#clothes sharing
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They're Ours
(GIF NOT MINE)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader
Description: My HC's around Spencer and sharing clothes over the course of your relationship.
Warnings: slight nsfw(mentions of sex and others), !!Spoiler warning for season 10!! lemme know if theres anything else!
Flufftober Day 7: Sharing clothes
At the beginning of the relationship (in like season 1/2) Spencer doesn't even realize couple sharing clothes is a thing
like if he would come home late from a case to find you asleep wearing something of his he is kinda confused but finds he loves it
And then in the morning he would ask you about and and you would say you missed him
"your wearing my shirt-"
"I know, I just missed you"
"oh."
I think after around a year Spencer would be super used to it and wears some of your clothes too
like he would totally sneak one of your old college hoodies that are too big for him at the bottom of his go back some times
its the only time he wears hoodies
sometimes he can't wait to just go back to his hotel room and put it on
he just misses you and feels comforted by the familier smell
and after while of things like this you would regularly wear clothes from each others closet, not for comfort- just because they go better with the outfit
And this helped Spencer explore more fun patterns and colors through your clothes without the commitment of buying new clothes
and if you're an agent he would totally give you his FBI jacket
like im imagining you get bashed in the head and get a gash on your forehead while catching the unsub
and Spencer rushes over searching for you desperately
only knowing your injured, but the extent
and when he does find you and sees the goosebumps from the cold breeze he doesn't hesitate to wrap his puffy fbi jacket around you shoulders while the paramedic works on your forehead
Another image I had in my head is like gag gifts
like It would be so cute if you get Spencer those boxers you can personalize with a collage of your your face on it so he can quote "always be close to you"
and he would blush a lot and think that this was his real gift until you pull out the real gift
I think post prison Spencer would absolutely adore it when you wear his clothes because he needs that reminder that your still there when he notices a shirt or a cardigan missing
and he just meds to feel loved so he starts almost preferring your clothes over his because he's been deprived of you for so long
also I think after prison he would also find your wearing one of his shirts rly hot and when first sees you wearing one of his shirts again he has to have you
he would approach you at the counter while your making tea
He would wrap his arms around your waist and whisper deeply in your ear
"you look amazing in my clothes.."
"oh really?"
he would only hum as he kisses your neck..
you know the rest ;)
#bau#criminal minds#bau team#spencer reid#fluff#Spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x gn reader#Spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#Gay#HC's#headcannons#Clothes sharing#Flufftober#fluff prompts#flufftober 2023#flufftober day 7
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(sharing again because I'm so proud of this one)
When Billy Falls in Love
--
Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.
Max stays angry red.
She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here--
“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag.
Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows.
Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close.
Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”
“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.
Doesn’t.
Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”
“--All of a--”
“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.
They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.
There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar.
The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--
“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”
About him?
About his bones and blood.
Max shrugs. “Why should I?”
And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.
“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”
“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.
“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--”
Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.
“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”
Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”
Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull.
Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”
“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”
“--I--”
“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”
Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.
“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.
--
“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”
Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue.
“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”
“I can’t believe she said that.”
“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”
“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”
“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”
“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”
“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”
“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”
“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”
Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”
“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”
“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking.
Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.
Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.
They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black.
Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.
Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.
Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”
“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”
“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”
Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”
“That was an hour ago.”
“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”
Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”
“Do you wanna die today, freak?”
“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”
Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back.
Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness.
“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”
“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”
Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him,
“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.
“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?
“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”
“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”
“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”
Eddie bangs his head against the window.
Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”
“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.
Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.
Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.
Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”
“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”
“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”
And.
Munson says it like it’s a shock.
Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong.
Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.
Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.
Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.
It makes him crazy.
Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.
Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.
So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies.
If it kills him.
He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--
“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.
“You’re not helping.”
“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”
“And I’m just pointing out--”
“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.
Steve wants to check the flowers.
Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”
“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington? What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”
Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.
“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”
Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away.
Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky.
The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”
Eddie blinks.
Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks.
And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.
About Billy.
He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.
That Steve would survive losing this.
He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.
“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”
Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.
“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”
--
Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt.
It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.
What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard.
He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door.
Eddie doesn’t move.
“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.
“Nah, you go ahead.”
“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up.
Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.
“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.
Eddie smiles at him.
It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy.
“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”
Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.
Max’s scrunchie.
Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.
Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.
“So?” You fucking him now?”
“No, I--”
“What are you doing here, Harrington?”
Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.
The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.
Out of breath.
Weak.
“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?”
“Flowers,” Steve tells him.
“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.
He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.
As Steve crashes and burns.
Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him.
He smells like peaches.
He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch.
It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.
“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare.
His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--
“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”
“--Right--”
“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”
Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image.
“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.
“I--”
“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.
Feels that way about Billy.
“I,” Steve tries again,
“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.
