#i appreciate how not one person has called it a sweater

[shittyjakeenglish]

a even BIGGER jumper

Day 91

jakes new jumper is so big that he has turned it into a tent, which was far more practical than trying to wear that thing

[rinnstars]

time capsule!

in which you hesitate on calling him on his 19th

itoshi sae x reader: angst w comfort, happy ending, long distance rs, birthday fic ish, not proof read + likes n reblogs are appreciated

its cowardly - its been 30 minutes and you’ve still yet to dare to press his contact. you turn to the other side of the bed, facing the walls - ironically maybe you are truly talking to a wall. you could scroll through the chats between you and itoshi sae and half of it would be one-sided conversations - whether that be you chatting about your day with no replies, good morning and good nights that are left unreciprocated, i love yous that are left with blue ticks.

time. time is cruel to you and sae you think - compared to the youthful and heart-pumping love you once shared of secret love whispers and letters in the classroom you were once familiar with just down the street of your house. you’ve changed a lot since the last time you saw him when he was just seventeen, coming back for the first time from overseas - you’ve cut your hair shorter than what he’s used to yet just enough for him to still comb through it as he’s always done in your memories, you’ve changed your fashion style, ironically more similar to his with his stylish sweaters, sunglasses you’ve bought with him at the thrift shop, shoes that reminds you of him, you’ve changed your room from the youthful polaroid filled room to a simple room walls clean of any identity or evidence of you. and youre sure time has been even more cruel - he’s changed since the last time you’ve met him - he’s grown a lot taller than the fourteen year old he was when he waved goodbye to you in the airport yet that eye full of affection still remained back then, he’s much more determined you think, no longer giving up after once or twice failures at. the claw machines you used to take him to during the weekends, and he’s much quieter than he used to be, even more stoic and colder than you’ve remembered the quiet lover that sits beside you during class. and you wonder how much more has he changed during these two years - you could guess though: even colder with lesser texts from him gradually day by day week by week until it’ll soon be too late, even quieter than you can get used to with little to no words to tell you anymore to fix this torn apart house of cards, and maybe this will be the year where he finally leaves.

grief is a natural process of life - death, lost passions, and torn-apart friendships. and you’re pretty sure youre at the acceptance stage of grieving over this fallen apart romance story. it was denial - making excuses for him when he stopped the daily greetings through texts and photos of new places he’s been, making excuses for him to your skeptical friends that has always been right to see without the tinted-rose glasses, making excuses for him so that just maybe he’ll come back. then it was anger: the one week you refused to text him or answer his calls although there wasn’t any to interact with in the first place - how could he abandon you like that? why can’t he care about this relationship just as much as i do? why is he being so selfish? why.. doesn’t he love me anymore - sadness. you’ve practically sobbed the next week or two away - has he fallen out of love? distance makes the heart grow fonder they say, but you think it has made itoshi sae forgot all about you, all about the memories you’ve shared, all about japan and the person he’s left behind. you hate the physical heartache you face as you look at photos of you and him from the past, hearing at the voice calls and voicemail he’s sent to you with that same familiar voice that seem to still make your heart flutter. you hate the physical memories of him that reminds you of him everywhere that makes your stomach churn - from the bus stop that you seem to always see the phantom of you and him sitting there just like before in that school uniform that hangs in your closet, from the sweater on your bed that still somehow smells like him that you’ve grown way too attached to, from the candy that’s sugary-sweet taste that burst in your mouth reminds you of eating the candy pack with him during lunch break on days too tired to walk down long stairs to get to the canteen. you hate the dreams of you and him - wearing the white cloth that covers your face walking down the aisle, wearing stupid matching christmas sweaters going down to eat dinner together just you and him, wearing that stupid paper rings that matches with his that youre sure is long gone in his pile of abandoned mess and trash in his life. yet youre persistent - you don’t think you’ve ever given up before, not for anything you wanted so desperately to stay - you work hard and get sort of good results so that you have something to share with him only to be met with a thumbs up reaction, you force yourself to desperately like just a little bit of his favourite drinks that burns under your tongue, even worse you’ve considered and calculated the amount of money and everything just to run over to spain to find him, to fix this torn-apart love story that youre so desperate to fulfill, to build back this house of cards that has long crumbled without you even noticing.

and now its 11:59. you know logically, you should at least give him a call, tell him happy birthday even if it goes to voice mail - because at the end of the day you love him, you can’t leave him the way he left you, and truly to the deepest part of your broken heart, you want his life to go right, you want him to achieve his dreams out there even if it’s without him, you want him to smile even if from a memory far too long for him to recount these days. and so you do, pressing that call button - but its selfish, deep. down perhaps you just want to hear his voice even if its prerecorded and laced with the same annoyance that pricks your heart slightly you try to says, perhaps you want it to hurt so you can stop lingering on this ghost of his and stop loving him when the ceiling of this house of cards have fallen and practically ripping apart at your heart and stomach, and perhaps you want to say one last farewell before you run away from this mess that you know deep down you’ve contributed to.

“hello?”

and yet its that stupidly sweet voice that replies back, one that makes your heart flutter, makes your ear turn pinkish red, makes your stomach burst with butterflies. oh youre sure its love, the same love that you’ve felt the first time you’ve held hands with him and felt electric coursed through your veins and verve’s, the same love you’ve felt when your lips melted perfectly into his like you were made for each other by the universe, the same love you’ve felt when he’s first made you that paper ring in the middle of science class before that match that changed the entirety of yours and sae’s life. and you think, if it means feeling this pumping of your heart as though youre on a rollercoaster, feeling this warmth that rises through your entire face, feeling the love from your legs through your head - you think its all worth it.

“happy birthday sae. i love you”

“… thanks. i love you too. i’m coming back tomorrow by the way, i’ll come over..?”

and just maybe, you can fix this house of cards with him. with him - not alone, but with him. and just maybe those phantoms of you and sae at that bus stop, on your bed in your bedroom, at yours and his favourite cafe wont be ghosts anymore.

