running your Father's weapons company would be overwhelming for you and managed it in your name. As far as you knew it was doing well and was providing many jobs for people in the districts. Everything else in the mansion was tended to by an army of maids and butlers, who were ready at the snap of a finger. So, here you sat in your sunroom that Coriolanus had built as a special place just for you.

You had taken up painting nearly a year ago but your long days of solitude had caused you to quickly run out of inspiration. Now, the paints and easel sat, awaiting your touch but your creativity was gone. You missed Coriolanus and he wouldn't return for another hour. Surely dinner was nearly ready and you wished you were sitting with him, listening to whatever he had spent his day doing. Perhaps you should start a new book before he returns. That'd give you something to tell him about when he did come back.

Maybe the extensive in-home library here would have a book about a lonely woman, wishing for her lover. Maybe there'd be a book all about her and how she spent her days without him and how to pass the time. Maybe, there'd be a book all about her mornings with him and how she never wished for them to come to an end.

It was during these long days that you felt like the loneliest woman in all of Panem. Moments like this made it feel like you were a delicate china doll, only removed from her case to be admired for a few spare moments before being placed back on her shelf.

Two Years Later

Watching. It was something you had gotten good at over the past few months, especially since Coriolanus stopped allowing you to leave the grounds of the mansion. You watched as the boy you grew up with and danced at countless galas faded from view. You tried to welcome the man who sat across from you eating his dinner but it was had more and more difficult as the weeks bled into months and months turned to years. Coriolanus even seldom kissed you now. It hurt even though you knew it was for your own safety. He had admitted it one night in the darkness of your room as he lay beside you. Poison had created sensitive sores in his mouth. You wished he'd stop using it, surely there had to be other ways to do away with enemies.

You felt as though you were withering away, your days were so tedious and you often found yourself eagerly waiting at the dinner table for Coriolanus. Your long days were spent in isolation and you rarely spoke to the staff of the mansion. That didn't stop you from racing to the dining room when the sounds of Coriolanus' return sounded through the halls. Some days it felt like you were a child waiting to tell their parent about their day.

Tonight, it was like your words were falling on deaf ears as Coriolanus was paging through a book while nibbling at the food that had been placed in front of the two of you. Your engagement ring was a dazzling silver as you played with your fingers, wishing he'd look up from whatever knowledge that book might've held.

"Coryo..." You began

"Yes?"

His tone wasn't what you had hoped for. He was annoyed that you were interrupting whatever was on the page in front of him so you didn't elaborate on what you had wanted to say.

Watching. It was something you had gotten good at since there wasn't anything else for you to do.

It was raining the day you found them. You had spent most of the day lounging around and working with the wedding planner Coriolanus had hired so you wouldn't have to do all of the work yourself.

It was nestled in an old shoe box, covered in dust, perfectly hidden behind Coriolanus' clothes on his side of the closet. At first, you had thought it might have been more of Sejanus' things that Coriolanus never gave back to Strabo. Instead what you were met with was worse than a dead boy's things. There, wrapped up in a silky orange scarf sat a single golden earring and an envelope. You swore you could smell lingering perfume on the scarf as you opened the envelope.

It felt like your hands were burning when you finally looked at them. Surely they weren't real. Right?

Two pictures sat in your hands. One of Lucy Gray Baird on some unknown stage, a black guitar in hand. Her pretty dark curls were pulled back and behind her a small group of blurry faces were muddled together, unrecognizable due to the poor lighting. You felt a lump of anxiety and anger swell in your throat when you moved on to the next picture. It was taken as if the subjects of the photo had no knowledge of the camera. Lucy Gray sits on a dilapidated-looking couch with your Coriolanus beside her. Her face was partially obscured as she pressed her lips to his cheek and Coriolanus was smiling, his one arm wrapped securely around her waist.

How long had it been since he smiled like that at you? Perhaps it was even before the reaping that had brought her to the Capitol. When was the last time you saw a truly genuine smile from the boy you grew up with? You wondered how you had missed the way his boyish smiles had transformed into those cruel smirks he donned when things went his way.

