#and she asks me like “have you ever attempted’

[caramelkoo]

kiss me? jjk.

the one with gentle hands and endless kisses

genre : husband!jungkook, "i can do it myself"!reader, "i know, but let me do it for you"!jungkook

warnings : fluff, more fluff, brief smut, words of affirmation as love language, jungkook takes care of her, oc is so relatable i cried, jungkook being the best husband ever. let me know if i missed something.

a/n : hello besties, here's a little fluffy ☁️ gift for you since im obsessed with husband koo. tysm for loving my previous writings im beyond grateful. the fact that people out there are reading what i write is making me jump from happiness. enjoy and you're loved.

"There she is, my favorite girl" Jungkook's plasters a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His sweaty body connecting with your freshly showered one but you don't mind. Not when the first thing he says is that you're his favorite girl after his early morning gym session. The phrase never fails to make you turn red.

Last night Jungkook had briefly mentioned his wish to have chocolate covered strawberries because apparently, the ones you make are his absolute favorite. So here you were, making chocolate covered strawberries for him.

"I missed you" he lifts himself up on the hard counter and leans back on his palms. He attempts to dip his index finger into the melted chocolate but you swat his hand away.

"You were literally gone for two hours and get down the counter, Jungkook!!!! You're all sweaty" you warn him.

"But you like me sweaty" he gives you the same look he hits you with when you don't let him eat the last piece of pizza. Pouty and adorable.

"No doubt about it but I'll have to clean it again, honey." when the look doesn't leave his face you speak again.

"Okay if you get down now, I'll let you fuck me in the shower" you've barely even finished the remark before he hops off the counter and runs towards the bathroom.

"I HAVE THE BEST WIFE EVER" his voice trails off.

Knowing the fact that he'll not let you live it down if you don't live up to your words, you wipe your hands and join him in the shower. You let him eat you out under the cold water and then pound into you as you struggle to keep your knees from giving out.

The loud sneeze echoes through the room as you wipe your nose which now feels like the 50th time. Tiring.

When you came out of the shower you were perfectly fine. When your nose started stinging, you didn't think much of it then too. Before you knew it, you were sneezing three times in a row with a fever which only keeps getting worse.

Jungkook had immediately wrapped you up in a fluffy blanket and asked you to take a nap as he cooks some porridge for you. At the risk of sounding selfish, whenever you're sick you're tend to crave his closeness more and more. You hate it though, you know it puts him at the risk of sickness but you can't help it. He looks cozy and so so comfy, you just want to snuggle with him and doze off.

After all, he's your safe place, your own personal haven with a gorgeous smile and warm embrace and he's well aware of the fact that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself when you're sick, perfectly capable of running yourself a bath when you want to, skilled enough to wear that piece of jewellery around your neck.

However, he'd still run a bath for you with rose petals and scented candles, still ask you to lift your hair up when he clicks the pendant close before placing a kiss at the nape of your neck, still cook for you when you're sick and kiss you goodnight before he takes you in his arms and falls into deep slumber, still whisper into the darkness that he wishes he could take away all your pain upon himself thinking you're fast asleep.

Just like now as he places the tray, the bowl of porridge on top of it alongside your medicines, a glass of water and gummy bears because he knows that you're not fond of the bitter aftertaste of the medicines.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he touches your clammy forehead before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Feeling any better, love?"

When you shake your head, his eyebrows crinkle in worry.

"I feel like throwing up but when I try nothing comes out" your lips open with a sigh.

His face gets remarkably worried. Not like he's wearing any other expression ever since you've started sniffing and stifling. You feel like shit. Earlier in the morning he's informed you about Namjoon's house warming party and was so excited to visit his best friend. Now he has to stay here and take care of your sick self when he should be with him, having the time of his life.

"I'm sorry you couldn't go to the party" your voice is brittle and you stop yourself from breaking down right there.

"Honey no, you're more important to me than any fucking party. Are you crazy? Besides, he would have poked my eyeballs out had I gone there and told him I left you here, sick and all by yourself."

The kiss that he places on your forehead is soft and tender causing you to close your eyes and bask in the love behind it.

"C'mon, get up and eat something. You'll feel so much better with your tummy full."

When you find it hard to get up all by yourself, you know it's more than just a cold now. You feel a headache coming.

Jungkook helps you sit up against the headboard as he picks up the bowl, taking a spoonful of porridge and holding it out for you to eat.

Your lips quiver and a sob threatens to break out, you hang your head low so he can't see the tears forming behind your droopy eyes but fail when your chest shakes with a sob.

Jungkook panics, quickly placing the bowl on the tray beside him, "Hey, what's going on? What's happening?"

You face him and open your arms, "Can you hold me for a while?" You're crying now. Tears stream down your face as your nose stings even more.

He wastes no time to take you in his arms, hands rubbing your back and then holding the back of your head as if he's cradling a baby. Holding you oh so gently like you might break and maybe you will. Maybe you will break because of how overwhelmed you are and how lousy you feel.

"It's alright, honey. Cry all you want, I'll hold you."

So you do, letting your head fall on his shoulder you cry out all the emotions you're feeling hoping you'd feel lighter by the time you're done. You're thankful for his silence. He understands, he always does and you understand him in return.

Your husband's hands don't stop moving for once. Constantly rubbing your back, running through your hair, gently massaging the back of your neck to release any tension. It's so funny how a tattooed hand like that which might look intimidating to strangers can be so soft and tender for you. For everyone in general, Jungkook is indeed the most gentle person you've ever known.

After what feels like eternity, you lift your head and break the hug. You lean back against the headboard as he speaks.

"Do you wanna tell me what caused that?" he asks in a careful voice.

You're still not in the space to talk so you shake your head and say, "Maybe later?"

"Whenever you feel like it, I'm here. But I wanna say something and I want you to listen carefully alright?" he waits for your nod before continuing,

"When we were about to get married, I had a chat with your father. He told me that you have a tendency to feel like a liability on people and you beat yourself up over somebody taking care of you, doing things for you, showing up for you because you'd rather do them by yourself. And then I promised him something. I promised him that I'll do anything, and I mean anything to not make you feel like that. I will manage to eat three bites less but I will never let you sleep with an empty stomach."

He kisses the back of your hands as you sniffle, scared that the tears might come back.

"So when I do things like this for you, skip my best friend's house warming party for you or doing anything for you for that matter, It's not because you're a burden. It's because you're mine and you'd do the same for me. I want to take care of you, honey. I like to. I love you the most _____, you're my everything and I can't fucking breathe when you're suffering like this."

Well fuck, the tears are back.

"Now, finish this and let me hold you to sleep" he helps you eat the porridge before you gulp down the medicines. The gummy bears follow.

With his help you lie back down on the bed as he saunters back to the kitchen, promising you to be back soon.

You're not surprised Jungkook knew the reason you broke down. You wouldn't expect any less from him and as always he has a way of making you feel loved and mattered with his words. Your husband is a gift and you want this particular gift in all your lifetimes, in every form.

He comes back with a bottle of water in his hand. He places it on the nightstand and joins you on the bed.

You stop him with a hand on his chest when he drops his head down to kiss you on the lips.

"You're gonna catch a cold" you warn.

"As if I care. Please baby, let me kiss you. You know I can't sleep without kissing you goodnight"

The chuckle that leaves you makes Jungkook's whole face light up.

"Only if you let me trace your tattoos"

"I promise" he says with the softest smile on his face.

Pouting your lips, you invite him for a kiss which he gladly places on your lip. His pillowy ones lingering for some seconds before pulling away. He kisses your cheeks next, your temples, your nose, your jaw and then finally, both of your eyes which were now damp from all the crying. Although, that didn't seem to bother him.

"I love kissing you"

When he plops back down on the bed, he pulls your entire body on top of his with your head tucked into the crook of his neck. He feels so warm and cozy, you never want to let go. He would be fine with that too.

"Honey?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you so fucking much. Let's make a baby when you get better"

"I love you too, husband. I wouldn't mind having a little one like you"

[hgfictionwriter]

Self Control: Part Ten - Setback

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie suffers an injury during a game and has to navigate balancing her recovery and caring for you. She feels helpless as she tries to step up for you, but can't the way she wants to.

Warnings: Language. Slight angst.

A/N: Inspired by poor Jessie's injury during the Olympics. And everyone please knock on wood I'm not putting some bad mojo out there with this. Oh, and in this world Janine is still a Thorn 🙏 Rest of the series is here.

"-and Fleming is down. Oh, that looked like a hard hit. She's moving, but she's not getting up."

Football was a physical sport. She'd seen far too many friends ushered off the pitch to never fully, or sometimes even ever, return. She'd been extraordinarily lucky that she'd been more or less injury-free her career. However, sometimes she did take a few knocks.

Normally, she was most worried about the team anytime she was injured; that she was letting them down. But as you held her hand while she sat on the examination table in the medical assessment room, your eyes filled with concern and worry - at least for the short amounts of time she could manage to look at you; even with dimmed lights it was too damn bright - she felt most guilty about you.

"I'm confident we're looking at a Grade 2 concussion here," the team doctor said. "I'm not worried that we're into severe or Grade 3 territory. Y/N, I'm going to ask that you help monitor Jessie's symptoms and recovery over the next couple of weeks. If repeat vomiting occurs, extensive dizziness, or she's having prolonged confusion or headaches aren't improving, please contact me immediately."

Jessie had her eyes screwed shut. She tried to focus on her breathing and keeping herself steady as she attempted to will away the incessant pounding in her head. She opened them as the doctor finished speaking to see you nodding eagerly. Your eyes were trained on the woman before glancing back at Jessie and lifting her hand to give it a quick kiss.

"For the next couple of days - lots of rest. That means physical and mental. Very limited reading and screen time. And you're going to be really sensitive to lights and sounds, so a dark and quiet environment is best.

"Days three and four, you can start some light physical or mental activities again. Short, non-strenuous walks, for example. But listen to your body. Days five to seven, you can increase things a bit more, but-"

"We're moving in less than two weeks," Jessie interjected, wincing as she opened her eyes once more to look at the doctor. The doctor, who she knew well, gave her a look of warning, knowing where this was going.

"You should not be packing or moving furniture in two weeks," the doctor said firmly. "You can take on some light packing maybe 7-10 days from now, but carrying heavy boxes is out of the question."

Jessie shook her head and regretted it immediately, wincing sharply this time, a hand flying up to her temple as she grimaced in pain. Your hand came to her shoulder and she sat very still as she rode out a wave of pain.

"We'll hire packers," you told her sternly. "We already have movers anyway."

"No," Jessie returned stubbornly, still unable to open her eyes.

"Well, she's still coherent enough to argue with me, so I guess that's a good sign, right?" You relayed flatly to the doctor who chuckled.

"It is, actually," she said. "Y/N, you know my number. Feel free to contact me directly if you have any questions. Jessie," Jessie felt the doctor's hand on her shoulder and she slowly blinked her eyes open to face her, "behave yourself. I know you like to be busy and I know you want to take care of your fiancée, but you'll be able to get back to that much sooner if you listen to your body and to me."

"Mm," Jessie voiced noncommittally.

The doctor chuckled and spoke to you again.

"Okay, you can take her home now. And with all of this urgency I didn't even have a chance to ask how you're doing. How much longer?"

"About two months left," you answered.

"Oh my gosh. Final stretch, hey? How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," you said. Jessie peeked an eye open to see your hand subconsciously rubbing your enlarged stomach while you continued to hold her hand in your other. "She's so active." You shot Jessie a sidelong, mildly teasing glance. "And at night in particular. I blame myself for that one - I'm the night owl of the two of us, so she must be getting that from me. But yeah, some of the third trimester symptoms are certainly popping up, but truly, I can't complain too much. Or shouldn't yet anyway," you finished with a smirk.

"Well, it'll be nice to get settled in your new place before the baby comes. I'm positive you'll sort out the logistics just fine," the doctor added pointedly and Jessie knew it was for her.

"That's the plan," you said. "It shouldn't be bad. We don't have too much stuff. Most of the furniture will be new and we're just getting all of it delivered after our move-in date."

"That's great. Well, Jessie, I will be seeing you in a week for a follow-up, but Y/N, if I don't see you anytime soon, I have my fingers crossed that the rest of your pregnancy goes smoothly. Can't wait to see pictures of your little one once she's born."

The walk out to the car was slow and tedious. Jessie tried to walk casually and easily, dismissing your supportive arm and wanting to walk on her own, but ended up bracing herself against a random car only ten feet in as she became disoriented. Your arms were around her in a second.

"Baby, come on. Don't be so stubborn. Put your arm around me," you told her both tenderly and firmly. Despite the medication the doctor gave her, her head was still pounding and she had to relent.

She was filled with self-contempt as you eased her into the passenger seat and gently closed the door, wary of both the jostling and sound.

"My baby," you cooed after you climbed in and were settled. You rubbed her thigh and placed the cold compress the doctor had given you into her hand. "Here, hold this against you. It'll help."

"I hate this," Jessie said, voice shuddering against her will.

"I know, love," you said gently. "Let's be grateful it's nothing more severe. I know that doesn't help you in this moment though. Let's get you home, alright?"

She opened her eyes to look at you. Your bump was nearly pressed against the wheel at this stage in your pregnancy.

Jessie sniffled and rubbed her face in aggravation. You shouldn't be taking care of her. You shouldn't be worrying about her. It should be the other way around.

Though you drove as steadily as you could the whole way home, even the slightest jostling or bumps sent pain through her. She gripped the seat tightly and breathed heavily as she fought off a persistent wave of nausea.