“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him.
Billy stops. Waits.
Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.
“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning.
It hurts.
It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”
And.
Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”
“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”
He does.
He really does.
Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now.
So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”
“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”
“I know.”
“Well, then, why’d you say it?”
“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”
“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”
“Neither do you, asshole,”
“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”
Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.
“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.
And then.
Steve gets an idea.
He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.
“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”
“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.
Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”
“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”
Billy blinks, confused.
“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”
Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.
Steve’s feet are on fire.
He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.
Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”
And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.
Steve watches Billy.
The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”
Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”
“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.
It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him.
“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.
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Now hold on one gorram minute
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Note how Princess has to have the buttons undone....
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So some of Misha's clothes are being auctioned off...
Aaanddd i spy with my little eye...
X
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It just makes me happy when they dress alike 🥰
#someone may have already done this#I haven't been on tumblr today#(I know!! insanity)#but if so then have it again? lol#chris evans#sebastian stan#clothes sharing#but mostly in spirit#still nice 🥰🥰
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I love that I can imagine whatever I want and no one can stop me. Like, in my brain, Watson once put on Holmes’s dressing gown because he was cold and Holmes had draped it over the settee before he left. So obviously, he puts it on because it's closer, and when Holmes comes home, he stands in the doorway for a moment and just watches Watson smoke because holy shit, that's his jacket. Watson sees him looking and begins to take it off, apologizing for helping himself to Holmes's things, but Holmes insists he keeps wearing it. After all, he swears he isn't cold. "And besides," he says, "you wear fine things well."
#sherlock#sherlock holmes#ofmd#headcanon#clothes sharing#in this universe they're the same size#okay?
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Larry + some of my favorite “coincidences”
#Larry#larry stylinson#harry styles#louis tomlinson#ltwt#hslot#matching#clothes sharing#obVIOUsly#baby boyfriends
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Just them. :'3
#80s Lawrusso#Lawrusso#fanart#johnny lawrence#daniel larusso#someone asked for Johnny in Daniel's blue jersey to parallel Daniel wearing Johnny's Metallica T-Shirt =D#took me a while but here you go =3#Dear Clarence artwork#the karate kid au#au fanfiction#daniel x johnny#clothes sharing#digital art#my art#please don't repost to other sm platforms#update is coming today or tomorrow!#i swear i'm obsessed with daniel in giant sweaters i might never draw anything else ever again XD
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So I was looking through some photos of the bugs in Bangor in August, 1967, and I found this one:
Upon closer inspection, I noticed John and Paul seem to be wearing the same shirt -- green with purple flowers.
Then I thought that maybe John was just wearing the same shirt he wore during the Sgt. Pepper launch party back in May, which is very similar except that it has ruffles down the front.
Here's another photo of Paul's shirt:
I started looking for more photos to see if I could get some with John's robe open, and here's what I found:
They were wearing two of the same shirt. And I'm not sure if this is a wide-known fact already, and I'm just late to the party, but I thought it was very sweet. And it DOES confirm that sometimes they weren't clothes-sharing, and that they just tended to buy the same things. But still, I think it's a very intimate thing.
Because they'd just had their domestic time in Cavendish, Jane returned home from America, and then they go off to Bangor and they pack the same shirt... And Brian hadn't died yet. Things were relatively Good.
A final photo of them together, the shirts on full display.
#idk what this means tbh but its been on my mind since last night#and im not saying it was necessarily intentional#but imagine them noticing#im soft for them#paul mccartney#john lennon#john and paul#the beatles#mclennon#lennon/mccartney#1967#bangor#clothes sharing
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my favorite rhink is when link calls rhett baby, just watched their cereal bath video where he does it so casually, and he's also so happy and cute and nearly makes the huge bowl topple over cause he has to sit down unnecessarily close to rhett 🥹
i agree completely. it's a stone cold classic. 🥣 it's got everything:
rhett in link's glasses
link in the thrifted pajamas that rhett has also worn
giggly link losing his mind over the sensory experience
"it's still cereal, baby"
rhett's hair wetted down
"go for it, son"
link spreading all over to take up room
rhett calmly coaxing him through it
how rhett's back looks with wet pajamas on
thinking about how many undermilk bj jokes they'd make today
rhett getting all high-pitched mirroring link's joy on instinct
"just go down!!!!"
link's wings being so prominent and visible while wet
rhett also moving closer to link and displacing the weight
link without glasses
"i love it!!!!! iieyeiiiii love it!!! i can't breathe!!!!!1"
rhett's little high giggle "ha - ooh" at how hot it is in the bowl
how low cut the blue pajama top was
that link's accent gets stronger as he falls apart
"i'm so happy right now!" - link confirming it's pure bliss
rhett immediately burying link like they've done this all before
#wholesome vibes#answers#so fucking cute#giggles#rhett in glasses is my armageddon#clothes sharing#.txt
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Billy Hargrove's wearing his jacket.