Jealousy and sadness burned in your stomach as your mind raced. How long had it been since these photos were taken? It had been nearly 7 years since her games. Coriolanus' head was clearly buzzed in the photo with Lucy which meant it was after he was forced by Highbottom to leave the Capitol. How many times after his return to you had he assured you that nothing had happened between them? How many times had you believed him and his sweet words and actions? How many times had he lied and betrayed you all for another girl who mysteriously disappeared?

Betrayal is what you felt as you pocketed the pictures and slid the box back into its spot behind his fancy coats. Tears were pricking at your eyes as you dressed for dinner, Coriolanus would be back soon and you would confront him about the pictures once he was seated across from you at that dinner table you had sat at hundreds of times.

Dinner is silent as you pick at the cut of steak that was placed on your plate. Coriolanus is talking about how he's on the hunt for another head game maker and how annoying it is but you just can't help but not care. The table that separates you from him makes it feel like a huge ravine has grown between the two of you as you tune him out.

15 years is how long you've known Coriolanus Snow. In those 15 years, you had never dreamed of doing what you were about to do as you removed the pictures from where they sat hidden under your pretty skirt, a floral pattern Coriolanus had picked for your 27th birthday a few months ago. Your heart ached as you slid them across the table to him.

"I found these today. In our closet. Wrapped in your mother's scarf with a gold earring."

You finally have all of Coriolanus' attention as he swallows his food and stops his complaining.

"I thought you said it wasn't romantic. You promised me it wasn't."

Coriolanus glances down at the pictures and reaches out to brush his finger across the one with him and Lucy Gray on that couch.

"You promised, Coryo."

Your voice was breaking. Damn it, don't cry!

"I know I did."

He finally speaks. You wondered what was going through that ridiculously complex mind as he fumbled for his words.

"Then why did you lie? I would've listened if you had just told the truth to begin with." You honestly say.

It's true, you would've heard him out. Maybe you wouldn't have taken him back but you would have at least listened.

"I wasn't thinking straight, okay," He says " I should've told you. I should've gotten rid of that stuff years ago. I don't know why I didn't."

"Yes, you do." You sigh "You love her Coryo. Even now, you're looking for Lucy Gray. That's why you keep me here, you're scared I'll run off like her."

"No, no that's not it. I just...want you to myself." He reasoned

"If that were true you'd let me leave."

"Why do you need to? Everything anyone could ever wish for is right here in this home." He points out, you don't miss the way his fist is clenching, his nails digging into his skin.

"I haven't left the mansion in two years!" You cry, blinking back tears "I feel like some prize you've won and caged up! You don't even let me attend galas anymore."

"You hated those galas. All the nosey reporters and their questions were something you hated. Do you want me to apologize for doing you a favor? I won't. I've done nothing but make your life easier." Coriolanus says

"Yes, you have made my life easier, you've eliminated all challenges I might come across by keeping me here, like a doll." You agree, tone dripping with sarcasm

"Look, if you want you can go to the next gala with me. It's in a week I'll get a designer here tomorrow morning to make you a nice dress." Coriolanus sighed, clearly tired "I don't want to argue with you about petty things"

"Good, then we can argue about these photos." You say, ready to finally hear what he had to say.

"I don't love her. Maybe I did at some point but none of that matters now, I came back to you didn't I?"

Maybe I did at some point.

Hot tears fell from your eyes as you looked down at your feet. How could you be so stupid? Why didn't you see it sooner?

The sound of Coriolanus getting up and walking towards you had you wiping at your face and unattractively sniffing as you tried to fix your runny nose. You didn't want him taking your tears as a sign of weakness. He couched down beside you and pulled your chair out so you were facing him.

"Stop crying." He commands placing his hands on your thighs.

Another fresh set of tears falls from your eyes and Coriolanus brushes them away.

"You're a liar." You say, your voice barely a whisper

"I'm not...I want to be here, with you. I'll let you go back out on your little shopping trips and attend galas, shitty reporters and all."