She leaned heavily on you despite herself as you both walked up to the apartment. You'd found a hat of hers in the trunk and put it on her to block out some of the lights she'd encounter on the journey up. She apologized repeatedly throughout the walk and you tutted in disapproval and shushed her.

You put her to bed and Jessie began sniffling again as emotions began to bubble up once more as she watched you going all around the apartment to get her set up and cared for.

At one point you were in digging through one of the bottom drawers in the bathroom for something. You held onto the counter with one hand to balance yourself and you huffed in exertion, your stomach very much in the way.

Jessie sat up, wanting to come over to help you. She grimaced as her head began to pound anew and her vision narrowed to a point. She swayed in bed for a second before she felt safe enough to move again. She'd only flung the covers off of herself and lowered her feet to the floor when you voice boomed from the other room.

"Jessie," your voice sharp and making her flinch. "Get back into bed," you said insistently, but much softer this time as you walked back over and gently pushed her back down. She whined and sniffled as you did so. You began to laugh and her eyes grew wide as she looked to you in disbelief.

"Why are you laughing?" Jessie asked, her voice so much weaker than she intended.

"You're being silly," you said through a residual laugh. "You're so stubborn. You were levelled onto the pitch, nearly unconscious, less than two hours ago. Please, just relax tonight. Can you do me that favour?"

"I should be helping you," she went on, her voice up an octave as she fought through emotion.

"You can help me by resting," you told her patiently. "Oh, I have to text your parents back. They're worried about you."

She really wasn't in the right state of mind, because suddenly she felt her face screw up and she began sobbing, made worse by the physical pain the action triggered inside of her.

"Jess," your tone gentle and inquiring, but clearly in shock at the sudden outburst. You sat down next to her immediately and began caressing her head. "What's going on?"

Jessie winced in pain as her shoulders shook while she cried.

"Oh my gosh," you said, underlying concern in your voice as you began to rub her back and you took her hand. "Is it your head? What can I do, baby?"

"I'm letting you down," Jessie forced out, breath hitching at the end of her sentence. "I should be taking care of you."

"Oh my God. Babe, stop that," you said gently, but urgently. "You're not letting me down at all. You take care of me all the time. You're injured. It's okay."

"I'm not a good partner," she sobbed. She heard the sound of surprise from you, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm not around enough. And that's bad enough. And now we're having a baby? I'm never going to be around. I'm going to be an absent parent. And even if I'm here, I might be injured and you'll have to take care of us both."

"Jess. Oh my God," you said in bewilderment as you rubbed her back further. "Baby, please. None of those things are true. Take a breath."

You placed a hand on her chest, pressing firmly and somehow it immediately caused her to slow her breathing. She brought her hand to yours and clutched it tightly.

"Breathe," you said patiently. "It's going to be okay."

Within those few moments, Jessie's breathing began to normalize and she felt her pulse slow once more. She exhaled and the tightness she'd held in her brow relaxed with it.

"It's okay, baby. Just breathe," you coaxed softly as you continued to rub her back and hold your hand and hers to her chest.

Her eyes remained closed as she let you calm her. Her shoulders hitched periodically with a residual cry, but eventually, she sniffled and opened her eyes to look up at you. The room was dark, but she could still make out your features.

"I don't want to let you down," she whispered, voice still trembling as her throat tightened once more, emotions threatening to spill over once more.

"You never let me down," you told her resolutely. "Ever. And I mean that." You let those words sink in before carrying on. "You are the absolute best partner I could ever hope for."

Jessie watched quietly as you smiled, but it faltered. Looking closer she saw tears starting to form in your eyes.

"I'm serious. You know my family. My parents marriage was absolute shit. I didn't know - for a long time - that relationships could be good. That they should be. The way you love me, the way you care for me, is something I didn't even want to hope for because it seemed so impossible. And then even if it was possible, there was no way I'd find someone like that for me. That I would deserve to be loved like that."

"Babe-" Jessie went to interject, but you stopped her.

"When I tell you you're incredible, I really mean it. You're far more than I could've ever hoped or dreamed for. You show me more love and affection in a day than I felt for years at a time. I swear. So please don't ever worry about letting me down."

Jessie was sniffling now, blinking tears onto her pillow and she lifted your hand to kiss it, holding it there against her lips and clutching you tightly. She hated that you felt that way for so many years. And though she was happy that she could make you feel loved like that, it broke her heart, too. She just couldn't fathom someone not loving you wholly and completely.

You leaned down and kissed her forehead, removing your hand from her back to caress the side of her face. You chuckled lightly, speaking against her forehead.

"Short of cheating on me or having some secret family on the side, you could never let me down."

"Babe," Jessie complained, shifting her head to try to look at you. "I would never do that."

"Just saying," you said lightly as you sat back up. "That's the line. For clarity purposes - even if you fell out of love with me and chose to end things, you still wouldn't be letting me down. I'd be devastated, of course, but I would respect that and still love you."

"Babe," Jessie started whimpering again and you consoled her.

"Okay, okay," you placated. "Last thing. Yes, you travel. Yes, you'll be away sometimes. And yes, it is possible that you could get injured again. But that's okay. Of course, I don't want you to get injured, but because I love you. You need to understand that we're partners. We take care of each other.

"And lots of parents travel for work. I know you sometimes forget, but I'm pretty independent and I'm capable," you smirked. "Plus, we have lots of support in case I or our daughter need anything while you're away. What stands out most to me is our daughter will grow up seeing her mom pursue what she loves, working hard to be the best as what she does, and inspiring a new generation of players. That means so much and I wouldn't change it."

You laid another kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest, baby. I love you so much. I'm going to take care of a few things, but I'll be back soon and we can lay together, okay?"

She gave a faint noise of acceptance and you rose from the bed, pushing off slowly, now having to lean back and get your balance to counter the weight of the baby. Jessie's hand shot out to brace your back, and though you delivered a stare her way after you were steady, it dissolved into a smirk.

"See? You're still helping me."

------

The week dragged on so horribly slowly for Jessie. She was so frustrated and upset with herself. She would've always wanted to be able to get up and go, do things, but especially now. You’d taken over essentially all of the household chores and errands and she felt exponentially guilty.

One day you came home, shuffling through the door with bags of groceries hanging off your arms. Jessie shot up off the couch to help you, but her vision began to peter out. She paused a few steps in to brace herself against a nearby chair.

"Jessie," you chided.

She could hear you putting down the various bags. And she pre-emptively put up her hands in defense. "I'm fine." When she opened her eyes again, she was met with a disapproving look from you. She dropped your gaze immediately.

"Sit down, please," you instructed.

"I can help you put everything away," she insisted as she tried to push past you, only to have you hold her back.

"Jess," your voice was curt and she knew you meant business. She could feel your gaze burning into the back of her head and she forced herself to look at you. You went on softer this time. "I'm sure you could help me with groceries. But I'm fine. Honestly. You can help me most by doing as your doctor said, and taking it easy."

She was contemplating a rebuttal, which you saw it coming from a mile away and you continued.

"Don't make me resort to tactics of emotional warfare," you said sarcastically and Jessie huffed, recalling how you told her the other day that the more you had to wrangle her, the more your daughter kicked and squirmed and tired her out.

Jessie sighed begrudgingly and collapsed into the couch, an instant pang shooting through her head at the jarring motion. Served her right for being petulant, she thought ruefully. Despite her antics, she felt your hand caress the side of her head.

"It's like a preview into parenting," you joked before kissing her head and returning to the groceries. Jessie opened her eyes and glared at your retreating form.

"Yeah? Are you going to threaten our kid with guilt trips, too?" She'd meant it as a bit of a snide joke, but immediately regretted her words as soon as she'd said them. Your movements stilled and you slowly turned back to face her, your expression one that made Jessie sink further into her seat.

"Do not start with me, Jessica."

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "That was uncalled for."

"You're still injured. A brain injury at that," you replied as you went back to the bags before giving her a pointed look. "I'll chalk it up to that. You get one freebie."

Jessie was silent as she watched you work. Your movements were laboured at times and she see how much effort it took to do certain tasks. Still, it was true, you managed just fine.

When you were finished, you returned to the living room and sat heavily next to her, a sigh of relief on your lips as you leaned back. You were short of breath, and Jessie looked away quickly when you felt her watchful gaze and peeked open at eye at her. You held out a hand, gesturing for her to relax.

"She's pushing against my diaphragm; it's making it harder to breath, it's not a big deal," you reassured her pre-emptively. You placed your hands on the cushions and pushed yourself up to sit straighter before you met her eyes again. You took her hand.

"I know you want to help. But you have to pace yourself. You can't spring up and sprint over, or you can't be up and down trying to pack and lift things. Not right now. You know better than that," you said gently.

"I already texted Janine and Kelli about packing. They agreed to come over tomorrow," she pouted, spurred on by another failed attempt of hers yesterday. You sighed and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you for doing that. I feel much better about that approach," you told her.

"I'm sorry," Jessie said, fingers fidgeting as she remained slumped on the couch. She sat up and gave you a hopeful look. "I'm feeling better every day, though. I'll be able to help out a lot more around the house soon."

You gave her a patient look and cupped her face in your hands.

"I'm pregnant - not infirm. Did you know...there are thousands of women, for one reason or another, who do this alone? I am very, very lucky that I have you and you’ve been so attentive and wonderful. But there are many women who manage all by themselves. I can do the same - not even, actually, since you’re still here and supportive - for a couple of weeks."

Despite your words of reassurance, Jessie's face fell and she snuggled into you, resting her head on your shoulder. She frowned as she felt your body jostle with a soft chuckle as you wrapped your arms around her. You kissed the crown of her head.

"My sweet baby," you chuckled further against her though she groaned. "Don't worry. A few weeks from now when I'm complaining 24/7 and can barely get out of bed, you'll be relishing these moments."

--------

True to their word, the next day Kelli and Janine were over and were making serious progress on packing up the apartment under Jessie's and your watchful eye.

Despite their help, it was a struggle for Jessie. She was very particular about things like this and she wanted things packed up and organized in specific order and way. With some coaching from you, she'd had to let some of that go, but it wasn't easy.

She and you packed up the lighter things, but anything heavy, and particular full boxes, were left to the girls. And what upset her even more was that she was having trouble focusing. Between all of the lights - clearly, none of you could pack in the dark - and physical exertion, she found herself having to take more breaks than she liked and you'd had to take over quite a bit in directing the girls.

Still, when she was able to, she tried.

"Oh, that needs to go over here," Jessie interrupted as Kelli was setting down a box in the obviously wrong pile. Kelli rolled her eyes good-naturedly and picked up the box once more with a heaving motion, balancing it against her thigh as she adjusted her grip before moving it to the appropriate area.

"Better, princess?" She asked, eliciting a scowl out of Jessie. She knew Kelli was just joking, but it was grating on her. Kelli called her that a few times now, along with a couple of other cracks in that vein.

Her friends, throughout her entire life, had always loved teasing her. Maybe it was the way she blushed when she got flustered or worked up, but people just seemed to love poking at her. Normally, she took it in stride, but it was hard to laugh them off today.

She had all of this mapped out and was fully ready to tackle it alone. Did Kelli think she wanted to ask them for help? No. She hated it.

You were supposed to have your feet up without a worry while she took care of it all. Instead, you were on your feet, packing alongside them and doing more than your fair share of directing and corralling. She saw how you stood there, a hand on your back as you caught your breath, a veiled wince now and then. She could see how sore and tired you were getting.

Her stare followed Kelli as she bounded back over to Janine to gather up some more items. Jessie could feel the heavy tension between her shoulder blades and she felt her face and ears growing hot. She took a steadying breath, she knew this feeling; if she wasn't careful she'd be blinking back tears soon.

She released a slow, deep breath as she returned her attention to the box in front of her and labelled it accordingly. She was setting down the marker when out of the corner of her eye she caught you waving Kelli over. She watched as you spoke in a hushed tone to her and nodded to the other room.

Jessie frowned as she watched you two retreat. Something seemed off, confirmed when you partially closed the door behind you. Jessie quietly padded over and held her ear close to the opening. She whipped her head around, gritting her teeth momentarily at the way the sudden motion aggravated her symptoms, when she felt Janine sneak up, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"What's going on?" Janine mouthed, ever curious. Jessie shrugged the girl's hand off her shoulder tempermentally.

"I don't know," she mouthed back with a mild glare. Janine rolled her eyes and they both leaned in.

"-I appreciate your help. I know you don't have to be doing this. But you need to stop making jokes. She already feels bad enough. She doesn't need you making cracks at her expense. She wouldn't do that to you if situations were reversed. So stop. Please."

Jessie's stomach sank. Now you were defending her as well. She went to push the door open, but Janine pulled her back and away, well out of earshot.

"Let it go," Janine told her.

The emotions Jessie had been working to keep at bay just minutes ago were now raging forward. Her ears were burning and she sniffled.

"Jess," Janine warned her with underlying care in her voice. She knew the last thing Jessie would want right now is to have an emotional meltdown. Janine placed her hands on Jessie's shoulders and spoke calmly, but firmly. "It's fine. Nothing to get worked up about. Y/N loves you a ton. She's being a mama bear to you right now. And fair enough. You're not feeling well, so she's looking out for you. Kelli's a big girl. She'll get it. She'll be fine."

Jessie sniffled and folded her arms against herself.

"It just sucks," she said as she worked to regain her composure.

"I know," Janine said as she patted her on the shoulder. "You'll be all better soon though. Take it easy on yourself." She smirked. "Y/N said you were planning to paint a few rooms in the new place a couple weeks from now. You're on your own for that."

Although she fought it, Jessie had to laugh. She was about to comment when she noticed the door open behind Janine and you and Kelli stepped out. She studied you both and to her surprise nothing seemed odd.