[whiskeyghoul]

Pt2. || She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!Reader]

Read part 1 here

Read part 3 here

A/N: OMG I can’t believe how much people enjoyed part 1? Seriously, as I am finishing this part up it has reached over 500 notes, I am shocked and so very thankful for the love. I didn’t expect it. A silly little fic not proof read, totally self indulgent, really this is so wonderful and I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read it and reblog, like or comment on it. I hope part 2 doesn’t disappoint. Part 3 is going to be here soon too, which will be the unofficial date.

WC: 1,9K ~

Tags: Fluff, just fluff, Spencer is a flustered mess, Alt!Reader, Goth!Reader, 2 idiots flirting, Reader and Penelope are besties, use of Y/N, Penelope has been playing matchmaker, alluding to a date, crushes.

Warnings: None. 

Your pov.

It was a late Sunday afternoon. You were sitting on Penelope Garcia’s couch, cup of hot tea in hand. Legs curled up on the couch with a colorful blanket over your lap. It clashed just ever so slightly with your dark outfit. The two of you are in complete contrast to each other. Penelope was a ball of color in a bright purple dress with a lemon pattern, large yellow earrings and a blue bolero sweater. Compared to your all black ensemble she was a ray of sunshine. An array of snacks spread out over the coffee table. The aforementioned peppy blonde was sitting next to you on the couch. Deeply engrossed with the romance show playing on the TV. You watched it together every Sunday, when a new episode would come out. Today your mind was somewhere else completely.

“He hasn’t called yet.” You spoke up. Penelope eyed you curiously, “Who?” She asked, her focus gone from the show. Her eyes peered at you with interest from behind the cat eye glasses she had picked out that day. “Doctor Reid.” You turned your head back to the TV casually, trying to not seem bothered. You could hear Penelope hold back a small squeal. It sounded more like a gasp that way. “Oh my god! Are you interested in him? What did he do to impress you? I have been trying to set you up for ages! You have shot down any person I have discussed with you. Always something wrong.” She started rambling, hearing the clink of her glass being put on the coffee table. Her hands grabbed yours, making you look back at her and rolling your eyes. “Firstly: I am not ‘interested’ in him. Secondly: I just thought he would have called by now. Or stopped by at least.” You shrugged noncommittally. You were just a little interested. Thinking back to that meeting.

When Spencer had stepped into the lab earlier that week, courtesy of Penelope, you had found his awkward demeanor endearing. He was hot, that was for sure, and tall, you remembered having to look up at him, Those dark brown eyes pinning you in place. Especially when you had stood so close together. You had wanted to tease him after watching him stumble over his sentences. See him even more flustered. It made you somewhat excited. When you had given him your number you could feel his pulse racing under his skin. He had shown many signs of being interested yet he hadn’t even texted you. It made you rethink the interaction. 

“Well, he couldn’t have stopped by. They got called on a case in Utah so he’s not really in the area right now.” Penelope clarified. Those words put your mind at ease more than you expected them to. “Oh, I guess he can’t really get to the lab then.” You shrugged. Just a little disappointed but feeling relieved that apparently he hadn’t meant to not visit you. Or maybe he had done so on purpose if he would be close. Your earlier relief was replaced by a mild panic again. Trying to convince yourself you weren’t interested in Dr. Reid. Although, he could have texted.

You could practically feel Penelope smirk as you turned your attention back on the TV. Unable to focus but pretending to. “Spence is not one for texting. He probably has been getting to the hotel at ungodly hours and hasn’t had time to call.” it was like she could read your mind. “Don’t do that.” You said with a shudder. “Do what?” Penelope questioned innocently. “Read my mind like that. It’s weird.” You answered, making her laugh. “Just goes to show how well I know you.” She answered with a smile. It was true. She knew you too well you would even argue. The fact both of you were women in a male dominated field, both dressed eccentricly, and both with a passion for cheesy movies and tv shows. It was only a matter of time until you were best friends after your first run in.

Your phone, which was placed on the table, lit up at that moment. The ringtone played at a high volume, making the cure blast through the room. Your eyes quickly flickered to the screen. Caller ID unknown. You picked up the phone, hesitant of the unknown caller, deciding to hang up instead. You had been plagued by telemarketers for the past month and really didn’t want to deal with that right now. If it was important they would call again. And they did, you still had your phone in your hands when it went off again. “Just pick it up! I will keep watch over our show, fill you in later.” Penelope said, motioning her hands for you to get up. You got off the couch, soft blanket falling to the ground as you picked up the phone. Softly padding away to the kitchen to be out of earshot of Penelope. “Y/n speaking.” you answered, waiting to hear from the other end of the line.

“Hey… ehm… is this not the right time? Are you busy?” The voice on the other end of the line made you straighten up slightly in surprise. “Doctor Reid.” You breathe out his name quietly, adding a “Now is a perfectly good time.” to your sentence. Wondering how hearing his voice through the slightly tin-like phone speaker made you feel a little flutter in your stomach. “Good… I didn’t want to bother you. You can just call me Spencer by the way. Doctor sounds too formal. I just introduce myself like that. It’s a habit. I don’t call you Doctor L/n either. So call me Spencer.” He started rambling. A smile spread across your lips, this rambly version was different from how speechless he had been in the lab. You held back a giggle. Apparently you had rendered him speechless in the lab. “Alright, Spencer.” You answered, the humor in your voice apparent. His breath hitched a little on the other side of the line. 

“Why did you call?” You asked, trying to continue on without dawdling. “Oh eh, the report, I ehm…” He was quiet for a moment. It crossed your mind that maybe he didn’t need to speak with you, but he wanted to. “Yes?” You urged after a silence had fallen on the other side of the phone line. There was an intake of breath from Spencer, a moment that signaled he might be trying to raise some courage. “I didn’t want to talk about the report.” He finally spoke. It made you smile, your cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “Oh, well then what did you want to talk about?” You added a bit of playfulness in your tone. You pictured him, holding the phone to his ears that were tipped red. His face was probably just as flushed as it had been in the lab. 