It's tempting, to agree and let everything perfectly mend itself. But as you glance at the pictures that fell off the table and Lucy Gray's face stares back at you, you feel your heart sink to your feet again.

"You're a liar." You say, this time your voice comes out strong as you push his warm hands from your face

Coriolanus gives you a hard stare but lets you pull away from him.

"You can't even apologize for seeing her." You point out

Coriolanus looks guilty as he disgests your words.

"What happened between the two of you?" You asked

"She ran off, I think. I also had some personal issues after Sejanus was killed. She offered for me to go with her, I almost did." He says

You let out a soft hum of acknowledgment as Coriolanus remains in front of you, on his knees, fiddling with the end of your skirt.

"I don't think I ever really loved her. I think it might've just been the idea of possessing her that I liked." He admits, eyes on the floor

"And how is that different than us now?" You ask

Coriolanus' eyes snap up to yours when the question leaves your lips.

"It's different because...we're us...We grew up together, darling. You ate Tigris' cabbage soup and gave me lunch when I didn't have money for my own."

You swallow the lump in your throat and stand up. Coriolanus immediately rises, not interested in being so much shorter than you. You know what has to come next but you're not sure if you're strong enough to do it. Your actions will close the chapter of a book 15 years in the making.

"Coryo...I think I want to go home." You say looking up at him, fresh tears pool in your eyes.

"You are home. You're with me." He says reaching out and taking your hand in his

"No, I mean...to my family's home. I want my mom, I miss her." You admit, pulling your hand out of his.

Coriolanus' face is confused as you look down at the gorgeous ring he gave you at his proposal. It looked so perfect on your hand when you woke up just this morning but now it felt like a death sentence as you sighed.

"I think you should have this back too..." You say as you slip it off and hold it out to him, "I'm sorry about things ending like this, but if you can't even apologize, I don't think I can stay."

Coriolanus' confusion quickly morphs into anger as he looks at the ring in your hand.

"Put it back on. I'm not letting you walk away." He says, upset

"Coryo, don't make this difficult." You say taking the ring and placing it into the pocket that sits just above his heart in his button-up shirt.

You begin to walk towards the looming archway that marks the entrance to the dining room but you're blocked by an angry Coriolanus Snow, tears in his eyes, fists clenched, and his mouth set in a cold line.

"You're not leaving. I won't let you."

Part Four

Series Masterlist

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[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[josephandrewstarkey]

surprise!!

warnings: 18+ minors DNI!! smut, p in v sex, cussing

words: 1.3k

❦ drew starkey x actress reader

Drew stepped into the apartment, juggling a couple of grocery bags as he kicked the door shut behind him. My heart pounded in my chest as I stayed hidden just around the corner, watching him. He looked tired but focused, likely thinking about the premiere of ‘Queer’ coming up next week. My excitement grew, knowing he had no idea I was here.

As he set the bags on the counter, a small smile tugged at my lips. I’d been waiting months for this—planning everything down to the last detail to surprise him. Drew thought I wouldn’t be back for another month because of filming, but I’d lied. I had only been gone for three months, not four. All this time, I was dying to tell him that I’d be home in time for his big moment, but I wanted it to be perfect.

The moment he turned around and spotted me, I saw his face freeze in shock. His eyes went wide, his lips parting as if he couldn’t believe I was real.

“Baby,” I said softly, my voice warm and full of affection. “i missed you.”

The grocery bags fell from his hands, apples and cans rolling across the floor. But Drew didn’t seem to notice or care. He just stood there, staring at me for a heartbeat before rushing toward me in a blur of movement.

Before I knew it, his arms were around my waist, lifting me off the ground as he spun me around. The sound of his laughter against my neck sent warmth through my body. He set me down,“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion as his lips brushed against mine between words. “I thought you were filming for another month.”

I giggled, keeping close to him, letting my hands rest on his cheeks. “Yeah, I lied,” I admitted, seeing the surprise still dancing in his eyes. “I wanted to surprise you. You didn’t think I’d leave you alone on your big day, did you?”