Janine followed her gaze and looked back at her with a wink before going back to help Kelli, who, at least as far as Jessie could see, was in fine spirits.

You must've noticed Jessie's behaviour because you soon approached.

"Everything okay, babe?" You asked.

She looked to you, her gaze eventually falling to your rounded stomach. She placed her hands on your pronounced bump and ran a thumb lovingly along it before lifting her gaze back up to you and all of the boxes around; a physical manifestation of the new chapter you both were starting together. She smiled at you.

"Yeah. Everything's good."

[allllium]

Could I request a one shot with Simon Riley, where he is in a secret relationship. And one night when he was on a mission, at their shared home, one of their enemies (that they are hunting down in that mission) comes and kidnaps them. When they find the base where the enemy was, Riley went in to see his girlfriend being tortured? She gets rescued by him and seeks medical attention, as she passes out? But when she wakes up in the hospital it turns into a really fluffy moment? Maybe he gets on one knee?????

Not so Secret

~ I really hope I did your idea justice 🤞 I'm the best at writing for Simon yet or angsty hurty stuff so hopefully you enjoy this sweet little moment

~ Fluff, Torture (Mentioned), WC: 1,559

~ Simon can't live without you

Simon can feel his heart beating out of his chest. You're gonna be fine, he keeps reminding himself. No one on the team has anything in the last couple hours. Good thing. Simon might lose his mind if they try to make small talk in this situation. You're gonna be fine, he reminds himself again, leaning his head against the wall.

You were taken by the enemy team on what was supposed to be a perfectly safe mission. Get the information and get out. Simple. It only took an hour before they found you but in that time you were badly injured. You're alive he mutters under his breath. He can feel Price's eyes burning a hole into him but he still doesn't say anything.

Simon practically jumps out of his chair when the doctor comes through the door. Ignoring every word that comes out the doctors mouth, he pushes his way past and into your room. Price can deal with all the details, right now Simon just needs to see you. Just confirm that you're alive.

You're sleeping when he walks in. More like knocked out with drugs but either way you look peaceful. As peaceful as you can with bruises covering your face. He carefully takes a seat next to the bed. He lets out a deep breath as he sits there watching you. Thinking over everything that happened that day and everything he could have done to stop it, which was nothing.

He sits there long enough to doze off, something he rarely ever does when not in the comfort of his own home. You're presence just has the ability to make him feel comfortable anywhere.

"You're lucky it hurts to move or I'd have drawn a mustache on your face." You voice draws him awake.

"No one would see it through the mask." He responds, keeping his eyes closed. It's a weird feeling, having someone you love in the hospital. He doesn't want to open his eyes, he doesn't want to believe you got hurt.

"I'd know it's there and that's enough for me. Look at me Simon." You demand. He listens, opening his eyes to the brightness of the hospital room. The white walls, white lights, and white ceiling don't strike him as the best thing for healing patients.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, looking into your eyes.

"I'm alright, and you?" You sit up in the uncomfortable bed as an attempt to get more comfortable.

"I'm not the one in a hospital bed." He whispers. Eyes darting all over the room.

"True. It's not the funnest." You crack a small smile. You know exactly how he thinks, how much he blames himself. You know it's a result of trauma and you want nothing more than to be able to reassure him in times like this Unfortunately, words aren't enough to undo this way of thinking. "Join me?" You pat the empty space on the bed.

"No." He replies instantly, immediately worried about injuring you further.

"Okay I might have phrased that like a question but it wasn't. Get on this bed and sit with me so I can feel better."

He stays silent. Debating the options he has. Or more so the options he doesn't have.

"You have two seconds or I'm coming to you."

That gets him moving. At this point he knows better than to dismiss your threats. Before moving however, he takes a moment to take off his mask, something he never wears when it's just the two of you.

"Fine, you know you're not supposed to leave that bed yet." He tries to keep a demanding tone but to you it's just laced with concern. You have a wide grin on your face as he scooches in the bed with you. You end half way on top of him with how small the bed is.

"So what happened while I was sleeping?" You ask, absentmindedly tracing the tattoo on his arm.

"I have no idea. I've been here." He keeps his sentences short and simply. A habit he's picked up over the years.

"The whole time? Aw you big softy." Your heart flutters at his confession.

"M' not."

"Mhm. Whatever you say." You chuckle softly.

"Do you need anything? Water? Food? Drugs?" He kisses your forehead.

"I'm alright. Now stop it."

"Stop what? I'm trying to be helpful."

"No you're blaming yourself. I know you." You lean up in order to look into his eyes. He may be secretive but his eyes aren't.

"I'm not. I'm just thinking of all the ways I can protect you in the future."

"Okay let's say that I believe you. How would you stop this from happening again? You weren't even there." At this point you're sitting up as much as you can, putting an arm on Simon's chest to keep you upright.

"Well right now I'm thinking of locking you in my house so you can never leave and therefore never be hurt." He tells you, being completely serious.

"I'm gonna ignore that because you would like a stalker." You laugh. "Where's the rest of the guys?"

"Outside. I locked the door when I came in."

"Simon! Go unlock the door." You want to say you're surprised but not even a little bit of it is out of the ordinary for Simon.

"No. I'm comfortable here. And I don't wanna go back to acting all professional."

"Simon, you've been in here for what I'm guessing is hours considering it's now nighttime with the door locked. I don't think our secret is much of a secret."

"Maybe not. But I want you all to myself." The look on his face reminds you of a sad puppy. Which is a face he makes very often.

"And you say you're not a softy." You scoff.

"I'm not!" He exclaims, trying hard to protect his reputation that you don't believe for a second.

"Whatever you say, sweetie." You smirk as his face lights up a shade of red. Here we have a massive, cold, military man, blushing at one simply pet name, it's enough to give anyone a huge ego.

After you're little period of talking, you fall into a comfortable silence. With you laying back down onto his chest.

"How are you feeling?" He asks after just a few minutes.

"I'm okay." You quickly reaffirm him. "How about you."

"I'm fine."

"Nope tell me the truth. You've asked me that many times now."

"Just checking."

"Simon."

"I love you." He says out of nowhere.

"I love you too."

"Can we get married."

"What?!" You shoot up, wincing in the process.

"I wanna get married."

"Now??" You practically yell. Of course you wanna marry him but you're really confused.

"No I mean later. I just wanna know that we will."

"You mean be engaged?" You can't stop the strange expression that your face makes as you try and decifer what he means.

"Is that not what you want?" He asks, the fear evident in his voice.

"That's not what I said. But we've never talked about marriage I mean not as deep as we should have. I don't want you to want to marry me just because I got hurt." You start to ramble, talking so fastcyou don't even know if he can understand you. He can. He's gotten used to your nervous rambles.

He smiles bigger than you think you've ever seen him. "I've wanted to marry you since the moment we first met."

"Okay you sound more and more like a stalker the more you talk."

"Is that a no?"

"No, it's a we can be engaged as long as you're being serious. And we'll stay engaged for a while because we're not ready to be married anytime soon."

"So next months not gonna work for you?" He laughs, genuinely laughs.

"No I think I'm busy then." You retort. You want to marry him, you know that for sure, but not until you're healed, and not until you both get better at being together.

"I can wait."

"Can you go let the guys in? Cuz the way you're staring at me is making me nervous."

"I love you."

"Door, Simon."

You try to surpress the wild grin on your face as he gets up to open the door for the others. They all walk in with matching suspicious smirks.

"What have I said about eavesdropping?" You immediately question, looking right at Soap.

"Not to do it." He looks down at his feet like a child being scolded.

"That's right, yet here you are."

"It's not my fault!" He immediately defends himself and points to Price. "He's the one that walked by the door and talk me you were talking about marriage."

You turn your sharp gaze over to Price, "and here I thought you were the responsible one." You shake your head in disappointment. You can hear Simon and Gaz laughing behind them. Being more than amused at the scolding you give you captain.

"You're right. I will reflect on my actions and do better in the future." He jokes.

Also shaking his head, Simon makes his way back to your bedside. Sitting beside you and putting an arm around your waist. You have a feeling now that your secrets out he won't keep his hands off you. But you're okay with that.

[periprose]

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

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

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

Word count: 4.5k

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

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

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

Why, mom? It’s me! It’s me–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh a little as Logan smiles a cocky grin.

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...” Kyle looks on in disbelief.

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

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

It lasts for about two seconds.

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

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

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

That was a mistake on your part.

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

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

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

/

Logan sees it happen from a distance.

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

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

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

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

Never you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My mother didn’t…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He won’t let you, not this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses you again.

[inkspiredwriting]

Flirting Flops and Jealousy Jokes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves and his wife, Y/n, had a playful and competitive relationship, always trying to outdo each other in various games and pranks. One afternoon, Five, feeling a bit mischievous, decided to test the waters of jealousy. His plan? Flirt with another woman and see how Y/n would react.

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” Five muttered to himself, adjusting his collar as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. “Just enough to make her a little jealous.”

They were at a café with some friends, including Klaus, who was already sipping a fancy cocktail and eyeing the other patrons with a knowing smirk. Five scanned the crowd and spotted a woman sitting alone at the bar, engrossed in a book. She seemed like a safe target for his little experiment.

With a casual stride, Five approached the woman at the bar. He flashed a charming smile and said, “Hello there. You look like you’re enjoying your book.”

The woman glanced up, clearly taken by surprise. “Oh, hi. Yes, it’s really interesting.”

“Mind if I join you?” Five asked, leaning against the bar with what he hoped was a suave demeanor.

The woman seemed slightly flustered but nodded. “Sure, I guess.”

Five launched into a series of light compliments and small talk, keeping an eye on Y/n from the corner of his vision. She was chatting with Klaus but noticed Five’s new friend almost immediately. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she excused herself from Klaus, making a beeline for the bar.

Y/n, trying to keep her composure, sauntered over to Five and the woman. She slid her arm around Five’s waist, plastering a sweet smile on her face. “Hey, darling. Who’s your new friend?”

Five, inwardly thrilled that his plan was working, kept his tone nonchalant. “Oh, this is, uh...” He turned to the woman, suddenly realizing he hadn’t gotten her name.

“Linda,” the woman supplied, looking slightly uncomfortable now.

“Yes, Linda,” Five said, trying to regain his composure. “We were just discussing books.”

“Books, huh?” Y/n said, her smile tightening. “Well, Linda, Five here has the most interesting taste in literature. Isn’t that right, honey?”

Five, sensing the tension in Y/n’s voice, tried to smooth things over. “Absolutely. Linda, have you ever read about quantum physics?”

Linda’s eyes widened. “Um, no, not really. I should get going. Nice meeting you both.”

As Linda hurried away, Five turned to face Y/n, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Someone jealous, are we?”

Y/n folded her arms, giving him a look that could melt steel. “Jealous? More like annoyed that my husband is trying to flirt with other women.”

Five chuckled, pulling Y/n close. “It was just a little experiment. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well, congratulations, you got a reaction. And now, you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

“Anything for you, my love,” Five said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “What’s your price?”

“Let’s see,” Y/n pretended to ponder, tapping her chin. “How about you make me dinner tonight? And no takeout. I want the real deal.”

Five groaned playfully. “Fine, but don’t blame me if the kitchen ends up in flames.”

Klaus, who had been watching the whole scene unfold from his spot at the table, burst into laughter. “You two are hilarious. Five, you’re lucky she didn’t dump that cocktail over your head.”

Y/n laughed, poking Five in the ribs. “That’s because I love him too much to waste a good drink.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arm around Y/n’s shoulders as they walked back to join their friends. “And that, my dear, is why you’re the best wife in all the timelines.”

That evening, Five attempted to make a fancy dinner for Y/n, as promised. Despite his best efforts, the kitchen soon resembled a war zone, with flour and sauce splattered everywhere and smoke rising from the oven.

Y/n, sitting at the counter with a glass of wine, watched the chaos with a mix of amusement and affection. “You know, you’re actually kind of cute when you’re trying so hard.”

Five, waving a dish towel at the smoke detector, turned to her with an exasperated smile. “Remind me never to make you jealous again. This is way too much work.”

Y/n laughed, taking another sip of her wine. “Agreed. But it’s the thought that counts.”

Finally, after much trial and error, Five managed to present a somewhat passable meal. They sat down at the table, clinking their glasses together.

“To experiments that backfire,” Y/n toasted, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“And to the most patient and forgiving wife,” Five added, his gaze full of love.

And as they enjoyed their meal, Five realized that no other woman is as wonderful as his.

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 20 ... WITH BENEFITS??

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes, y/n has daddy issues for the sake of the plot

NOTES | I have no idea why this update took me so long to post I'm so sorry 😭 I don't like making chapters like this too sad (don't worry there's still gonna be some angsty chapters) but I don't want the written stuff on its own bcs that feels too espresso depresso or wtv the phrase is so this is a bit of a longer chap than usual.. anyways if ever you feel bad for y/n, don't worry you're gonna feel worse

19:21, dinner the night before

Y/n shuffles in her seat.

Jaemin greets her with a smile, and though she offers one back, that sinking feeling in her stomach doesn't seem to settle.

Suddenly now that she finds herself face to face with her once best friend, no menus in hand since they'd already given their orders, no way to avoid conversation for just a couple seconds longer, Y/n finds herself at a loss for words.

What was anyone supposed to say in this situation?

Sure a thank you would be ideal, considering Jaemin had somehow managed the impossible, but the words escaped her. Like they rested at the tip of her tongue but she lacked the drive to speak them.

It's not that y/n wasn't grateful, no, she wouldn't be here if she wasn't, in fact she didn't know what it was, what confused her so deeply that she sat there silently. Her thumbs twiddling against one another, as she stared down at the table in front of her.