“I ehm- I haven’t been able to focus, on the case that is. Because I keep thinking about the lab. How I probably came off as a mess, I just didn’t know what to say because you looked so… Not that you look bad because you don’t, you looked really nice. Emily says my IQ gets slashed down to 68 when I am around pretty girls. I wanted to make a good impression. I couldn’t find the words though. I usually don’t make great first impressions, because I tend to ramble. Just- I really really hope I didn’t make a bad first impression.” His sentences flowed into each other like word vomit. Nervous, quick, and hardly understandable. Luckily, you were trained in the art of understanding nervous rambles when Penelope would spiral into one from time to time. However he had called you pretty. “Spencer.” You said his name almost like a question. There was a beat of silence. “Yes?” He asked softly, he sounded so nervous.

“You didn’t make a bad impression. I gave you my number for a reason.” You told him with a smile, a little giddy as the words ‘he called me pretty’ kept bouncing around your head. “And I am sorry I called without any real reason to… I know it was for talking about the report. Though Morgan tried to convince me it wasn’t.” Spencer answered. You rolled your eyes at that. Ofcourse, this hyper intelligent man would mix up what you were trying to do. “I gave you my number because I wanted you to call me. Not about the report. I just wanted you to call me. About anything.” There was apparently a need to clear up that confusion. It was silent for another moment. “Oh.” It was like realization dawned on him. “So I should have called sooner, right?” His question made you laugh softly, trying not to clue in Penelope on your call.  “Yes, you should have. Or could have at least. I was waiting.” You answered back, smiling at the ground. You fidgeted with one of the large rings on your free hand, twisting the cool metal round with your thumb.

“I’m sorry I didn’t.” You could almost hear the smile in his voice. The slight uptick in his pitch. You imagined he was still fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater, or was perhaps looking at his shoes with a grin. “You can make it up to me by buying me a coffee when you get back.” The suggestion came naturally, you didn’t even have to think about it. The words left your lips before you could, really. “What do you like?” Spencer asked without hesitation. “Cinnamon latte.” You answered it softly, a little surprised he agreed so readily. A giddy feeling in your stomach. “Alright, cinnamon latte, I’ll remember.” Spencer sounded a little breathy, like he too was feeling giddy at the prospects of having coffee together. Like the idea of taking time to get to know each other at work over a warm beverage was the perfect first date. “What do you like?” You asked in turn, wanting to know what he would usually get. Knowing more about him would feel so domestic and sweet. “Black coffee, usually with tons of sugar.” He had a hint of embarrassment in your voice. A little muffled like he had covered his mouth to hold in the confession of drinking it so sweet. You smiled at his answer. Of course he had a sweet tooth. “Tons of sugar, I’ll remember.” You mirrored his words. 

“Oh! My! God!” You heard Penelope gasp from the living room. Knocking you out of your little phone call bubble with Spencer. “I think I have to go. You better call me tomorrow.” You said it lightheartedly. Just wanting to hear from him again soon. “I will. I’ll call you.” Spencer answered. “Bye Spencer.” “Bye Y/n.” You hung up with a smile, already turning and walking back into the living room. Penelope turned around on the couch to look at you, “They shot Richard!” She looked absolutely shocked as she gave you the news of your favorite character being hurt. You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face though. “Spencer called.” You saw her face form from a shocked to surprise expression, “Oh! My! God!” She sounded a lot happier that time, and you knew you wouldn't hear the end of it.

[hotheadedhero]

Daft Pretty Boys

AN: I was going to try and get something Halloween-like out but it's been busy lately. Have some fluffy angst with Raph, instead :D

Raphael x Reader

Warning: kinda angsty, soft-hearted Raph ahead :)

When you blessed the turtles with your bright presence and inevitably befriended them, Raphael didn’t realise just how much of an emotional rollercoaster it would be. As a person, you are amazing. You always make a point to engage with him and his brothers, even for the small things. Other than April, they’ve never felt more welcomed by human company before. The thing is, if he were to put one fault on you, it’s your taste in men. 

You fall fast and hard, and it’s not because of their looks. It’s the ones who have this idea that they know they look good: the confidence they exude, sharp-witted flattery on the end of a hook that you can’t help biting into. You get caught, pulled in, they have their fun, and then you’re chucked back into sea awaiting the next juicy-looking cast of bait. One would think you’d be smart enough to not fall for the same routine tricks over and over again but here we are.

Each time you say, “He’s really sweet,” followed by a “This one is different,” but he never is. You’re always taking that chance, betting on the next guy being Mr Right, only for it to end in heartbreak, and every time Raph’s at your aid when you come crying to him. That isn’t said with any malice for you. He will always be there to pick up the pieces. Maybe broken pieces of these stupid shmucks if he just had five minutes alone with them.

You grasp so desperately to hope. Raph would commend you for your optimistic persistence if it didn’t break him to see you in tears. There’s only so much one heart can take. He doesn’t want you to become some calloused husk of your sweet self, too afraid to take another chance. He doesn’t want you to end up like him. Raphael knows he’s unloveable. Regardless of his appearance, he has a temper - one that he keeps as far away from you as he possibly can. His feelings for you never seem to pass despite how much he tries but he isn’t meant for love. That isn’t how this world works. You, on the other hand, should be cherished and he’ll beat the next sorry sucker who does any less than that.

How? How can someone be so foolish to drop you like these men have? He doesn’t get it. Were it him, he’d spend every waking moment appreciating you, letting it be known just how precious you are and how lucky he is to be the one to call you his. But he isn’t. The same daydream can play as many times as it likes, it’s never going to go in that direction. He needs to keep reminding himself of that.