The denim one, the oversized one Steve bought because he thought the three-sizes-too-big look was A Look, the one that fits near perfectly around Billy's broad shoulders and toned arms, just a little long at the sleeve cuffs.
His shirt's open, his tits are out, he's in Steve's fucking jacket in the middle of school.
The bastard won't even kiss him but he'll steal his clothes. He'll let Steve burn for him. He'll watch Steve with dark eyes and an under-the-lashes smoulder as girls fondle him up and whisper in his ear and—
And Steve's about four fucking seconds from launching at him like some kind of rabid animal.
Its been this way ever since Billy saved their asses. He's bigger and badder, somehow, but also... Different. Like he's teething for a fuck not a fight more than anything. Vixen in shoddy leather and eyeliner, all yoga girl curls and lips Steve wants to bite.
The energy and dynamic between them is different, too. Before Billy was feral, always at his throat, thought of Steve like shit on his shoe he couldn't scrape off. Now Billy's like a cat in heat, always purring, aloof but sultry and one second away from going cunt up if only Steve could just get his hands on Billy for longer than four fucking seconds.
It started once Billy was on his feet again. He'd prowled into the school, leather jacket and shades, headed straight past Steve and he'd braced himself for the typical shoulder barge, but when Billy brushed past him it was just that.
A slide of their bodies, a gentle nudge as if to say I'm here, and then Billy was gone. In basketball Billy went from attacking to being the one in front, steady, pliant as Steve shadowed him. Kitten-minx glances over his shoulder, plush mouth curved into a smirk as Steve folded over his back, used the inch and a half he had on Billy to his advantage.
The touching grew bolder. Billy would slouch in his seat in class, legs spreading, knee pressing into Steve's thigh as he doodled in his books, because Billy Hargrove was a straight A student who somehow never wrote an actual fucking word in class ever.
At the lockers when Steve was talking to Tommy Billy would lean back or sideways against him, as if Steve was just another inanimate blue locker, never once looking at him but always a burning hot weight against him, the coconut scent of his shampoo lodged in his lungs.
Billy would suck on pencils while staring straight at him. Billy would arch his back and run his hands down his hips in the showers with Steve less than three feet away. Billy would prowl through the halls, hips swaying, coming to heel at Steve's looks or motions like a leashed pet.
Eventually; Billy would straddle his thighs behind the old caretaker's shed, would blow smoke into his mouth with less than an inch between their lips or pour shitty vodka down his throat between classes, because around the kids he's still Pack Mom Steve but around Billy he's something else.
They're a wildfire, a temporary flash of all-consuming heat and danger and then they'll snuff out, burnt to ash and char and smoke.
Eventually; Billy would sprawl out in Steve's bed, ocean eyes hazy, syrupy drawl making fun of Steve's posters and music and closet while Steve lay beside him, always always thinking of rolling over, stealing the smoke-sour breath right out of his lungs.
They're.
They're not a couple.
Not nothing, just...
Something.
Because Billy will let Steve crowd him back against the Camaro now; pressed ankle to chest, mouths inches apart, will look up at him sugar-sweet under his lashes, vicious smirk, lazy drawl until Steve's forced to back away because if he doesn't their first time is gonna be Billy bent over the hood in the school fucking lot, and not once does Billy threaten him, or bite at him, or kill him in broad daylight.
Because Billy's wearing a jacket Steve doesn't ever remember giving him the opportunity to take, and its a primal sort of claim that has Steve vibrating on the damn spot, itching to know if it still smells like him, if Billy's walking around with Steve's scent saturating his soft skin.
Tommy's too busy sucking Carol's tongue right out of her throat to notice so Steve gives in to the baser urge, lopes through the hallway to slide an arm around Billy's tiny little waist, fingers curling in the familiar washed-soft fabric. Billy automatically leans back, like he knows exactly which idiot is brave enough to just grab at him like this.
Like there's only one idiot who actually has permission to.
The jacket still smells like him.
"I like your new style," he murmurs, husky-low, the voice that used to bribe Nancy out of her conservative sweaters and button-up skirts. "It suits you."
Billy shifts, slide of Steve's hip against the back of his, then they're side by side and just two dudes in a hallway again, maybe a little too close but hey, nobody's hands are in pants, so.
It drives him insane all day. They don't have classes together but Billy's suddenly everywhere Steve looks, in his jacket, and his thighs ache with the memory of Billy's weight on them, wonders if one day Billy'd let him fuck him in nothing but that faded denim and silver.
He'd make him bounce on it, leave the jacket open so the denim slid over his chest, scraped and sparked where he was sensitive.
And because they're doing this all ass-backwards maybe Billy will even let him hold his hand after.