There was a nagging whisper in her mind, one that cast shadows over her once clear thoughts, leaving her in that haze of uncertainty that she recognised all too well. Recently it was all she could feel around the captain.

Something about this situation in particular makes her palms sweaty and the hairs stand on her neck, every glance at Jaemin feeling like a shadow of what had once been, a reminder of how it had all been lost.

Even just sitting opposite Jaemin isn't simple.

Not at all.

It's like sitting across from a mirror that once reflected shared laughter and secrets, now distorted by fractures of lost trust and unspoken words. She supposed that was the thing about mirrors and shattering. No matter how hard you tried to glue the pieces back together, it would never quite be the same.

Perhaps that's why y/n is lousy in her attempts, grateful to Jaemin but unbothered to express it. The thought that no matter how desperately she hoped, this couldn't be restored. That there was no point in pouring energy into a friendship that would never be resolved.

"So" it's undoubtedly jaemin who breaks the silence, a soft tone to his voice, not quite as gentle as the other night but still warm "are you feeling better? like really okay?"

For a moment she wonders whether she'll break at the sound of his voice like she always had. Would she go back to that point in life where it was so easy to lie, so easy to say she was okay, so easy to pretend, in front of everyone else but never in front of him.

"I'm fine, honestly." She lies.

There's a shy sheepish smile that creeps across her lips and slightly accents her words

Jaemin hasn't seen much of her positivity be directed his way, and seeing this ignites the little hope in him that they could move on from this, from everything.

"You didn't have to work on it without me you know, it was just as much my project as it was yours and you putting in all the effort isn't fair on you."

"You did most of the preliminary stuff anyways, and I really didn't want to ask you because of the other night" Jaemin finally admits, though not willingly, his words extracted more so by her sharp stare and the cold atmosphere.

"Right..." Her attempts at changing the subject, clearly in vain— he really needed to stop asking about the other night. Y/n wasn't sure how much h longer she could hold back the tears, the looming feeling of inadequacy as a guardian still strong. She should have been more careful.

She knows its her turn to speak, opening her mouth to do so.

But again, y/n struggles.

The words play hide and seek in her mind, leaving her to grasp at empty. The atmosphere grows heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Her mind races, a jumble of what to say, thoughts of how easy conversation once was, how effortless it had been, all such a stark contrast to now.

Jaemin watches, a mix of intrigue and concern in his eyes as she contemplates in front of him, quiet but with an expression that spoke volumes.

The silence between them seems to bite louder than any conversation they once held, each dish in front, a reminder of the bitter aftertaste of a friendship turned cold.

"It's just Minjun and I" she breathes out, voice shaky, and Jaemin realises that those nervous cues in her slumped posture and shaking hands had never changed "It's just been the two of us for a while" she whispered. "That's why I was so scared"

Jaemin's hand hovers uncertainly beneath the table, unsure if the gesture would be welcomed or misunderstood, caught in the delicate balance of care and concern.

Admittedly, Jaemin catches himself slightly intrigued, still confused what could have lead to her practically perfectly family turning into this.

But he knows better than to let his curiosity get the best of him.

He wants to stop her, tell her that whatever it is that causes her brows to knit together and her pretty eyes to gloss over isn't something she needs to force herself to talk about, but he doesn't know how.

For a moment he's kicking himself under the table— how had he ever let go of the person who meant so much to him?

Even now, knowing everything she had done, he couldnt help but question why hadn't he tried to get past it then?

At the sight of her downcast features suddenly everything that he once despised her for seemed so trivial.

Jaemin sees himself, a younger, less mature version that stands on the court, hair matted to his forehead from the rain, a ball long forgotten somewhere behind him, cold, betrayed, and so painfully alone. Those burning tear stained cheeks, the harsh whistles of wind, the bitter feeling of failure still clinging to his skin, he remembers it all.

But every feeling he recalls so well, so vividly, is so easily dismissed when her eyes shine with a painful tint, red from the piercing tears that she holds in them.

"My dad" she cuts him off, gaze now avoidant as he grabbed her cold hands in his, "he walked out on us not long after ...whatever hapenned between you and me. He never came back, didn't answer a single call, not even a text, no form of communication except the papers he sent in the mail so I could become Junnie's legal guardian."

I missed you, she wanted to say. I needed you she'd liked to add.

"That's why it's just the two of us now" she said instead, trying to find more words to stop the tears from flowing, like her words were the only thing that could hold them back.

Back then, Y/n remembers vividly the feeling of wanting to fall, to sink, to drown but still somehow keeping her head above the surface to hold on and stay strong for her younger brother. She wondered if Jaemin had been there, would it have been easier? Would she have let herself fall, would she have someone to give her a hand, to pick her back up again and hold her hand through it all? Would things have ended differently?

"I'm sorry" his words weren't new, they weren't special, they were the same as what everybody else would say but the fact that they came from him, Na Jaemin who now stood by her side with his arms wrapped around her, was enough to dissolve the feeling of emptiness.

08:25 present time

Y/n looks over at Minjun, still deep in slumber, smiling before she steps out of the room.

There's way too many toys sprawled out across the living room floor, a blanket she finds herself folding as she subconsciously begins to clean up. Her eyes land on the kitchen counter, wondering what to make for breakfast. She was never particularly good at cooking, but she'd been learning for her brothers sake.

When she gets to the black jacket resting over the couch, it hits her. She catches sight of her puffy eyes in the mirror, and a hand runs through her hair hurriedly.

"Why the fuck did I tell him all of that" she let's out a frustrated sigh, running her hands across her face, "I'm supposed to hate him" she reminds herself, though her tone isn't convincing in the slightest.

"You don't hate him though" Heeseung's voice comes out muffled, the toothbrush between his lips making it difficult to understand his words.

He had been the one to stay over last night, her friends still taking turns to accompany Minjun and her every night since he'd walked out of the apartment, a gesture that made her heart swell. Although up until now she was pretty certain he was still asleep. Clearly not.

"I can't hate him" she sighs, falling back into the couch "is it bad I want to be friends with him again?" she asks, even though Heeseung had retreated to the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.

Regardless he pokes his head out into the hallway, a sly smirk across his lips "with benefits?"

Y/n rolls her eyes.

He emerges again not long after, smiling from ear to ear "no y/n it's not bad if you want to be friends again" he takes a seat beside her "you can only fight your feelings for so long, let yourself be vulnerable, take the risk and try again" he says, hands resting on both his knees.

"and if you're feeling really risky, you can always—"

"shut up Heeseung" she smiles, lightly pushing against his arm "I guess it is worth a shot though"

"he's right next door anyways so sneaking around won't be hard at all"

"I meant being friends. Just friends." she stands up, walking over to the kitchen "you down for pancakes?"

He nods.

"You know it could be good though, he's hot, you're hot, there's enough tension to make things interesting and it ticks your not ready for a relationship box pretty well too"

Despite the pointed look the captain offers him, Heeseung doesn't let up, and secretly, she wouldn't have it any other way.

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[doc-who]

When Green Turns Red

Emily Prentiss/Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapters: 10/?

Words: 1958

Catergories: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

The walls of the alley loom over you like a shadow, the frigid air biting at your skin. It’s not the cold that sends tremors through your body, but the words that fall from Emily’s mouth.

“This was a mistake,” she says, voice devoid of all emotion, her eyes as cold as the night that surrounds you.

“Emily, please don’t do this,” you plead, desperation lacing your voice.

“I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” she sneers, her face twisted in disgust.

Your throat tightens with barely repressed sobs. ���You don’t mean that. ”

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms seize you from behind, squeezing tightly around your torso. You fight with every ounce of strength, but it feels like you’re trapped in an iron cage.

“Emily!” you scream, “help me!”

She watches you struggle, her expression void of any concern, as if you mean nothing to her.

“You’ve always been a mistake,” she shakes her head, turning her back and fading into the mist of the alley.

“Please,” you sob, “don’t leave me.”

Tears stream down your face as you’re dragged backwards, your feet scraping along the pavement. As you’re pulled deeper into the shadows, the sinister voice holding you captive chuckles in your ear.

“I’m going to have fun with you.”

-

Your eyes fly open, and you sit up with a jolt, heart hammering in your chest. You’re surrounded by darkness, and for a disorienting moment, you think you’re still being dragged away, trapped and abandoned.

Breath coming in desperate gasps, your blurred vision focuses, and you realise you’re not in the cold alleyway, but in your hotel room.

You’re faintly aware that someone is speaking to you, but all you can hear is the echo of Emily’s voice, cold and detached, ringing in your ears.

A hand rests on your shoulder, and you flinch, pressing yourself back against the headboard.

“It’s just me,” a voice says gently, and you blink, turning your head to find Emily next to you.

The warmth and concern in her eyes is a stark contrast to the hateful stare that’s burned in your mind.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispers gently. You nod, not quite trusting your voice yet, still trapped in the horror of your dream.

The bedside lamp flickers to life, and the shadows that surround you retreat into the corners of the room. Emily’s face is bathed in a soft glow as she searches your eyes, trying to understand the reason for your distress. Gently, she takes your hand in hers, her thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

“Nightmare?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

You nod again, still unable to force words from the pain that tightens your throat. The image of her walking away from you, her cold indifference as she watched you be dragged away, refuses to loosen the hold it has on you.

The real memories of that night overlap with the imagined ones of your dream, the similarities they share bombarding you with questions you thought had been put to rest. Struggling to separate the Emily sitting next to you to the one from your nightmares, you pull your hand from her grasp.

With a deep breath you raise your head, finally daring to look at her. By the look on her face, you know that she’s realised this wasn’t just any nightmare. She frowns in confusion at the hurt and accusation on your face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks hesitantly.

Eyes dropping to your lap, you study the bedspread, attempting to hide the hurt in your eyes.

“It was just a nightmare,” you murmur, trying to convince yourself as much as her.

Emily’s hand tightens around yours, and you know she’s not going to drop the subject.

“What about?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Emily insists.

Wiping your hand over your face and feeling wetness on your cheeks, you sigh. Emily says your name softly, wiping away a stray tear you missed.

“Tell me,” she pleads.

You hold your knees to your chest, anxiety twisting in your stomach. Even though Emily has told you she loves you, the hurt caused by what transpired that night still lingers. You know this heaviness in your chest won’t go away until you get answers. Until you know why Emily ended things that night, why she said what she did.

Looking into her eyes, you search for any trace of the coldness and disdain she displayed in your dream. When you find only sincerity in them, you take a deep breath.

“It was about that night, outside the bar,” you admit quietly.

Emily’s eyes soften in understanding, but she doesn’t pull away like you feared she would. Instead, she squeezes your hand, encouraging you to continue.

“Did you mean it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, “when you said we were a mistake?”

Emily’s eyes flicker with a mix of pain and regret, “No, I didn’t mean it,” she says firmly, bringing your hand to her chest.

“Then why did you say it?” you say, voice trembling, “I don’t understand.”

Emily takes a deep breath, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “When we started seeing each,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “we both agreed that it wasn’t going to be anything serious.”

You nod, remembering how your arrangement started.

“That night, when I saw you with someone else…” she continues, her voice low and pained, ”I’ve never felt like that before. It was so intense, it scared me.” her hands tremble around yours, unshed tears in her pained eyes.

“I didn’t know how to handle it,” she pauses, taking in a shaking breath, “so I did the thing I was always best at,” she chuckles darkly in self-deprecation, “I pushed you away,” her voice cracks, “I hurt you before you could hurt me.”

The weight of her confession lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. You pull your hand from hers, needing the space to process everything. The memories of that fateful night come rushing back. The anguish that you thought you had buried reemerging with a vengeance, tearing open the old wounds that you had tried so hard to heal.

Emily releases the breath she’s been holding. “Say something, please.”

Her eyes search yours, desperate for any sign of understanding or forgiveness. You understand now what drove her to do what she did, to say the things she said, but it doesn’t automatically erase the months of doubt and heartache that followed.

“I don’t know what to say, Emily,” you admit, your voice raw with emotion. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you turn your back on her.

“Anything,” she begs, shifting closer, “just don’t leave, please.”

“Why wait so long to tell me?” you finally ask, your voice still thick with emotion. “Why let me go all these months thinking that’s how you really felt about me? That I was just one big mistake to you?”

Emily moves closer until she’s sitting behind you, tentatively wrapping her arms around your waist.

“I thought I was the only one feeling this way,” she whispers into your hair, “so I kept it all inside. I never let myself believe that you could feel the same,” she admits.

You shake your head, your throat tight with unshed tears. “How could you not know?” you ask incredulously, your voice shaking with the effort to keep your emotions in check, “how could you not realise how I felt about you?”

Emily’s arms tighten around you, “After everything I said, everything I did, I didn’t think you could ever forgive me, let alone love me.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath and turn around in her lap so that you’re facing her. Feeling the warmth of her embrace, you look into her eyes that are now brimming with tears.

“But I do love you, Emily,” you whisper, your voice trembling with sincerity, “I always have.”

Her eyes widen, a tear slipping down her cheek as she searches your face for any sign of doubt. “Always?” she breathes out, her voice filled with disbelief. You nod, feeling your own eyes fill with tears.

The astonishment in her eyes that follows your confession quickly morphs into one of guilt as the realisation dawns on her. It’s clear that she truly never considered the possibility that you felt the same as she did, and you can see the turmoil playing out on her face as she realises the true consequences of her actions. That you have been suffering all this time just as she has, all because she was too scared to admit how she felt.