You just deserve so much more than the cards you keep getting dealt. You’ve probably got to be the sweetest person he’s ever had the luxury of meeting. A little bubble-brained at times but that’s in part what makes you so cute. It’s also why you end up in and out of these short-lived relationships, he reckons. Much like now, for instance. It’s almost routine, weirdly systematic in a way, how you waddle into the lair glassy-eyed and red-faced wearing that grey sweater - the one he calls your breakup sweater - that’s two sizes too big for you. So much for the macho man with the green eyes. Making it to one month is a record, so there’s that at least.

Raphael doesn’t say anything, just holds a hand out whilst the other cradles the back of his neck. By now, he’s learnt that there’s nothing he can say. It’s better to wait on you until you manage to find your words. You slowly trudge towards him and smack your forehead into his chest. All he can do is stand there and stare at the top of your head whilst he battles the urge to pick you up and take you away from all this frivolous bullshit. His arm falls to his side as he watches you, and you just about say what he would expect you to.

“I really thought this one would be different,” you whimper quietly and the hiccup in your throat makes his chest burn. “He seemed so genuine.”

Raphael’s heart clenches. He wants to scream that he’s the one who’s genuine, that he’s the one who’s been here through every heartbreak, every tear. But instead, he swallows his words, feeling the weight of his own unspoken feelings pressing down on his chest.

He pats the top of your head, almost awkwardly, and sighs, “I know.”

A pained laugh muffles against his chest. “I’m the problem, aren’t I?” you ask rhetorically, playing it off as some joke at your own expense but it only angers him further.

“It’s not you,” Raph replies, a hint of a growl edging into his tone. “They’re the ones who don’t know what they’re missin’.”

“But there’s a common denominator here. It feels like it’s me.” You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Like, maybe if I was just different-”

“Stop right there,” he interjects, his brow furrowing. “You are not the problem. They are. Trust me on that.”

You always say the wrong things about yourself: the things he thinks about himself on a daily; if he was different. You are such an honest person and yet you lie so frequently when you talk about yourself. A nasty bi-product of those worthless scumbags treating you the way they do. You want to believe him on his word but you also can’t ignore the facts. It’s always the same song and dance. You stupidly cling to hope, searching for the silver lining that never seems to come, and end up in this sad mess of a person.

Raphael watches as you pull away, the warmth of his body replaced by the chill of reality. It’s painful to see you so vulnerable, so exposed. He wishes he could shake you out of this cycle, snap his fingers and make you see what’s right in front of you. But he can’t. All he can do is stand there, the silent sentinel, while you cry into the fabric of your sweater. The moment lingers, heavy and full of unsaid words. He wants to tell you that you deserve better, that you should never settle for the likes of those clowns who don’t recognize your worth. Yet, the words stick in his throat, tangled with his own fear of inadequacy.

He clears his throat, trying to break the tension. “Tell you what, let’s grab a couple sodas and a slice. Sit up top for a bit, yeah?”

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I don’t know if I can eat right now, Raph.”

“Doesn’t matter. You need to get outta this gloom. Plus, I’m starving,” he responds with a half-hearted attempt at humor, but the grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Finally, you yield. Begrudgingly, he might add, but food and the fresh night air is what you need right now, especially seeing as you’ve been cooped up in your apartment all day crying. He takes whatever pizza he had leftover - it’s only lasted because Mikey has luckily been out - along with a couple cans and leads you through the sewers. Whilst he’s essentially forcing you outside, he goes at your pace, never pushing you beyond that. Sure, it takes longer than it should but you get to a nice rooftop eventually, and before you know it, he’s already got you venting with a slice in your hand.

“And then he pulls out the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shtick,” you say and Raph follows with a quiet “Of course, he does,” before you continue, “and I swear, I could’ve just slapped him.”

“You should have.”

You hum shortly against a bite of pizza and shrug. “Ah, the moment’s long gone, anyway.”

The two of you glance at each other with a small laugh before returning to the view ahead. This feels better. Much better. Once again, your knight in shell-y armour has helped you bounce back from your foreboding. If you had it your way earlier, you would have loved nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch some bad reality TV to cheer you up. Not where Raph is concerned. He’s soft-natured when you need that shoulder to cry on but knows when to crack out a bit of that tough love, too. You’re always thankful for that - him - and you hope he knows just how much of a difference he makes.

"Hey.” He nudges you with his elbow and you look up, noting the light smirk on his face, though the seriousness behind his eyes isn’t something to be ignored. “Next asshole that breaks your heart, you just point me in the right direction.”

"And be an active participant in murder? Not a chance," you laugh and playfully swat him, earning a low chortle. You think you know what he’s getting at and it’s sweet in weird kind of way. With a perma-smile now glued to your face, you rest your head on his arm and speak more gently, "Thanks, though."

He glances down at you and tempts the idea of stroking a hand over your head. His fingers clasp into a fist and he looks ahead again, taking a gentle breath before responding quietly, "Yeah... don't mention it."

[seeingivy]

picnic

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

(^^make sure you check since this was a double upload and I posted the last one very recently :D)

--

dear head of the cullen clan,  keep evening plans open – im getting off work early and we’re going on a picnic.  coldest regards,  the head of the volturi  (ps. am expecting a very wholehearted appreciation for the fact that it’s coldest regards and not warmest regards, because they are, in fact, vampires and therefore cold. because they don’t have a heart and such.)  (extra ps. this is a link to a shared spotify playlist. i’ll add a song and then you add one. we’ll keep it going.) 

you snort. 

dear aro of the volturi (does he have a last name???),  so much to unpack in one email, yet again. you really know how to keep a girl on her toes.  first and foremost, you are SOOOO ran through. so offended that i wasn’t the person who got to put you on to twilight and whoever it was, I HOEP SHE DIES! if you’re team jacob, you’re a freak.  second, SO VERY FLATTERED that you think i would be carlisle. a little haunting that you think YOU would be aro…but it’s ok cuz former companions to enemies back to lovers in our case would be kind of crazy???  third. done and done. i just added a song so hurry up bc i have like ten other songs i want to add and i am #impatient  see u after work pookie :D,  carlisle cullen  (very appreciative of the cold regards. you are a king among men.) 

his response back is very prompt. 

