idk i had this in my drafts for over a decade

12 days of jerrie - christmas (baby, please come home)

Summary: Perrie Edwards is one of the most famous singers in the world and Jade loves her for it but when her management makes Perrie go on a tour in the US on Christmas AND her birthday, Jade just can’t help but be sulky.

Pairing(s): Jade/Perrie

Warning(s): sexual content, graphic descriptions, strong language, watching kink (is that a thing??)

Word Count: 4,021

A/N: I usually don’t really get turned on by my own writing but idk?? I like this?? It’s also quite long, sorry it got update so late. Based off of Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home) and obvs my fav performance is the one by Little Mix

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The Pink House With A White Door.

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Deanna OC

Warnings: Fluff with a side of angst

Word count: 1450-ish

A/N: I had this one on my drafts for I don’t even know how long, and I decided to post it now. Unbetad so, idk probably awful super lame.

[Feedback is the best way to show your love]

Originally posted by frozen-delight

Dean parks the car outside the pink house with a white door, beautiful garden; flowers and a small willow; it’s dark, he does not notice the swing hanging from a tall branch.

‘Tis a great location’ he thinks to himself, ‘Nice neighborhood… She did good!’

As he’s walking, he hears his own footsteps resound on the wooden porch; Dean reconsideres the decision of dropping by without announcement.

“Fuck it, I’m already here…” He sighes, nothing is gonna make him turn back now.

As he lifts a hand to ring the doorbell memories start flashing around in his mind.

15 year ago… Happy sweethearts, they knew and loved each other their whole lives, growing up and learning together, to hunt, kiss, love.

They were each other’s first everything and finding her note on the motel’s bed that night out of the blue, shattered his heart in a million pieces.

“Sorry Dean, I had enough of this life.

Please, please don’t come looking for me!

I’ll always love you


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Of Lighters and Pianos (Part 1)

Originally posted by claracivry

Pairing: Warren Worthington III x Reader

Request: “I’m sorry if this too much, but can you make a oneshot that takes place after the events if X-men Apocalypse and reader can controls fire, but can not create it and the students there shun the reader because she is the sister of Pyro (John) who betrayed the X-men to go with the brotherhood. But before he had left he gave her his zippo lighter as a reminder of him. And Warren tells the reader he feels the same pain as her. Sorry again if it’s to much to ask for 🙇🙇🙇😢😢”

Warnings: Some sadness at the begininng

A/N: Since Pyro joined the Brotherhood a few decades after the 80′s and the whole reboot happened, I kind of just made up how he left, hope that’s okay!

This began as a short one-shot… And a couple hours later became a three page story. I’d love to write a sequel to this, or maybe even a whole series? Idk I just loved writing this so much, and I’d love to hear your opinions! Thanks 😊

You hated it. You always hated the stares the other students gave you. Like you were a horrible person. Like someone who didn’t deserve to be trusted. You wanted to scream at them that you were good, you wouldn’t abandon them like your brother, John, did. But you know that would only confirm their rumors.

You clutched the lighter John had given you so long ago, running your thumb over the worn edge in your pocket over and over, feeling the edge dig into your hand as students turned to stare as you passed them by. You shrunk into your jacket, resisting the urge to just run to somewhere quiet and empty. You pushed your way through a group of giggling girls, their laughs piercing your ears. You gritted your teeth, taking the stairs two at a time to a place you knew would be empty.

You lifted the hatch to the attic, breathing in the familiar musty air. The attic was filled with boxes covered in dust, old mementos long forgotten piled in the corner. But to you, it was heaven. No one staring or laughing at you, no one hissing words like “betrayer” or “you don’t deserve to be here” in your ear. You settled in beside the lone window overlooking the grassy lawn, sighing as you leaned against the wall. You pulled out the lighter from your pocket, tracing your fingers over the countless scars and scratches. You could still remember the day John left, just a year ago now, in the dead of night. You had caught him leaving, asking where he was going. He had turned around, his expression soft.

“I’m going somewhere I’ll be helpful,” he told you. You shook your head, struggling to come up with an answer.

“But we need you here,” you whispered. “You’re the only family I have.”