Her hands come up to cradle your face, her thumbs wiping the wetness from your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice cracking, “I’m sorry for everything. For pushing you away, for making you believe that I thought you were a mistake. If I had known…” she shakes her head, and scoffs at herself, “all this time, I thought that if I just gave you space, kept myself away from you, that you’d realise that you’re better off without me.”

“Emily,” you whisper in disbelief, “how could you ever think that I would be better off without you?”

“Because all I ever seem to do is hurt you!” she cries. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been there that night. That if I had just been honest about how I felt, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You sigh in understanding, holding her face in your hands. “Emily, you know I never blamed you for what happened to me.”

“I blamed myself,” she whispers, her arms trembling around you, “I still do.”

“Emily,” you sigh, “you can’t take responsibility for what happened to me,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. You trace your fingers along her cheek, feeling the dampness of her skin. “You didn’t know what was going to happen that night. No one did.”

She nods hesitantly, but you can see that she’s not convinced, that the self-imposed blame still lingers.

“Emily, look at me,” you say firmly, hands guiding her face up.

Her eyes meet yours, and you can see the guilt she’s been carrying. The guilt that’s been eating away at her just as your doubt has been consuming you.

“I need you to believe me when I say this,” you say fervently, “what happened to me had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Emily swallows heavily, her hands gripping your shirt.

“You’re the one that found me, that saved me,” you say, smoothing her hair back off her face, “okay?”

For a moment, she doesn’t speak. Her arms tighten around you as if she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go, then she takes a deep breath, “Okay.”

The tension in the room eases, and you lean into her, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. Gently, you extract yourself from her lap, pulling her back into bed, the coldness of the room replaced by the warmth of the covers as you slip beneath them.

Emily’s arms wrap around your waist protectively, pulling your body into hers. You lay there with your cheek pressed against her chest, listening to the rhythm of her heart. It’s a comfort you hadn’t realised you had missed so much, and you tighten your hold on her.

Emily buries her face in your hair, taking in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

“I love you,” she whispers, the words soft and filled with emotion.

The weight of the past months seems to lift, and for the first time in a long while, you take a deep, easy breath, “I love you too.”

[harrywavycurly]

I just know there’s moment with SC girl and Harry when she does something and Harry just thinks she’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen😩😩

Hiii babes!!! Ohh I’m sure there are soooo many moments that Harry just looks at her and goes “you’re so damn cute” but he’d have to make sure she can’t hear him or he’d get a quick “language!” Tossed back at him for saying the word damn😂 but I hope you enjoy this little blurb about a moment between them, it’s totally random but I can see it happening💖

-find all things Southern Comfort here✨

A/N: You don’t even realize you’re doing it but Harry doesn’t mind because he thinks you’re adorable, enjoy✨

“Oh sugar did I tell you about my meet the teacher next week?” Harry adjusts the bag on his shoulder as you briefly let go of his hand making him frown as he looks down at you just as you reach into the front pocket of your denim shorts and grab your chapstick. “I think it’s the same night as that dinner thing with Mitch and oh darn it.” Harry watches you in amusement as you run the chapstick over your lips while your eyebrows scrunch together while you try to remember the name of the other person invited to the dinner you’re talking about next week.

“Do you need a-”

“No no don’t give me a hint just yet it’s on the tip of my tongue I can practically taste it.” You cut off his attempt to help making him chuckle as the two of you come to a pause on the sidewalk, enjoying an afternoon walk to the beach on one of Harry’s rare Saturdays off. He turns to face you and without really thinking you get up on the very top of your tiptoes with the chapstick in one hand, you reach up and gently hold the side of his face with your free hand and quickly run the balm over his lips before capping it and putting it back in your pocket. “James! That’s his name!” You all but shout excitedly before you reach down and grab Harry’s hand and begin walking.

Harry can’t do much besides stare at you for a moment before his brain reminds him that you’re walking so he needs to also move his feet before you start to actually drag him down the sidewalk. He knows you’re totally unaware of the fact his heart just felt like it melted into a puddle at his feet the moment he felt your hand on his cheek to hold his face still so you could swiftly apply the much needed chapstick to his lips. You have a tendency to do things that just have him left standing there in awe of you because it’s just little acts like you applying chapstick to his lips, the times you patch up a holes in his jeans (without him having to ask) because you already have your sewing kit out, you absentmindedly putting sunscreen or bug spray on him before leaving the house after applying it on yourself or when you pack him a lunch to take to the studio and leave it in the fridge for him with a little love note tucked inside that show him how effortless it is for you to care about him and that’s just something he’s not used to.

“Honey? You okay?” Your tone is laced with a hint of worry causing your accent to be a bit thicker than normal snapping Harry out of his thoughts, he blinks a few times and just nods as he brings your hand up to his lips.

“I’m good sweetheart.” The smile you give him when he places a few kisses to the top of your hand is enough to make his knees want to give out. “So what were you saying about your meet the teacher?” He asks in hopes it makes you go on a little rant.

Something Harry has learned over the last few months of dating you is that he does love it when you get caught up in a story because you just get so animated and your accent goes thicker as you speak so fast sometimes he wishes subtitles would appear in front of you so he doesn’t have to ask so many follow up questions that make you think he wasn’t listening. Because one thing about Harry is that he always listens it’s just sometimes he gets too caught up in how your voice sounds saying the words rather than focusing on what the words actually are.

“Oh well since it’s the same night as that dinner with Mitch and James I was seeing if I could just send you off with a dessert of some sort since I won’t be able to make it.” You stop walking when you come up to a stop sign, Harry stands next to you for a moment before you see him take a step towards the street. You naturally drop his hand and hold your arm out blocking him from taking another step without even looking at him. Harry looks down at your arm that hits him below his chest and he has to rub his lips together to hold back his smirk. “I’m thinking a bunt cake? I haven’t made one in a good long while and it’s about to be fall so I think that’s the perfect time for a bunt cake.” You continue as you lean forward a bit and look to your left and see there’s no cars coming and then look to your right and see the coast is clear making you drop your arm and grab Harry’s hand so you can lead him across the street.

“Baby did you-”

“I just don’t know if it’s too early for a pumpkin flavored one? Does Mitch even like pumpkin things? I’ll have to text him.” Harry can’t fight the smile that takes over his face as you keep walking and talking, and he knows you don’t mean to ignore him he knows you’re just deep in your thoughts and probably didn’t even hear him.

“Baby.” He says it a bit louder but still just as softly as he did the first time, you turn your head and look at him and he has to stop walking making you raise an eyebrow as you stop and look up at him. “Did you just mom arm me at that crosswalk?” He doesn’t ask to embarrass you he asks because he needs to know if it’s something you even know you do or not. You turn your head to look at the crosswalk not even a few feet behind the two of you and then back up at Harry with a playful look in your eye.

“I sure did.” You answer making Harry laugh as he reaches down with his free hand and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “What was I supposed to do just let you walk out into the street without looking both ways? I mean really sugar even my four year olds know better than that.” There it is, your classic way of teasing him but also making him know you care about him at the same time.

“You are so fucking adorable.” You roll your eyes as he leans down so he can place a kiss to your lips, he knows you’re going to get on to him for the cursing but right now he doesn’t care because your lips are soft and taste like strawberries.

[bookuce]

Fools Rush In

SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC

TROPE: Love At First Sight

WARNINGS: Language

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FIVE

Nessa felt like shit, figuratively and literally. She blocked his number once she got home from Joe's hotel. Vanessa didn't want to see any texts or get any phone calls from him. She felt guilty enough for ghosting the man. Seeing or hearing anything from him would only make things worse. 

She sat on the shower floor, letting the water pour over her head. She tightly wrapped her arms around her legs, her eyes shut while she focused on breathing. The warm steam from the water comforted and relaxed her while she attempted to take her mind off what she had done. Unfortunately for her, she was failing miserably. Though her night was drunken, she could remember every bit of that evening. 

She could feel his hands on her body--all over her body, memorizing every dip and curve she had. Despite being pounded by the water from the shower, her skin still tingled in places he touched. Images of his face contorted in bliss, flushed pink cheeks, and sex-clouded eyes filled her mind. Oh, those eyes. Those eyes, hands, and perfectly pink and swollen lips kept reeling her in each time she thought she finished. How many times did he make her come last night? She lost count after the third time.

His voice echoed in her mind. Just like that, he praises. How do you want me, he asks. You feel so good, he tells her. The huskiness of his voice would send shivers down her spine. He somehow managed to make his already deep voice sound even more resounding. The way he spoke sometimes sounded animalistic. There was a growl with certain words, especially when he would say her name. 

Vanessa brings her right hand up to her ear. She swore she could feel his ragged breath on her skin just then. The tremble in his voice and the moans he let out were things she never heard before with a man--at least not with any man she's ever been with. Joe was vocal, but this wasn't a bad thing. She enjoyed that he talked her through the things they did. He made her feel in control at times, powerful even. She learned something new about herself, a new kink unveiled. 

Joe Anoa'i left quite the impression on this woman. Well, he did promise to make the evening unforgettable for her. Now look at her, dickmatized on the bathroom floor. Maybe she was overreacting about sleeping with the man. She needed this. She needed to be unwound and loosened up. She hadn't had sex in a year! She would never mention that out loud, though. It was bad enough that Isabel looked at her as if she grew three heads every time she remembered that her best friend was practicing celibacy. 

Everyone needs to have sex! She'd exclaim. There are health benefits to it! She'd add. She would ramble on about it being a natural stress and pain reliever. Did you know sex can cure a migraine? Te lo digo, Nessa, es bueno para la mente, el cuerpo y el espíritu--Yes, yes, she knows.

Despite her newfound guilt, she felt refreshed when she woke up this morning. Her body wasn't sore. It didn't hurt when she walked. She felt pretty light on her feet. It could have something to do with the fact that Joe stretched her--Alright, that's enough. Vanessa reaches to turn off the shower. The warm water ceased, and cold air rushed to sheathe her body in goosebumps. 

She pushes herself off the floor, a small sigh leaving her body as her joints pop with the movement. She steps out of the shower, snatching the towel that hung just above her head on the shower curtain rod. She wraps it around her body, exiting the bathroom. Instead of drying herself off, she drops onto the bed. Her eyes would meet the ceiling as she sucked in a tired breath. Vanessa brings her hand to her face, allowing her palm to drag down it. Her arm would then fly out to rest against the bed, hitting her cell phone. She turns her head towards the direction of the phone, flipping her hand over to grab it. 

The light turns on on the screen, displaying the time to her. It was now ten o'clock exactly. She watched her phone screen as if she was expecting a notification to appear. One would never come, though. Unblock Joe's number, commands a voice in her head. Unblock his number and text him. This voice wasn't thinking about her at all; at that moment, it was thinking about what Joe could do for her--what Joe could do to her. Look at her, acting like a touch-starved woman--Well, she was, but she refused to give in to those temptations again. Nessa did it once--er, twice...three times last night, but never again. She had a moment of weakness. Yeah, that's what she was going to go with. 

Texting that man after sneaking out while he slept and blocking his number would be foolish. He'd probably call her every name under the sun if he had the chance. Vanessa couldn't say she doesn't deserve it. She was a jerk and entirely too old to be doing this. She drops the phone back onto the bed, her eyes falling shut as she does so. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She mutters to herself. Vanessa rolls onto her stomach, burying her face deep in the comforter she laid upon. She draws in a deep breath before letting out a muffled scream against her bedding. 

Why was she even this torn up over ditching a guy? People did it all the time. They hook up, and they go their separate ways! It's not like she was ever going to see the guy again. Joe lived in Pensacola, nearly a ten-hour drive from Miami. The chances of them ever running into each other again were slim. There was no need to feel embarrassed or upset, but for some reason, she was. These can't be her feelings; maybe they were his. Soul ties are a thing, or at least that's what she read somewhere once before.  

She lifts her head from the mattress, her eyes searching for her phone again. Once she locates it, she snatches it from its spot on the bed and opens her browser. How to get rid of soul-ties, she types into the search bar. Several links would appear on the screen before her, her eyes quickly skimming over article previews. "Addiction?" She whispers to herself, her brows furrowed. "The fuck..?" She turns off the screen of her phone once more. Perhaps she's being dramatic.

These feelings she felt are temporary and eventually will be a thing of the past. Hopefully, in about a week or two--or four, things will be alright again. Joe Anoa'i is a complete and total stranger to her, someone she met less than twenty-four hours ago. There was still plenty she didn't know about him despite getting to know the man last night. She learned normal, surface-level things about him; fun facts, if you will. It wasn't enough to pine away over. He was still a stranger to her. 

Nessa pushes herself off the bed, now walking to her closet for undergarments and clothes. She couldn't sit around the house, no, not in this state. Vanessa needed to get active and move around. Sitting at home would do nothing but make her mind drift off to the events of last night, and the last thing she needed was to think herself into a horny slump. Maybe a jog will fix this. Yeah, she'll go for a jog. 

Joe turns onto his side, his arm stretching out to drape over something that wasn't there. His dark brows knit together in confusion as he allowed his hand to glide over the empty spot next to him. The sheets were cool to the touch, meaning his bed was empty. He forces his eyes open, his semi-unconscious suspicions confirmed almost immediately. Nessa was not next to him. He lifts his head from his pillow, glancing around the room in a half-sleep daze. "Nessa?" He calls out groggily. 

He'd get no response back. Joe becomes still, his breathing quieting as he listens for movement. The suite was silent. He moves onto his back, his eyes finding the high ceilings cast in a dim white glow from the light outside. Alone was not how he imagined his morning would begin, but that seemed to be his reality.

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Joe sighs at the sound of his phone ringing from the nightstand. The timing for a phone call couldn't be more perfect. He lifts his head, reaching out to snatch the phone from its spot. Without checking the Caller ID, he swipes to answer the call. "Hello?" He says. 