After school, waiting for the kids, Steve crowds Billy back against the Beemer, boxes him in, traces where the hem of the jacket rides a half-inch above the hem of Billy's jeans with his thumb.
"Somethin' to say, pretty boy?" Billy purrs, low-smoke whiskey and gravel, cants his hips forwards Its indecent. Its risky. Dangerous.
Everything Steve drools over, burns for in his veins like his next fix when it comes to Billy Hargrove.
"When you let me," he rasps, voice wavering, because in the wild the she-wolf chooses to go cunt up for the stud, makes him prove himself first, "when you let me fuck you, wear this? Wear it please?" he begs.
Billy just smiles, saccharine slow. Thick syrup Steve will drown in.
(Later, two weeks later, Steve will buy a jacket in New York when his parents drag him there for a company dinner. Its butter-supple, somewhere between smoke ash and dark chocolate. Costs his whole shopping allowance for the trip but its worth it because Billy steals it the first chance he gets and Billy lets him kiss him for the first time with his hands fisted in the lapels and Billy switches it out for the denim jacket, winks at Steve in the hallway three weeks later and Steve knows.)
#stranger things#harringrove#rogue fanfic#harringrove fanfiction#harringrove fanfic#steve harrington/billy hargrove#steve harrington x billy hargrove#billy hargrove/steve harrington#billy hargrove x steve harrington#clothes sharing#clothes stealing#pre-relationship#implied top steve harrington#implied bottom billy hargrove
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
Additional Tags: Pepper is absolutely the kinky one in that relationship, and Tony worships at her feet, Sharing Clothes, Sort Of, Suggestive Themes, Uncle James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Awesome Pepper Potts, Rhodey is So Done, Tony has stars in his eyes, Fluff and Crack
Series: Part 28 of Iron Family
Summary:
Pepper really understands her husband. Both his possessive caveman side, and his nostalgic pack rat side. Rhodey would really rather not hear about it at all.
Notes: For my @tonystarkbingo square K5 - music, @anyfandomfluffbingo O5 - "You made this for me?", and @mfbingo O3 - marriage!
#rebelmeg's fanfic#tonystarkbingomarkvii#affluff#mfbingo#pepperony#tony stark#pepper potts#pepper is absolutely the kinky one in that relationship#rhodey#morgan stark#uncle rhodey and mo date#clothes sharing#clothes tearing#crack and fluff#fanfic#mcu
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Possession is nine tenths of the law...Right?
KikiDoesFanfic on ao3
Jay/Carlos de Vil
Descendants (Disney Movies)The Isle of the Lost Series - Melissa de la Cruz
Rating: G
No Archive Warnings Apply
Words: 1,602
Chapters: 1/1
On Ao3
Summary: Jay's tourney jersey is missing, and he really needs to find it so Coach won't chew him out at practice, but when he does... Maybe he doesn't want it back after all.
~~~
Jay is going to be so late to morning practice; he's torn his side of the room apart as quietly as possible while looking, but still can’t find his tourney jersey.
Usually he just asks Carlos where things are, because if he's honest with himself Carlos is the one who keeps everything clean and organised around here. Jay mostly drops everything in a trail from the door to his bed as he enters the room, much to Carlos' frustration, but Carlos is still asleep.
Jay hates waking Carlos when he’s finally sleeping. He often stays up as late as possible working on projects to avoid his nightmares, but Jay really needs to leave, and he can’t leave without his jersey or Coach will chew him out even more for being late -and- out of uniform.
Approaching the Carlos-shaped blanket burrito on the bed, Jay calls out Carlos' name, shaking him awake a bit too roughly if the way Carlos jolts upright is any indication.
"Hey 'Los, do you-" Jay cuts himself off as Carlos' arm comes up from the blanket to rub at his tired eyes. His arm which is covered in Jay's missing tourney jersey, hand hidden in the cuff.
"Do I what?" Carlos asks on a yawn, peeking at Jay through half-lidded eyes.
Jay realises he must have been staring for too long, because Carlos is suddenly more alert, lowering his arm and sitting up fully, forehead creased in concern.
"Jay?"
"Uh, nothing," Jay forces out, "I uh, forgot where I left my homework, but I remember now, just... just go back to sleep."
Carlos looks momentarily confused before a smirk turns up the corner of his mouth.
"And of course you'd remember that AFTER you already woke me up,” he snarks, laying back down and curling around his pillow again, arm under his head.
Jay stares a moment longer, taking in the sight of Carlos snuggling into his jersey one last time, before heading out their room.
He doesn’t dwell on his impending internal crisis, shaking the image of a sleep-rumpled Carlos wrapped up in his jersey from his head; he had tourney practice to get to after all.
Continue Reading On Ao3
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did that work?
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