Never call me pookie again.  (very offended that you think i’d be stupid enough to be team jacob. and direct your murderous rage towards yuuji and my mom, who forced me to watch it in theaters with them.) 

--

you wait for sukuna at the park two blocks down the apartment complex. the sun is hours away from dipping into the horizon, the chilly wind rustling through the trees. you realize now that the red skirt and white sweater might betray you in a few hours but decide that you’ll simply have to steal his jacket when he gets here. 

and you would have already but he’s twenty minutes late.

and while this part of the city is extremely safe, sukuna’s ever constant fear of people attacking you on subway trains and stabbing you in alleyways has instilled an acute fear of strangers in you, which is why you’re gripping the sparkly pink pepper spray he bought you very harshly in your palm right now. 

you think it’s sweet that he bought you a pink one. 

but of course it’s severely ironic that you almost used it on him. 

because he scares the living daylights out of you, by placing his hand around your shoulder from behind. 

“hey. i’m sorry i-” 

“jesus fuck-” 

you instinctively hold the pepper spray up to his face, your hands shaking in front of you. 

“i’ll use it, you pervert!” 

sukuna leans his head to the side, which is when you’re finally able to log that it’s actually him standing in front of you and not a stranger, and you drop your hands in embarrassment. 

“i mean, i’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t doll face but–” 

“oh my god, sukuna. i thought you were trying to rob me!” 

“i’m smarter than that. the only thing inside your purse is lip gloss, which has very little value to me.” sukuna responds, dropping the little basket at his feet and taking the little stalk of flowers out of the top handle. 

“i’ll have you know that it’s actually sold out in every store right now. so you could make bank if you sold it.” 

“don’t tempt me. and for your sake, i’ll accept the apology you didn’t give me for just trying to rob me of my eyesight and for calling me a pervert? i’m getting really tired of the age gap jokes, y/n.” sukuna responds, as he lifts your hands at your sides and places the stalk of flowers in your hand. 

you give him a big smile as you press your nose to the flowers, the scent fresh in your nose. and sukuna props down, setting a billowing white blanket on the ground before he taps the spot next to him and signals for you to sit next to him. 

“who needs eyes?” you joke, as you squeeze his hands and set the flowers down next to the little basket. 

“me, dipshit. how else am i supposed to look at you?” 

you cover your hands with your cheeks as you watch him place all of the little things inside the basket next to you, laying them out perfectly. it’s albeit a weird assortment – two wine glasses, perfectly wrapped sandwiches, a mini-cake, and strawberry lemonade. 

“well, stop perceiving me. this is so weird!” you murmur. 

it’s enough to catch his attention and stop him in his tracks. 

“what?” 

the question makes you pause. and a little embarrassed. it was a little harsh to say while you were joking.

“oh, i mean…i didn’t mean it like that! i was making a joke about perceiving because eyes…vision…and i almost took your vision away! and you perceive with your eyes, because how else would you see…” 

sukuna smiles, before shaking his head, and continuing spilling out the last of the contents – a set of gouache paints and two little small canvases. and he drops to his feet, yanking his shoes off, before sitting flat on the blanket and gesturing for you to join him. 

“there’s no way in hell that was what you meant. but we’ll ignore that for the time being.” sukuna responds, hiking his legs to his chest and gesturing towards the spread he just put out. 

you tilt your head to the side in confusion. 

“you look very pretty today.” sukuna responds. 

“thanks! you too!” 

he narrows his eyes. 

“uh huh. well, pick what we do first. the paint, the sandwiches, or the weird wine glass cake.” 

“the wine glass cake? like from tiktok?” you ask. 

“correct. i’m really bad at…cute dates. so…i did some research.” 

sukuna refuses to look at you. because after admitting it, he’s suddenly busied himself with reading the back of the box of paints, like it’s the most riveting, intriguing thing he’s ever read in his life. 

but the pink flush that’s creeping down his neck betrays him entirely, as you reach forward and push the little box down. and sukuna’s already glaring at you. 

you place your chin on the top of his knees, reaching for one of his hands and smiling. 

“you did research for a date?” 

“you can choke on your spit.” 

you grin. 

“you really know how to turn a girl on.” 

“you’re filthy.” 

you grin. 

“and you’re actually so precious, i–” 

“don’t call me precious, y/n.” he whines, as he reaches forward to flick on your forehead. 

you smile as you sit by his side, tucking the folds of your skirt under your leg as you reach for both of the wine glasses and hand him one. 

“so how humbling was it to have satoru explain all this to you?” you ask. 

he sneers. 

“don’t even ask. he’s like the biggest nuisance i’ve ever met in my life. top ten worst moments of my life.” sukuna responds. 

“i’m flattered you humbled yourself to him for me.” 

“i actually asked suguru. they’re like…two peas in a pod, they can’t do shit without each other. the paints and stuff they gave me and the nice basket too.” 

“that’s sweet of them. remind me to send them something later to thank them.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“no need. they were more than happy to give it up for you.” 

“ah yes. i hear they’re big fans of this camping bag story. the scouts honor and the fake story we had to tell them makes a lot more sense now.” you respond. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“okay, you know what? sue me. i was like sixteen sleeping next to a girl for the first time. god forbid i enjoyed myself. and i don’t know why they’re all so hyperfixated on that story because it was a very normal thing to assume when you’re asked that question.”  

you snort. 

“and you say you’re not a pervert…” 

sukuna leans forward, his eyes flitting down to his lips before he looks back up at you. and he can tell that you’re in a mood, that you’re trying to push his buttons by annoying him. 