"I thought your ass was never going to answer," Josh says from the other side of the phone. "Ay, you good?" Joe scoffs slightly at the question. He was something. He hadn't determined how he was feeling just yet.

"Yeah, I'm good." He lies.

"You sure?" Jon chimes in, now leaning into Josh's phone. "Because the damn plane was supposed to leave thirty minutes ago, and your ass ain't here."

Joe's brows furrow slightly at Jon's words. "What're you talking about?" He asks. Slowly, he pushes himself up in bed, allowing his hand to prop him up. His hair would fall around his face, dry curls caressing his cheeks. 

"You late, fool!" Jon exclaimed.

"Ay, Paul over here tweaking, Uce. You in trouble." Josh sings.

"Yeah, I ain't ever seen him this red before. Boy, that man is hot." Jon sings. Joe throws back the covers from his body, standing from the bed. His joints would pop as he stretched, a sigh leaving his lips as he did so. 

"Is that, Joe?" Paul says in the background. "Let me talk to him." Joe rolls his eyes, his head moving in a circular motion as he does so. He didn't have time for this.

"Nah, it's our dad, Wiseman." Josh lies. "Bruh, bring your ass on." He says lowly to Joe through clenched teeth. The call will end, sending Joe back into silence again. He tosses his phone on the bed, his eyes taking in the room around him.

"Ness?" He calls out again. No answer. The bathroom door was open; the small room shrouded in darkness. He'd grab a handful of sheets, pulling it from the bed to wrap around his waist.

Thin, white cotton sheets skimmed delicately against the marble floor as Joe approached the staircase. He stops at the top and peers over, hoping to see the beautiful woman from last night down below, but she is nowhere to be seen. He spots his clothes draped along the back of the couch, but hers, which once laid alongside his, is now gone. Joe's head turns slightly, his eyes finding the morning sky outside his windows. Vanessa had snuck out before he woke up. Has he ever had this happen before? No, no, Joe couldn't recall. Maybe while he was in college, but after? No, he couldn't say he has. 

Like he said earlier in the night, he wasn't interested in hooking up with her, and what happened between them was not planned. He just wanted to spend his last night in Miami with her. One thing led to another, and they ended up in bed together. Getting her there was not his intention at all. Hopefully, she doesn't assume that was what he had planned with inviting her here. His mouth would twitch to the left as he sniffled. Now that he thinks about it, maybe that's why she snuck off.  

Again, that wasn't his intention, and he thought he did a good job assuring her he wasn't one of those guys. Did he slip up at some point last night and say or do something that might've thrown her off? He recalls the night just as he remembered it best. They talked, swam a little, and lastly, came back here. Nothing happened between the roof and the bedroom, he thinks. The wine they had wasn't too strong--at least not strong enough to hinder his ability to remain courteous. 

Joe's gaze lowered to the floor, his shoulders rising with the breath he was taking in. He was feeling plenty of things right now: embarrassment, disappointment, confusion, and maybe a little anger. The anger is what confused him, though. Vanessa was essentially a stranger--why is he upset that she left? 

Try to call her, a voice says to him. No, shoot her a text instead, it backpedals. He shakes his head at the thoughts. No, both options were heavily confrontational. He didn't want to come off weird to her, but then again, it was probably too late. Joe lifts his hand to his forehead, pushing his hair back against his forehead. He shuts his eyes only briefly. "She's just a girl." He mutters, lifting his head. For some reason, those words sounded untrue--coming from his mouth. Was it a false statement? 

It doesn't matter--he'll get over it eventually.

Joe slowly turns, now sauntering towards the bathroom. He needed a shower. Vanessa's actions had left him questioning himself again. Was it the sex? His brows would knit together at the thought. It couldn't have been. One thing he knew for sure was that he was damned good at that. His mind would drift off to last night again. 

Joe thought they had spectacular bedroom chemistry. He and Nessa left not a single part of that bed untouched. How they managed to stop themselves from going longer than they already did was beyond him. 

His hand skims the wall, flicking on the lights within the bathroom. He'd come face to face with his reflection in the mirror, finally seeing his disheveled appearance. His hair stood wildly on his head, his curls defined in some spots and tangled in others. He looked well-rested despite getting hardly any sleep at all. The flight to Texas would be irritating with how the twins said Paul was acting. With how Joe felt, Paul might get some of that attitude back. 

He should've left yesterday when he said he would.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: I heard a lot of y'all was judging Nessa for sneaking out the crib before Joe woke up lol

What's that all about? Y'all wouldn't do the same thing after a one night stand? 😂😭

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseverybodywant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibessonvibes @issahyland @queeny23 @pytbgeezy @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[vigilskeep]

do you have any refs for Minerva’s relationship with the other dao companions? I did not realize she and leliana was estranged 😭 also if im remembering correctly she makes loghain do the dark ritual? sorry I do like spinning her around in my head and knowing the little details she’s such a great character!!

leliana and minerva did not have a clear breakup in the alistair minerva sense but they did grow apart because of the simple reason that post dao minerva becomes politically at odds with the chantry while leliana is serving its leader. leliana is not a type of person minerva finds very easy to like or trust so while they did grow on each other over the course of dao they never had a simple friendship in the first place

alistair you probably know about bc its kind of the cornerstone of minervaposting but theres a post fully explaining it not much further down in her tag

zevran is her romance <3 i hesitate to use the word “soulmates” exactly but they definitely fit together in a way no other minerva pairing could match

morrigan she has a weird close complicated vaguely homosexual friendship with, i’m sure this is par for the course for f!wardens. they probably could have been in love if morrigan had been willing to pursue it in the start and if minerva hadn’t already gone for someone else by the end, and all that is unspoken but very present in everything about them

sten is i guess kind of the typical high approval relationship as presented in game? not much more unique. a lot of respect a lot of arguing a lot of dry humour. they could hang out in silence comfortably and they’re also both know and respect that they’re very capable of killing the other if their greater purposes ever demand it

oghren she kind of doesn’t pay much mind in origins when she doesn’t have to but he becomes part of the family in awakening. they bond over having their insane shared experiences of the blight, and also over him trying to quit drinking and her trying to quit blood magic which leads to some really wild out of context conversations for the others. and hey, eventually over first attempting to parent at similar times

wynne she has a bit of a sharp relationship with. i think this could vary a lot if i pick her up earlier, but in my main minerva playthrough i picked her up late by which time minerva had absolutely no fucking interest in getting the kind of lectures she grew up with. sorry grandma </3

uhhhh who else. shale idk man im sorry for being a fake fan but shale’s dlc truly does nothing for me it’s unfunny and i dont think abt it at all 💔 this would be written in less harsh terms if i wasnt sleepy

loghain is. well that’s a kettle of fish. minerva spares him because it happens to be a preferable move for her agenda and her way of thinking, it’s not rlly about him as a person at all. she doesn’t absolve him of anything he did, like, she still thinks he’s a bastard it’s just that she doesn’t really believe at all in the concept of justice being done if it doesn’t serve a purpose. when he’s in the party they do build up respect and a weird kind of friendship. he sucks and she’s bitter about what sparing him cost her, but that isn’t relevant, it’s not going to stop her learning from him, or fighting at his side as the best team she can quickly make them, or simply finding him entertaining to talk to. so by the end it’s as a friend that she asks him to do the dark ritual, whatever that means. post dao she agrees with weisshaupt that him being assigned outside of ferelden is wise but they continue to write to each other extremely regularly, mostly on matters of news and strategy but occasionally on the more personal

is that everyone i think thats everyone

[tsukimefuku]

kintsugi :: higuruma hiromi

Higuruma, former lawyer, curse user, and reformed jujutsu sorcerer tries to make sense of what his life has become after the war is finally over.

content warning: spoilers for jjk 269. hinted kusahigu. mostly fluff and introspection, some hurt and comfort if you squint.

wc: 1.8k

notes etc.: written to the sound of “here I dreamt I was an architect” by the decemberists. Inspired by this stunning higuruma fanart by @valleyofwater.

The sun hung high, and fully illuminated the classroom with the golden spring warmth. The blue sky surrounding it would be pristine, if not for a few stray clouds that on occasion cast its shadows over Jujutsu High, only adding to the idyllic, leisurely ambiance. 

“I didn’t understand that very well,” Yuji admitted as he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, earning him the indignant grunts from Megumi and Nobara.

“What do you mean? Higuruma-san explains things much better than Gojo sensei ever did and you learned from him, of all people!” Nobara complained, leaning over her classmate’s chair and smacking the back of Yuji’s head with her fist. She then proceeded to adjust her eye patch and sink into her chair with her arms crossed over her chest.

“His explanation was, indeed, very clear,” Megumi chimed in as Yuji attempted to soothe his pain by brushing his fingers over a growing bulge on his scalp. 

Higuruma, unaccustomed to juggling three teenagers, solely watched the unfolding scene in utter helplessness. With a sigh, he reclined back against the black board while looking at Itadori.

“What exactly did you fail to understand?” 

Yuji cleared his throat for a second, knowing full well his answer would earn him another round of getting kicked around like a poor puppy.

“Everything,” he whispered, lowering his gaze towards the floor before Nobara’s protests in disbelief reverberated like a roar throughout the vicinity.

With a sigh of resignation, Higuruma relaxed his shoulders while checking his wrist watch.

“You do better with practical lessons, Itadori,” the reformed jujutsu sorcerer remarked.

“I do!” Yuji confirmed, starting to pull a contented smile on his face.

“That wasn’t a question.” 

“Oh.”

That smile left as quick as it came.

Megumi covered his face with his palm, and wondered for a second when the elation for being back to normal life gave place to the mundane, every-day annoyance of dealing with Itadori and Kugisaki’s shenanigans.

“Let’s wrap this up for the day, and tomorrow we can have a practical lesson at the Dojo,” Higuruma concluded, crossing his arms.

After some fumbling around, the three students finished packing their things. Nobara and Megumi stepped outside, as she tried to place a bet on who would get to the vending machines first. Megumi’s grumpy demeanor did little to hide the fact that he had, even if begrudgingly, taken her up on her challenge.

Yuji remained on his chair, though, still ruminating on his hardship to learn about the inner workings of the cursed energy world as quickly as his classmates.

Higuruma looked at the boy, and remained silent for a short while before asking him what was the matter.

“It’s just… I don’t know, after everything that happened, I thought I could learn these things faster now, you know?”

Softly brushing his hand around his jaw, Higuruma pondered for a moment.

“Each person has a different learning process. I learned jujutsu by reverse engineering my own cursed technique and figuring out how it worked. Most learn about cursed energy and then go onto training their own CTs all the way up to domain expansion. It’s fine. With only three students, we can tailor classes for each and every one of you.”

His words seemed to soothe Yuji, who looked at Higuruma and spared him a relieved smile.

“I guess you’re right,” Yuji conceded, pondering for a few moments before proceeding, “you remind me of someone.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” Yuji replied, getting up and walking towards the door. For a second, Higuruma’s suited up, responsible demeanor brought him flashbacks of a much lighter colored suit, a blonde, side parted hair and a pair of green shades. “He was a very serious person, and kind, just like yourself.”

Higuruma’s mouth fell slightly open, but no words came out before Yuji waved at him, bidding his teacher goodbye before sprinting towards Nobara and Megumi.

I am so out of my element. Why did I agree to come here, of all places? Higuruma asked himself while sinking down on his desk’s chair. 

“Rough class?” 

The familiar, low baritone voice came accompanied by a few footsteps inside the classroom. Hiromi lifted his gaze to see the signature brownish-beige trench coat, along with the man who wore it.

“Good afternoon, Kusakabe,” Hiromi offered, nudging himself over his seat while motioning to get up. Kusakabe signaled for him to keep seated with one of his hands, before leaning himself on the desk’s side with his hands in his pockets and a lollipop shoved into his mouth.

“Rough life,” Higuruma replied, half in jest. Truth was, those past few months — nearly half a year after the fight at Shinjuku against Sukuna — felt like some sort of uncomfortable fever dream to Higuruma.

He was offered the opportunity to atone for his crimes as a teacher at Jujutsu High, and he seized said opportunity. However, the former lawyer caught himself struggling to fall asleep most nights while pondering. He didn’t know, unfortunately, what had made his soul so uneasy.

“At least we are not shacked up like sardines inside a makeshift bunker while fighting for our lives against a genocidal maniac,” Kusakabe promptly replied, earning him a nod from Higuruma.

”I guess you’re right. How has life as the new NSS headmaster been?”

“Almost pushing me back into smoking. Sometimes, I wish these lollipops were made out of pure nicotine.”

At that, Higuruma spared a quick, discreet smile.

“That bad?”

“Don’t even get me started on it,” Kusakabe grunted, glancing over towards the windows. “It’s a beautiful day, huh?”

Higuruma looked down at his hands, which sat together over the desk. After Kusakabe was done admiring the view, he turned his eyes to Higuruma, noticing the man sinking further into himself.

”Higuruma, how have you been? Is everything alright?” 

“I…” Higuruma let his voice drag, uncertain just as his feelings had been about everything that had happened ever since that fateful day in Keita’s trial, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Kusakabe inquired, confused.

“I thought I was supposed to die back at Shinjuku. I believed that I would fulfill my duty, and… I don’t know, achieve some sort of spiritual absolution if I died while playing my role in the battle against Sukuna. But I just lived. It doesn’t make sense, it’s not adding up to me.” 

Kusakabe quickly realized this was the first time Higuruma was effectively putting these feelings into words, and conceded him the moments’ reprieve necessary for the man to collect his thoughts.

“Everything I’ve learned since gaining my CT was how to fight a war.” 