John sighed. “I know.” He bit his lip, pulling a familiar lighter from his pocket. He held it out to you, you taking it hesitantly. 

“It helped me. Let it help you. Maybe someday you’ll come join us.”

You couldn’t answer as he straightened up and left, his hands deep in his pockets. You wanted to say something, anything, to convince him to stay. But you couldn’t.

And you had regretted it since.

You flicked the lighter open, sparks flying as it ignited. You watched the orange flame dance, fluttering in the slight draft from the window next to you. You held out your left hand, cupping the flame. You drew it out of the lighter, your palm growing warm. You raised it up, letting the flame dance in your hand. You had the power to control fire, same as your brother. You had always thought it tied the two of you together. You had always been the siblings that cared for each other. Sure, you had your arguments, but the two of you had been close.

You curled your fingers inward, extinguishing the flame. You sighed, letting your head rest back against the wall. You wished your brother wasn’t so easily influenced. You wished the other students didn’t hate you. You closed your eyes. You wished you could control your life better.

“I know what it feels like.”

You jumped, knocking your head painfully against the wall. You narrowed your eyes when the owner of the voice stepped out behind some boxes, his wings tucked in to avoid knocking into anything.

“Warren,” you greeted him shortly, rubbing the back of your head. “What do you want?”

“I saw you out there. All the stares you got,” Warren said, gesturing to the empty space next to you. “Can I sit?”

You shrugged. “Why not.”

Warren slid down carefully, his metal wings scraping against the old wood. He stretched out his leather-clad legs in front of him, his hands twisted in his lap.

“I just wanted to tell you I understand. I know what it feels like to be hated by everyone else.”

You watched the dust stirred up from Warren’s movement swirl through the air, lit up by the setting sun. You flicked the lighter open again, clicking it shut. It was an old habit, one your brother had gotten into and transferred to you. You balanced the lighter in your hand. Maybe the lighter carried the habit, not the other way around.

“Whose lighter is that?” Warren asked.

“My brother’s. He gave it to me before he… left,” you answered, sliding it into your pocket. “But that doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does,” Warren said. “I know you must feel responsible for him leaving.”

You tensed up at his words, avoiding his eyes purposefully. Warren continued, toying with a bit of cardboard he found in the floor, wiping the dust off with a single careful finger.

“When I made the choice to join Apocalypse, then almost died in the fight, it put a lot of things in perspective. I learned the power of choices. Between good and bad.” Warren paused, his fingers freezing too, the cardboard falling to the floor. “It isn’t your fault that your brother left. I mean I don’t know much, but from what I’ve heard, you’re a good person. People just like to judge. It’s what I hate about the world. You just have to ignore it and tell yourself that you’re good. You can’t let it get to you. Someday, they’ll realize that the past doesn’t define us. What we do in the future does.”

Warren swallowed, glancing over at you. “And the choices of others don’t define us.”

You sighed, turning to meet Warren’s eyes, a small smile making his nose wrinkle and his blue eyes shine.

“I always thought you were the resident badass,” you said. “I didn’t know you were so…” You searched for the word you wanted, failing miserably. Warren filled it in for you.


You nodded. “Yeah. Thoughtful.”

Warren stretched, his fingers cracking and a small breath escaping him. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“Really?” You asked, tipping your head. “Like what?”

“Like… I used to play the piano. I was good at it, too. When I was younger, before I ran away to Germany and was captured, I used to play for my family. Of course, my dad wasn’t around too often. But my mother loved it. She used to boast about me, telling everyone about her musical son.“ 

Warren’s smile slipped a bit, seeming to come out of a trance. “But that’s a long time ago.”

“Can you still play?” You asked softly, giving him an encouraging look. Warren shrugged.

“I haven’t tried in a while. It’s been years.”

“Well, I move that we go find a piano, and you try to play it,” you grinned, pushing yourself up. Warren followed, brushing the dust out of his clothes.

“Where would we even find a piano?“ 

You threw your hands up. “I don’t know. We’ll find one. But I think it’ll help.”

Warren raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t I come up here to help you?”

“You did,” you said, heading for the hatch out of the attic, turning around to grin at Warren. “And now it’s time for me to help you.”

Part 2

Part 3