“you know i despise you right?” he whispers. 

you grin, leaning in. 

“is that right?” you whisper back. 

“oh yeah. you irritate me.” 

there isn’t even a shred of earnestness in the words he’s uttering. you know he doesn’t mean them. 

“keep going.” you respond, as he presses a warm kiss to the side of your cheek. 

“you’re a nuisance.” – a kiss to your forehead. 

“an irritation.” – a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

“like a fucking thorn in my side.” – and a kiss to the sweet spot right in your neck and his hand snaking up your thigh, which makes you nearly keel your head back from the sensation. 

you place your hands on his cheek and pull him back, face flushed and his eyes nearly glazed over. 

“are you crazy?” you whisper. 

“what?” he asks. 

“we’re in public, dumbass. you can’t just start trying to rile me up.” 

sukuna leans back, obliging. 

“so you admit it? i was riling you up?” 

“oh, shut up.” 

you reach for the sandwiches and unpeel one for sukuna. before he takes it, he places a tiny white box in your lap. 

you frown. first the fancy date but the jewelry too? 

“sukuna. you didn’t–” 

“just open it. i’m impatient and i’ve been waiting all day. and i actually think you’ll like it. otherwise, you’re ungrateful and rude and you hate me.” sukuna responds. 

you give him a tight lipped smile before you open the little box and actually smile. 

it’s a dainty silver chain – the exact same as sukuna’s from the chain-links, but the build is a little thinner. and right at the center, a little charm of a star. 

you reach forward for his chain, dangling around his collarbone. and surely enough, in addition to the original charm he had of an interlocked circle, there’s a star charm added right next to it. 

“you always reach for it. when you’re talking or when we’re kissing. figured i’d get you your own since you’re such a big fan.” 

“you are so…” 

“perfect? sexy? the father of your children?” 

“i was thinking adorable. can i answer d for all of the above?” you respond. 

sukuna grins. 

“survey says yes, princess.” he responds. 

you yank the chain from the little box and hand it to him, before turning around for him to secure it on you. his fingers tickle against the nape of your neck, accompanied by a warm kiss, before he taps your shoulders to signify that he’s done. 

“you know. you really are perceiving me right now.” you respond. 

“and how’s that?” 

“i know you’re obsessed with me and pay attention to every word i say.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“obviously.” 

you jab at his side. 

“i mean, i know you’re doing this because i mentioned picnics yesterday and always feeling left out. sure you could put two and two together that he never really bought me any nice gifts or anything when i said he ruined my birthday.” 

“okay, captain obvious. and?” 

you shove him once more, before leaning your head against his shoulder. 

“well, i appreciate it. i know the whole…cutesy painting date isn’t your thing. we won’t have to do it again. and that you…you’re trying to make this whole thing special for me.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“i’m offended. first and foremost, i always like to eat with you. every time i think that there’s no way you can amaze me more, you find another way to spill food on your clothes.” 

“hey! that’s not true.” 

“you already spilled on the blanket. second, this is a very violent way to eat cake. you literally mess up all the layers by doing that and destroy the piping on the cake which i can admit, i am a fan of. and third, i’m going to paint us as worms, which seems enjoyable to me.” 

you curl your nose. 

“worms?” 

“yeah. what were you going to paint?” 

“i don’t know. but it certainly wasn’t going to be worms. like the park or flowers or something.” 

“boring. i’m going to paint us as slimy worms. and because we made it on this date, you’ll have to agree to put it up in the apartment, even if it’s ugly.” 

“sukuna.” you whine. 

“especially if it’s ugly. it’s a testament to our love.” he responds, dramatically placing his hands on  his chest. 

“you know, you’re so right. worms have been a really defining feature of your relationship.” 

sukuna leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips and an additional one on your cheek. 

“you just get me, princess!” 

and he breaks the little joke by lifting one of your hands to his lips, and pressing a kiss on all four of your knuckles before pressing your hand to his cheek. 

“and i have to do special things for a special person.” 

you return the gesture, lifting his tattooed fingers to your lips and doing the same. 

“you know…you’re really good at this type of thing.” you murmur. 

“what do you mean?” 

“i mean, being a boyfriend. and…and being supportive about everything. sometimes i feel like i’m trying really hard to be the best but…just comes naturally to you.” you respond. 

sukuna shrugs. 

“don’t know if i’m perfect but…loving you has always come really easy to me. i don’t really have to think twice about it because these are actually just things i want to do for you.” 

you groan. 

“see! that’s what i’m saying! you always just…say sweet things, do sweet things. sometimes i’m convinced i’m not even half deserving of it, just because sometimes i don’t reciprocate that back.” you respond. 

sukuna leans forward. 

“you know, you actually do though.” 

“as if.” you groan. 

sukuna pauses, before leaning his cheek against the tops of his knees and looking out at the expanse of grass in front of you. you follow his line of vision – to the dog running in the distance, the wide, billowing trees, and the little flower truck on the side – which you now realize is where sukuna copped the flowers from earlier. 

“i mean, this type of thing. that we have, or…or the way i act around you. it means a lot to you because, you…you’ve never had this before. right?” 

“yeah.” 

“well, i haven’t had you before. i know you see me as perfect, but…but when you say that i can tell that you don’t mean it the way my mom or…or yuuji think that i’m perfect. in the untouchable way.” 

you lean forward, cupping the side of his face. 

“sukuna. you’re so touchable.” you joke. 

“you’re disgusting.” 

“you love it.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“yeah, i really do. it does actually mean the world to me that you think i’m perfect how i am and don’t think i’m larger than life.” 

“if anything, your ego could be smaller.” 

sukuna leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“and…and even the other day. i know you were acting squirrely and weird when yuuji was near us and heard us bickering, but i was half convinced that you were going to take his side at the end, when he started saying that stuff about me. because it is true and i have acted a certain way in the past…and, you would have every right to agree with him if you wanted to.” 

you frown. 