Higuruma sighed, and upon further contemplation, realized that what he said wasn’t the entire truth.  

“Actually, ever since I was a lawyer, all I ever did was fight a war, be it symbolically or literally. No one told me how to live my life after it was over, in peaceful times. I don’t think I quite know how to do that.”

“No one does,” Kusakabe quickly interjected.

“What?” Higuruma asked, his voice slightly surprised.

“No one knows how to live life. We’re just… living it, and doing what’s needed to get by. Clinging to what might give it some meaning from time to time.” 

Higuruma looked down, and let his colleague’s words sink in slowly. For all this time, he’d felt like a movie that overstayed its welcome, dragging along its plot for much longer that it should have. Upon experiencing the warmth of the sun coming through the wide set windows caressing his skin, however, Higuruma thought it didn’t seem so bad, after all.

“Everything I had ever believed in was broken, and I guess I was, too. My life,” Higuruma remarked, “and I’m finding it hard to piece things back together. I don’t know if that’s possible.” 

“I suppose you’ve heard of kintsugi,” Kusakabe said while pulling another lollipop from his pocket and replacing the already finished candy with a new one.

Higuruma was taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation.

“The practice of fixing broken ceramic pieces with gold? Yes, I’m familiar.”

“Your life is the broken ceramic.”

… What?

Kusakabe had no ease for metaphors, and it showed in Higuruma's completely puzzled expression.

With a grunt, the seasoned sorcerer pulled the lollipop from his mouth and began gesturing around, as if trying to pull the words to have himself make sense out of thin air.

“What I mean to say is… broken things can be fixed, and sometimes the way they’re fixed can make them more valuable than they were before. Or something like that.”

Higuruma’s confusion subsided for the most part, but he remained silent to see if Kusakabe would offer some final commentary.

He did. 

“There is value in the healed cracks. That’s all. Perhaps this second chance you’ve been given is an opportunity to do just that. Heal those cracks with something valuable, I mean.”

Higuruma’s eyes traveled gently over the classroom in front of him, and he finally gazed out the window while actually paying attention to it for the first time in a long while. He saw the golden rays of sunshine projecting a soft, welcoming light over the students’ desks, noticed how clear the sky truly was, and the cloud-scattered blue that encompassed it all together as a visual symphony.

“It really is a beautiful day, after all,” Higuruma remarked, looking back at Kusakabe with a smile.

Kusakabe’s eyes met Hiromi’s, and this was probably the first time he had actually seen the man smiling with actual joy.

In a second, Kusakabe coughed, feeling his face warming up, and averted his gaze while covering his mouth with his fist.

“Is everything alright?” Higuruma asked, gently tilting his head to the side. “Did you choke on your lollipop?”

“No. It’s okay, I’m fine,” the other man answered, mentally pulling himself back to normal. “I just really have to go back to work.”

“Oh. Okay. I should probably leave this classroom too and get something to eat.” 

Kusakabe nodded and propped himself up, walking towards the door. However, he stopped as he was nearly past it, and turned around.

“Higuruma.”

The former lawyer had just gotten up himself, and turned to face his colleague.

“What?”

“Me and some other people from jujutsu high — assistants, mostly — will have a happy hour this Friday. Would you like to join us?”

The question caught Hiromi completely off guard, and he faltered for a few seconds before clearing his throat and answering, “yes. I appreciate the invite.”

Kusakabe nodded once more. “Okay. See you this Friday, then.”

As he watched Kusakabe leaving, Higuruma could feel the liquid gold slowly seeping into the cracks of his broken life, gluing things back in place.

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

do you think harry is a flight or fight type of person? or maybe its just cuz he knows which battles are worth fighting

I think Harry is very much a whatever suits him best person with a preference towards fight. Like, when he is actually scared and distressed and backed into a corner, he fights. I think, especially later in life after the books, if you grab him unawares he might accidentally hex you out of instinct, like we see in book 6:

“Pathetic, Weasley,” said Snape, after a while. “Here — let me show you —” He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, “Protego!” His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk.

(HBP, 180)

But, when he's in a situation he can't win, if he could he would flee. He's smart. In the graveyard Harry is terrified, he only chooses to fight when he comes to the conclusion running isn't an option:

There was a split second, perhaps, when Harry might have considered running for it, but his injured leg shook under him as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort, so that the gaps where the missing Death Eaters should have stood were filled. Wormtail walked out of the circle to the place where Cedric’s body lay and returned with Harry’s wand, which he thrust roughly into Harry’s hand without looking at him. Then Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters.

(GoF, 659)

Even in book 5, even though he does fight and successfully hold off the Death Eaters in the ministry, his first choice of plan is to escape without a fight. And he's right to do so in these situations.

In life-or-death situations, Harry's first instinct is usually to run away to live another day. Flight in combat scenarios like his would be the best option for survival more often than not. So, it's a smart, practical move.

In the face of more mundane fights, like bullies (be it Dudley, Malfoy, Umbridge, or Snape) Harry swings back, with either words, curses, or even punches.

He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly

(PS, 79)

Darkness fell outside Umbridge’s window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit here all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill. . . .

(OotP, 267)

“IMPEDIMENTA!” and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .

(OotP, 4113)

“What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them. “I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,” said Harry fiercely. Snape stared at him.

(OotP, 852)

The point is, Harry's situational. Flight is usually his first choice in life-and-death battles he isn't likely to win, in situations with bullies where he is likely to win, he chooses to fight, like, instantly.

The reason I'm saying he has a preference for fight is because of his anger and savior complex. When someone hurts someone he cares about, he chooses fight regardless of how dangerous the situation is or his chances of winning.

In the Chamber of Secrets, Harry doesn't even consider running away, because running away means killing Ginny, so it isn't an option:

Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right . . . but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny . . . and in the meantime, Harry noticed suddenly, Riddle’s outline was becoming clearer, more solid. . . . If it had to be a fight between him and Riddle, better sooner than later.

(CoS, 292)

In OotP, after Bellatrix kills Sirius he chases after her, disregarding how dangerous that is:

“Harry — no!” cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin’s slackened grip. “SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED HIM — I’LL KILL HER!” And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches. People were shouting behind him but he did not care.

(OotP, 809)

Harry reacts similarly after Snape kills Dumbledore:

And Harry felt the ground shudder under his face as the brother and sister and the enormous Death Eater obeyed, running toward the gates. Harry uttered an inarticulate yell of rage: In that instant, he cared not whether he lived or died. Pushing himself to his feet again, he staggered blindly toward Snape, the man he now hated as much as he hated Voldemort himself — “Sectum — !”

(HBP, 603)

When someone Harry cares about is hurt, the danger matters much less to Harry, and fight just becomes his go-to instinct.

[mrs-kodzuken]

hard to desire ⨟ kenma k.

chapter two

babydoll ari abdul

❝Oh, Father, forgive me for all my sins

When I meet your eyes, the Devil, he wins

Blinded by your lies, but I play pretend❞

previous chapter next chapter

"We're going to miss you so much sweetheart," Your mom hugs you tightly, tearing up a bit.

"Call us if you need anything at all, sweet pea." Your dad says, giving you a sad smile over your mom's shoulder.

"I will, I promise. I love you guys so much." You tried keeping the tears at bay because you knew you wouldn't be able to stop. They had packed everything you'd need into your small car and then, of course, sent you with extra money for the things they couldn't fit.

You were going to live with Kuroo in an apartment so surely there should be basic things like a refrigerator or microwave?

"Be safe, sweetie." Your mom said as you were leaving out of the door. You could only nod and wave bye, you'd never left home on your own like this before, so it put you through quite a few emotions.

You hadn't mentioned the part about Kuroo's roommate, Kenma, yet to your parents. They trusted you under Kuroo's care as if you were still a child.

Starting the drive to the town you would be spending the next few years in made you a little nervous. You decided to hook up your playlist and play some of your favorite songs to help with the nerves.

You had also wondered if you would ever see that strange man again, maybe that would be your first ever attempt at romance. Never being in a romantic relationship before meant that you relied on fictional characters from books to fulfill that part of your brain.

You just hoped that Kuroo wouldn't snoop to your bookcase that would be put up in your room to hold all of your books like trophies.

In the time that you had been driving and spacing out to the music, you had magically appeared in the town you kind of remembered.

Quickly, you called Kuroo because he didn't even give you the address to the apartment you would be staying at yet.

"Hey, I'm in town now. Could you send me the address?" You asked into the phone call connected to your car's radio.

"Uh, yeah sure," Maybe a minute went by. "There you go. I'll go let Kenma know you're on the way here, little one. See you in a bit."

Whilst you were trying to figure out the weird directions to get to the damn apartment, Kuroo was trying to get Kenma to come out of his room.

"Kenma, she's on her way now. Make sure you're nice to her, just what I had spoken with you about a couple days ago." Kuroo reminded Kenma, leaning on his door frame.

Kenma had been still trying to sleep even though it was almost 11:40am. That's always a tell-tale sign that he was up late on one of his many consoles or editing his Youtube channel.

"Kenma." Kuroo called once again.

Something stirred within the pile of blankets on Kenma's king-sized bed. Then a grunt was heard and Kuroo decided that it was enough for him, he'd have to actually say it again when Kenma would be up later. Kuroo shut his door and sighed, hoping this would go great for everyone involved.

Soon after, you sent him a text message saying you believe you had gotten to the apartment.

Kuroo came jogging down the apartment stairs to meet you exiting your car.

"Hey, little one. Was the drive okay? You need some help getting all that up the stairs?" He asked, giving you a hug. He'd be mindful of your feelings later when you've settled in so you can spill about your sentiments of being here, like you used to.

"Hey, yeah the drive was fine. Nothing but a bit of music and singing can't help," You chuckled and broke the hug.

"And yeah, it would be great if you could help me." You eyed your car, the backseat seemed to have been spilling through the windows based on everything your parents had insisted on packing.

"They sure do love you; you know that?" He mentioned opening your trunk so he could start with whatever is back there first.

You swallowed your feelings, "Yeah, I know. Let's get this stuff hauled in there." You said, changing the subject so you didn't have to think about that right now.

"I've taken the liberty to give you a queen-sized bed. I assume that you would bring your own sheets because I know you like particular 'aesthetics'." He made finger quotes around the word but that didn't take away how thoughtful it was of him.

"You didn't have to; I could've bought my own and put it together. I'm a manly man, you know?" You joked, enjoying the nice moment between you two.

"Yeah, yeah whatever you say." He grunted, hauling a box over his shoulder up to the apartment. After a couple trips, he told you he'd get the rest and lock your car for you so you could get things organized in your new room without being overwhelmed.

Heeding his instructions, you got to work.

By the time you were done, your room kind of resembled the one at home but this one spoke to you in a way that one never did. It signaled a new era for you – a new you.

Your bookshelf stood tall and proud with plenty of colorful books on it. Your bed had a pink and white theme, a fluffy rug in the middle of your hard wooden floor, and a door mirror were your favorite touches so far.

The apartment itself wasn't so bad. You didn't really get to take a look at it due to unpacking but you definitely wanted to now. Exiting your room, you find the bathroom and you guess the bedrooms where Kuroo and Kenma sleep.

The kitchen wasn't spacious, but it wasn't crowded either. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Kuroo probably meticulously placed the barstools and counter items like the tea, coffee, and toaster machines in specific places.

He was such a geek sometimes.

You looked through the cabinets and tried to stick everything to memory of its place. You, however, brought some of your own favorite dishware that had cute pink ribbons imprinted on the glass. You definitely were going to make your presence known with that.

That happened a lot more throughout the apartment too. Your little decor items like a specific throw blanket and pillow on the couch just for you. Small decorations on shelves here and there. Your toothpaste and toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.

You were popping up everywhere in their lives. In his life. And for some reason, it got under his skin. Even covering his head with a pillow, Kenma could still hear you bustling about in the apartment, talking to yourself about where something should go.

You'd occasionally ask Kuroo, and he'd just say, "Whenever you want to put it is fine with me, little one." Not taking into account Kenma's thoughts and that kind of pissed him off.

Not that it was his fault anyways. It's not like he got out of bed to say hi and greet you. Or it's not like he's pretending to be asleep so he doesn't have to conversate with you.

Kenma doesn't know why exactly you're getting under his skin so much, but it bothers him. It bothers him so deeply.

"Want to come with me to help you set everything up for school? I can show you the main buildings and once you get your class schedule, I'll tour the buildings with you, so you won't be late on your first day?" Kuroo's offer lit your eyes up.

Afterall, you were here because you wanted your degree, so obviously you're excited about classes and school.

"Yes, yes, yes. That'd be amazing. Just let me grab a jacket and I will. I saw something about it possibly raining later." You called out to him, fast walking to your room to get a zip-up you had on earlier.

You heard Kuroo walk back into the hall, and you thought he was going to get on to you for taking forever as you looked at your outfit into the mirror of your door. But that wasn't the case.

A knock was sounded, but it wasn't on your door. It was his.

"Kenma, want to come with us? We're going to go view the fall semester classes." Kuroo said through the door to Kenma's room.

You even stopped breathing to hear him.

You'd see the picture frames on the walls and here and there on the shelves from their high school days but there wasn't a current one of Kenma out. And even in those pictures, he was always looking away or face not closely in the picture. That in itself had made you curious too.

“Too tired.” Was all that was spoken but it still had an effect on you. Even though it was muffled through walls too. It was slightly becoming a bit more than curiosity at this point. But then again, you kind of had gotten a bit sad that he wouldn’t be tagging along.

You’d be living with a man you don’t even know, and he was too tired to go look at fall semester classes? Interesting. 