“What?” He blinked, trying to process my words, still visibly shocked.

I grinned. “I’m coming with you to Italy! Luca and your manager have known all along. I planned it out with them. I couldn’t miss it, not for anything.”

For a moment, Drew stood there, speechless, his hands gently cupping my face as he pressed his forehead against mine. His gaze was filled with love and disbelief. “You…you did all this?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, my fingers lightly tracing his jawline. “Everyone knew except you. I wanted it to be a surprise. I wasn’t going to let you walk that red carpet without me.”

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded full of relief and amazement. “I was already telling everyone you weren’t going to make it,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “I was so bummed about it.”

I chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Well, you can stop telling people now.”

Before I could pull away, Drew kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands pulling me closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The feeling of his lips against mine was intoxicating, and I melted into him, my arms wrapping around his neck. His warmth surrounded me, filling the void that had been left during the time we spent apart.

When we finally broke the kiss, Drew kept his forehead against mine, his hands gently running up and down my sides. “God, I missed you. You don’t even know,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with emotion.

“I missed you too,” I whispered, brushing my thumb along his cheek. “I hated being away for so long.”

He glanced around the room for a moment, his eyes soft as they took in our apartment. “And everything’s already arranged? The flight, the hotel…all of it?”

I nodded with a smile. “yes baby all of it” i replied. “perfect” he muttered

— As we sank onto the couch, Drew’s hands roamed over my body with an urgency that spoke of the longing we had both felt. His touch was tender yet insistent, exploring every curve, every inch of skin that he had missed. I responded with a soft moan, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands as they slid under my shirt. as he started kneading my flesh “drew” i moaned

His lips traveled from my mouth to my neck, and each kiss elicited a shiver from me. My breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as his fingers traced a path up my back. I could feel the intensity of his desire in the way he pressed his body against mine, the heat and need palpable between us.

Our moans filled the space around us, mingling in a symphony of pleasure as Drew’s hands slid up to cup my face. He guided me into a deep, passionate kiss, our tongues dancing together as we lost ourselves in the sensation. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of us wrapped in each other’s embrace.

I felt him shudder as he explored the sensitive areas of my skin, and I responded with soft, pleading sounds. His fingers found the curve of my waist, pulling me closer as our bodies pressed together. The intensity of our connection grew with each touch, each kiss, each whispered breath.

I started unbuckling his belt, trying to get his jeans off. He laughed at my actions “You’re needy huh?” i grinned “shut up and take this off.” “anything for you baby.” he said while taking off his jeans, while i was undressing myself as well. He lined his cock at my entrance “Are you on the pill baby?” he asked “Yeah, got on it a few days ago.” i answered. “Good girl.” he smiled while slowly sliding into my cunt. I moaned— ‘Shit, baby you feel so good.’ he teased as he slowly started moving.

My hands gripping onto his biceps as he started going harder. “fuck— drew faster!” i screamed. He groaned at my words, slapping into me while rubbing my clit. “You like that baby, huh? You missed this dick?” he whispered in my ear. “Yes!” i screamed once again. “That’s what i thought, you gonna cum for me baby?” — i nodded, biting my lips while looking into his eyes. “Fuck—shit keep looking at me like that baby. Look at how i’m fucking this pussy”

I struggled keeping my eyes open. My mind fuzzy and head spinning— “I’m gonna cum drew don’t stop!” i screamed in pleasure. “C’mon baby cum for me.” he muttered while slapping my clit.

I screamed his name while i came, eyes rolling to the back of my head and my mouth falling wide open. Body numb while drew was still pushing into me making himself cum aswell. He pulled out, his seed dripping out of my pussy.

As Drew lay on top of you, your breaths mingling together, the room was filled with a serene silence. You gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, smiling as he looked up at you with a soft, contented expression. "That was incredible," he murmured, his voice tender. You nodded, running your fingers lightly across his back. "It really was," you whispered back, feeling a warm, comforting closeness as you both simply enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the moment.

@rafedarling you wanted some drew fics!! more coming up