“no, i wouldn’t. you’ve never treated me like that and i know you’re being earnest when you say these things to me. this would be a very elaborate way to get into my pants if that was what you were trying to do. and i know it’s not.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“that’s what i’m saying. every other person for me has never given me that benefit of the doubt, but you always do. you were the person who thought to tell me that my grandpa died when you all came to get me and you were the one who wasn’t mad at me. the things you do for me are the same, in equal magnitude, as what i do for you. if this makes you feel good, or…or on top of the world, you have to know that’s how you make me feel too. i’m half convinced that you’re basically made for me at this point the way you get everything right on point.” 

you lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his lips. 

“i really think you’re made for me too, ryomen.” 

sukuna groans, dramatically leaning his head back, before nearly pushing you over and peppering kisses to almost every surface on your face. 

“quit fucking saying my name. you have no idea what that does to me.” 

“i mean, i think i have an idea.” 

sukuna clamps his fingers over your mouth, before pressing a few more lingering kisses to your face and pushing off. and subsequently, picks all of the grass out of your hair as you roll your eyes. 

and after that sukuna, admittedly, very aggressively uses the wine glasses to portion off little slices of the cake and makes it a point to finish off yours when you can’t stomach the sweetness. and true to his promise – sukuna paints the two of you as worms, but at the park, stargazing. 

it’s a little silly, the way he paints it. you were expecting it to be more gory or gross, but it’s so corny that it makes you smile. because he draws the two little worms, but distinguishes between the two of you, by swiping some of your pink paint and adding a little ribbon to the one that’s supposed to be you. 

sukuna explains the stars. because before sukuna had dragged you out of that shitty bathroom bar, it’s what megumi and yuuji said in his drunken mess – he had pointed at two little stars and likened them to him and megumi.

and you’re almost positive that at the time, sukuna found it utterly ridiculous. but now, he understood it – the sentiment. that you and sukuna were two little worms, and two stars, and two little flowers too. 

and to his promise, the two of you decide to place the little canvases you drew at the end of the kitchen counter. 

it’s only then that you realize that you have to go the whole ten miles for sukuna the way he had done for you – countless times again. and that if you were going in blind in trying to make something special, you’d have to take a page out of his book and do some research. 

and there was only one person who could really help you, who you’d rather die than humble yourself to than ask for help. 

regardless of that, you still call sammy the next morning.

--

next part linked here

an: they're about to do it. anyways....there is a very real playlist to match the one that they talk about in the fic -- and it matches the way it described in the fic! so it's interleaved, the first song is a song that sukuna would have added, the second one that y/n added, the third sukuna, so on and so forth. it's linked here! happy listening babies

second an: thank you for the love on the last chapter. it makes my heart really warm bc all of that was actually based on a REAL MAN and real things that I have felt/have said to me and just having people comment that they felt seen by it or it made them feel a certain type of way actually made me really happy and so warm. this blog was one of the first things I did after I stopped being really, really sad and i'm glad that i'm able to share a little joy here and there, if that's what this fic is for you. anyways this is long and sappy and gross and actually I just love you all for enduring the ouchies and the sillies with me a little bit 💌

third an: double upload bc yall were so patient with me :D

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @ghostreadersthings @charlie-xo @whoami-72 @heijihattorisgf @megu-meow @complexivelovely @multiplefandomthings @hoebuns @lzaj19 @glossygreene @ramluvr @sureconfused @najaemism @manduse @imhorn1help @gamergirl5125 @r0ckst4rjk @invisible-mori @isaacdaknight @wishmemel @gyros-cum-sock @suftsunshine @i0099 @cowgirlikets @haitanibros0007 @stuffeddeer @yoontaedotin @ec3lipsy @armani79 @awkwardaardvarkforever @kereseth @leave-rae-alone @ruruvia @princess-ackerman @jjkwritingss @lilkiwikiara @opchara @telepathicheartss @starriesworlds @raechu11 @exprimidordefresas @nxxrxm @aalloochaat @strangehuman101 @tzutology

[jolalibrary]

10. cranberry cocktail

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3k chapter warnings: SMUT. 18+. jo's bad use and knowledge of DIY. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is called jo made herself horny. see author note at the end.

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It’s difficult not to smile as you approach.

His voice, mid-singing—almost competing with the radio that lingers under his voice—had been travelling out as you walked up to the building. Louder when you pulled open the door, sliding the sunglasses from your face.

A few blinks and your eyes capture his, singing dying out, leaving the original artist blaring around in the background.

Still, you're unable to stifle the smile. Not as you walk closer or as he puts down the tool in hand; least of all when you realise he's looking only half as abashed as you would be if he caught you mid-rendition, watching him dial down the volume on the radio as the door closes behind you.

Frankie had shown you this place once before. Your voice, light, teasing, hand in his: “You’re showing me where the magic happens?”

“I’ve shown you where that happens.”

“Not that magic—or, well, I hope you’re not about to tell me there are even more videos on a different site I need to watch. I’ve been forced to rewatch things lately.”

He’d explained, with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye, how he’d turned the garage into a workshop. The hours, the pieces he’d started with and the things he’s managed to build, find or bargain for along the way. Even lingered his thumb over the height chart for Luca, the one he told you he began when he first bought the run-down house he made a home.

It was impressive then, but you hadn’t appreciated it as much as you do stepping in today.

You'd been too busy then, watching, studying him. Spotting the way he trailed his thumb across his bottom lip, eyes widening as they tried to smile before his lips as he pointed out highlights he knew you’d have seen from certain videos you’d mentioned.

Now, it's all lit by soft, mid-morning sunlight, looking homely, loved, worn in and appreciated—everything you’d expect from him.