“Alright, well little one, let’s get this show on the road then.” Kuroo called for you and you opened your door.

“Okay!” You shoved that weird Kenma thought to the back of your brain and went ahead with Kuroo to enjoy how you guys would be spending the rest of your day. 

. . . 

Just like that, two entire weeks of school passed by. And yet, not even once within those fourteen days of school did Kenma take any invite from you.

You remembered how he turned you down multiple times. One day you had softly knocked on Kenma’s door, hoping for him to answer.

“Hey, want to come study with Kuroo and I? I thin-"

"Leave me alone." Kenma's annoyed, muffled voice cut you off and gave you the answer you needed. You purse your lips, hoping you haven't done anything to upset your roommate. Although that isn't even one of the possibilities for you haven't even been in the same room for longer than five minutes max.

Another encounter was when you had gotten home with Kuroo, and you guys decided to get takeout which was aka Mexican – your favorite. You had found Kenma sitting on the couch in the living room scrolling on his phone.

It was as if he could sense you looking at him, he quickly got up and headed straight for his room.

"Hey, wait. I wanted to know if you wanted to add to our order. We're getting Mexican food for dinner tonight." You spoke hopeful, keeping your voice light the entire time. You desperately wanted to connect with your roommate, even if it seemed that he hated you – your mere presence.

However, he had other thoughts as he passed you with a gruff scoff, "Mexican makes me sick."

Just a few words hurt your feelings more than you'd like to even admit. You weren't used to this type of rejection when you had been nothing but cordial.

One fateful day after class, you decided you really needed a study session with Kuroo to boost your spirits. You didn't want to feel so down with it only being the second –almost third– week of college.

"Of course, anything for you. I'm going to invite Kenma; he needs it too." Kuroo said, without thinking. You hadn't confided in Kuroo about how you think Kenma absolutely hates your guts. Every time you try, you just keep thinking maybe there is something you're missing that is making him behave this way towards you.

"Oh... yeah, that's a good idea." You tried to support it, but you were riddled with anxiousness.

Your nerves got even worse when Kuroo had stated that Kenma, begrudgingly, would meet up with you guys. Only to which you then mustered half a smile, knowing that the next few hours would be more stressful than the coursework itself.

You stood at the small cafe that was built into the university's library, you stared at the menu hoping that your memory would be able to recall what Kuroo had always ordered.

On the off chance that you and Tetsu come here to study or get a breather, you always forget what he orders. On the other hand, Kuroo has mentioned what Kenma gets every single time and now that is the only thing that has burned itself into your memory.

A fucking oat milk latte loaded with any sort of sweet syrup.

You'd been secretly watching Kenma when he drinks them, seeing which kind of syrup he favors more. You're not exceptionally sure why you've been doing this either. However, the vanilla and caramel he seemed to like the best, so you asked to add both of those syrups into his latte.

Then, you made sure to send Kuroo a quick text, asking what his order was again – hopefully it just gets blamed on your apparent forgetfulness.

'Iced coffee with a splash of sweet cream' He had texted back, which honestly seemed very basic.

With a drink carrier, you carefully made your way to the study table that soon had everyone's laptops, notebooks, and pens out.

"Thank you, little one." Kuroo said, hastily taking his bland iced coffee from the brown, recyclable drink carrier.

Kenma's sharp golden eyes peered upward at you, causing you to gulp. He took his coffee without so much as uttering a word as Kuroo got to work. You had pretended to type notes for your art class and secretly peered up to see the slightly upward turn of Kenma's lips.

You felt satisfactory with your decision.

After a few hours of studying, you couldn't help that your eyes kept drifting to Kenma. Kuroo had gone to the bathroom and your coursework was definitely not on your mind. You breathed in as you took in his entire form across the study table from you.

Kenma's medium length hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, his brown roots showing more so since they've grown out quite a bit from the starch contrast of the blond hair dye. A few strands of hair had framed his sharp angled face, he seemed extremely concentrated on whatever he was reading at the moment.

Your eyes moved downwards, taking in his frame and clothes. They were the most basic, as expected from someone who didn't really care what outfit he wore. A tee with graphics on it and black sweatpants.

Noticing more, his laptop had one of those light up keyboards that you kind of wanted to run your hands across for fun. If you focused on just him, you could slightly smell the scent of cinnamon apples coming off of it. It felt intoxicating to say the least, making you feel the slightest bit of light-headedness.

You snapped out of your thoughts when he suddenly shut his laptop hard.

"Done studying?" You asked curiously, trying to pretend that there isn't a weird flutter in your stomach nor that you basically were ogling him either.

"Why does it matter? It's not like you're doing any studying with the way you've staring holes into me." He sneered at you, and you couldn't help the faint dust of blush that coated your cheeks.

"I was spacing out, sorry." You muttered, only focusing your attention on the brightly lit laptop screen, not the way you feel embarrassed for the emotions that coursed through your veins when you thought of your roommate – who hated you, you had to remind yourself.

When in the hell was Kuroo coming back from the bathroom to save you from this?

synopsis: it's the summer before you go to university, and you decide to become roommates with your pen pal that you've known since you were in primary. big problem arises, he's got a roommate, and it just so happens that his roommate either has a sexual want for you or hates your guts – or probably both?

tag list: [let me know if you'd like to be in the tag list!]

@geektastic84 @lavanderdreamve @hhoneyhan @kirikeijii @marsoverthestars @nymphsdomain @justagirlnamedkai @kodzukein @74zix47 @kakuzone @jaeminaur

a/n: i made the banner, and i got my idea for this smau from @deftrow !!

[star--nymph]

Leliana, It is not in my interest to entertain the common gossip that you are so adapt at parsing through, but for the sake of the official record, I will dispel the worst of them for you. To be blunt, Lavellan is no Tranquil. I took it upon myself to examine her and I found no evidence of the Rite ever being performed on her. Further questioning of the Herald uncovered that she had limited knowledge of the Rite to begin with. I see no reason in pursuing this ridiculous subject any further. The prisoner Herald has the capacity to perform as well as the rest of us, mage or not. That she is of a...dreadful nature which requires observance is its own issue that is being personally dealt with as we speak. As for your inquiries, I can only repeat what Josephine has no doubt already reported: Lavellan traveled alone from the Northern Banks of the Minanter River as an envoy from her clan with the single of purpose of attending the Conclave and returning with her intel. She has had few interactions with human civilization prior to that by her own admissions. She is Dalish, trained by their leader--however I find this dubious given her actions. I have wondered if there is a chance she may be a maleficar but Solas has assured me that he has seen no signs of blood magic. How much I trust him, I can not say. But the worst I have seen of Lavellan so far is her habit of screeching at the top of her lungs during battle while performing her spells--and her penchant for vanishing for hours on end. I can fault her for nearly bursting my eardrum, but nothing else. If you must worry of any rumor, it is of the men spreading the name 'Banshee' around for her. It is doing nothing for their imaginations. I would ask that you and Josephine do not attempt to 'use' the name to your 'advantage' but I expect you already have...ugh, plans for it. I won't bother to stop you, as it is a fool's errand. Cassandra

we do love oc templates in this house and this time I'd like to thank @mt07131 for this template!

[sickwhispers]

hii could I request some rodger x reader..

QUITE THE CHARMER

Pairing: Rodger x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning: none

Type: headcanons + drabble

"Y/n?" Toodles stands behind you, a curious look on her face as you turn around to face her. It wasn't unusual for her to ask you questions out of the blue, especially when the team was able to relax for a bit after another run, considering she was always such a curious little thing. And, you never minded answering. "Why does Rodger call you his sweetheart?

To say you were shocked was an understatement

Sweetheart?

Sure, you've heard him throw the word around before

But, usually he kept that sort of nickname saved for when you two were alone

And, most of the time, you had always assumed it was just something having to do with his overall persona

Referring to you as sweetheart in front of others, though?

That was new

He was always the type to be gentle with you, and maybe even a little protective

He cared for the others, there was no doubt about that, but he seemed to be more cautious when you or toodles were teamed with him

An airhorn hidden in his pocket, purposely messing up during an extraction, keeping extra tapes in case dandy were to sale aid

All things he did in case you two were in trouble

In full honesty, he knew he wouldn't forgive himself if you were to get hurt during a run

Along with him putting himself at risk for your safety, he usually preferred you to hide during rounds

Even if you weren't always so fond of it

He knew you wanted to help at times, but he'd sleep better at night knowing that you were safe and sound

"Alright... you two stay here. I'd rather you hide them lose another one of those hearts." He whispered, his voice barely audible to anyone besides you and toodles as he gently takes her out of his arms and into yours. And, the second she's handed over, her arms quickly wrap around your neck, holding onto tighter then you've ever felt before.

You open your mouth to speak, attempting to protest against what felt like another one of his commands. But, you didn't get far before he had already begun shushing you. "Don't start with me now."

"Toodles?" He starts once more, turning his gaze from you and onto the little girl clinging to you. It almost amazes you. The way his tone went from something akin to disapproval and worry, to something much more softer. "I need you to be brave, alright? Be a big girl and keep them safe for me."

"Got it, rodger!" She says, a little two loudly then what you and rodger were comfortable with. Quickly, rodger turned around, using his one eye to scan around the area. And, once taking notice of the lack of footsteps coming their way, shifted his gaze back over to the both of you.

"Thank you, toodles. Remember, shh..." her head nods in reply to what rodger had said, holding up a finger to her mouth as she copies the same shushing sound he had made.

He wasn't made to distract, and the heavy breathing that seemed to attract every twisted in the area was proof of that, yet..

At the same time

He couldn't help but jump into action

He knew how risky it was, and at most times he'd prefer to think of it logically

He was the logical person of the group, he was a detective

But, he felt almost embarrassed at how many times situations he's out himself in just to insure your safety

Now, if you weren't in danger, and he was able to think straight before reacting, he usually went with the more refined ways to insure your safety

Most of the time

If a twisted was headed your way, and hadn't noticed you yet, then he'd prefer to throw something in the opposite direction and away from you

But on those special occasions where he felt there was little to no time, he wouldn't hesitate before throwing himself in front of you

If he was able to reach you, that is

[creatingblackcharacters]

Also gonna send my criticisms of The Walking Dead TV show's treatment of Black characters as a separate ask.

So, to put it simply. The Walking Dead show has a horrible tendency of killing off its Black characters. Like, to the point it's a semi-common joke/theory that they have a quota on how many Black characters they can have.

Spoilers for most of the TV show, continue at your own risk

At the start of the show, we have two Black characters; Jacqui and T-dog. Jacqui only appears in the first season (7 episodes). She had very little presence in the show, only showing up for brief dialogue or to guide the other characters. She dies comforting a (white) man, who she decided to not leave alone in his final moments.

T-dog lasts three seasons (22 episodes) and gets more time in the spotlight. He's quiet, compassionate, and very selfless, the kind of guy who spent the early days of the apocalypse transporting old people to safety in a church van.

He also gets called the n-word and is beaten horribly within the first few episodes by Merle (...who is widely loved by the fandom despite this). T-dog still attempts to save Merle's life later, as Merle was, himself beaten up and cuffed to a pipe after committing a hate crime.

Throughout most of the series he's a pretty regular good guy. He's resistant to hurting people (even in self defense), he helps out other survivors, very normal stuff.

Then he dies while saving another (white) character.

Then we meet Big Tiny, Andrew, and Oscar, a trio of Black prisoners. Big Tiny dies almost instantly. Andrew is killed by Oscar. Oscar is killed during a rescue mission for two other characters (one white).

Then we meet Bob! He's another normal, decent man, doesn't stand out much. Then he's bitten by a zombie and has his leg eaten by (mostly white) cannibals. Tyreese puts him out of his misery.

Tyreese and Sasha are a pair of siblings. Sasha survives for most of the show, Tyreese survives a couple seasons. He's strong, protective, quiet, and wise. He beats up zombies with a hammer, pretty cool.

He is bitten by a zombie and dies not long after a new Black character is introduced.

That brings us to Noah; he's polite, helpful, intelligent, and interested in architecture. He even builds a close friendship with another member of the main cast.

Then a white man sacrifices him to zombies to survives. And he just... kinda allows it so the other guy present can survive.

Let's not forget about Sasha. She gets a pretty long run on the show; she's loyal, practical, has strong morals, is a great leader, and is amazing with a gun. She even has a couple romance arcs... one with Bob (the guy who got eaten), and the other is a man who is violently beaten to death in front of her.

She commits suicide and becomes a zombie to avenge her second boyfriend (who was white), attempting to bite the man who killed him.

I'm sure you can see the pattern... Black characters die and are replaced by a shiny new Black character. When they die, it's often directly connected to a white character.

If I remember right... around three Black main characters made it to the end of the show.

In comparison, three of the four Telltale games put their Black characters front and centre (the third game stars a Latino man, but a Black girl is still the deuteragonist). These characters are varied, loved by their peers, people sacrifice for them, people want to save them.

Well I guess I have no interest in ever watching this, huh 🤣 my reactions

Jacqui: 🙄 of course

T-Dog: shoulda left dude stuck to that pipe. Let a zombie get him, even. How do you find time to be racist during a zombie apocalypse? Nah, I'd let him die. He better than me.

Big Tiny, Andrew, and Oscar: here one moment gone the next

Bob: poor Bob 😭

Tyreese and Sasha: no, Tyreese 😭

Noah: is Noah the one that was played by Tyler James Williams?? Where he got caught in the spinning door? Because I remember that shit! I remember being HORRIFIED bc omg that's 1) Chris and 2) WHY IS HE DYING?? 3) now im scared of revolving doors

Sasha: 🙄🙄🙄🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️ now Sasha. Girl.

That is too much lmao damn.