Even if things are out, such as plasterboard and wood leaning against odd edges, everything else has a place. Just like the scent that wanders around and flows as if there’s a constant candle burning, one which includes notes of freshly applied paint, the essence of sawdust and leather. A blended aroma that subtlety clings to his clothes—and then lingers inside your own. A thing which brings comfort, until it seeps in sadness upon the realisation that it's faded from a sweater, bedsheets or your throw after a few days of not seeing him in person.

"Hi, handsome."

He grins, a hello escaping out as his knuckle tips your chin up, your smile back presses to his mouth. Tasting his lips, how they’re tinged with coffee. Frankie planting it more intently as your hands find their way around his waist, heightening it, fingers grasping your cheek.

You swear you could kiss him forever. A thought you know you have continuously, almost every time his mouth finds yours. But you mean it.

Completely. Utterly.

Your palms sliding around, fingers brushing over dry, hard paint specks buried into the soft, beloved cotton of his tee.

“So,” you say when you pull away, teeth biting your lip—finding yourself staring at him, as though his face alone answers everything.

In some ways, you're adamant it does. In others, you know it will.

A feeling that thrums more and more intensely as weeks rack up into months, as your heart flutters in your chest when his eyes hold yours for a second longer than normal.

“What has prompted this little requested visit?”

Grinning, he traces his thumb along your jaw. “Thought you could drill some holes—for your cupboards?”

Smirking, dragging your tongue in a sweeping motion across your lip, you tap your fingers on his waist. “Drill, ay? I didn’t… exactly come dressed to be in your workshop.”

“Wait,” he says, eyes widening, mouth pulled into a line as he brushes his fingers down the fabric of your summer dress that rests along your collarbone. “This isn’t an everyday DIY outfit?”

Grinning, you nudge into him, head shaking—hand grasping a handful of his tee. “No.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice dropping, charm encasing each letter as his hands find a home on your hips, “I’ll make sure you don’t get messy.”

A soft laugh escapes you, feeling the way his thumb continues its gentle circling on your cheekbone.

“You on cleanup duty, then?” you reply, the words muffled against his lips. He hums in response, a sound of agreement that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Without pulling away, he gently guides you towards the bench—hands on your side as his chin rests on your shoulder.

One glance at him, and he offers you a comforting smile. Before it comes over him, that voice—the one from the videos. All lightly, but sternly instructing you. Talking you through the steps, before he tells you to pick up the black and orange drill from in front of you.

A lick of warmth slides up your spine, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you press closer to him, your body beginning to buzz from the way he’s pressed against you—his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist.

“We’re going to begin with drilling the holes for the handles.”

Rolling your lips, you rest your head against his. “Okay.”

“What you’re gonna do is lightly ease the drill in.”

“Is that so?”

Clearing his throat, you swear you hear your name, it followed quickly by a “Stop.”

“Stop what, Frankie?”

It’s a grunt. A thing buried in his throat before he takes a measured sigh. His hand rises, gripping the top of the power tool before lining the drill bit with the marked wood.

“Being a tease—now, lightly pull the trigger.”

Blanking your face, staring at him with confusion. “So, push it in and out?”

You watch it hit him—slowly. It washes over him in a few blinks, your hips wiggling against his before he groans again. “You’re killing me.”

“I’m very innocent, Morales.”

“Mierda. You’re the opposite of innocent. And no, it’s straight down. Not in and out—we’re not… we’re not fucking it.”

Giggling, you bite the inside of your cheek, adjusting your stance as you swear his groin pushes into your ass on purpose. Finding a way to mumble an okay, you shift your shoulders in preparation. Asking, finger hovering over the trigger of the drill, if you squeeze it lightly as you feel him nod.

Swallowing, you give it a test. A little click. Hearing it, before you see thin crinkles of wood coming away from the pressure.

“Like that?”

Somehow, all beyond you, you manage to keep your voice steady. It all unwilling to tremble—even though his breath is dancing over your neck. Even though his hold on your hip is tightening.

Then there’s the heat pulsating through your dress—the warmth settling into your bones, skin and muscle from his touch. Your body remembering, recalling—able to know just from his presence what he can do, what he has done, how he can unravel you and make you become a mess all from his fingers, mouth and—

“Bit more pressure this time, baby.”

“You can’t say that.”

Snorting, the air dances over your skin as you swear you feel him smirk. “Oh, Rainy. I can.”

You swear his voice drops an octave.

Sweeping the words over you, making your body tense, muscles twisting in on themselves as you try to focus on the drill in your hand. Stare down at the piece of wood he’s set up for you until it’s a blur. Nodding. Finger over the button, knowing you just need to squeeze—

Perfect, he whispers.

And fuck it makes your thighs press together. Makes something rumble inside of you at the same time as the drill fires to life.

The noise is all loud, alarming—deafening. A hole deepening in the wood.

“That's it, just like that. Perfecto, hermosa.”

Even with how loud it is, you can only hear him.

How he layers so much emphasis on the P, the letter is still skating over your skin by the time the rest that follows it has left his tongue.

You can only swallow. Remaining aware, and yet focused in, on how his hand slides down, fingers teasing the end of your dress—a quickly thrown-on thing, an easy option that meant you could arrive here sooner.

“You’re perfect,” he says, kissing it against your neck as his hand slides under your dress, palm flat to your thigh, dragging it up, and up.

Some part of you, all distant, feels him take the drill, hears a click, before it’s out of sight, out of fucking mind.

Then it’s just thick fingers you focus on, how they slide, rub, torture over your underwear—feeling like minutes, hours, days before he manoeuvres. Before he’s forcing elastic to cut into your skin, before you feel him trace along the places you need him desperately.

“Frankie…”

He drags his nose against the side of your face, feeling the exhale flutter against your jaw before he makes you gasp before it grows into a shameless whine.

“This not what you wanted?”

Swallowing, your eyelids quiver. Some part of you, a present part of you that isn’t lost in the way he’s stroking up and down your slick folds, occasionally catching your clit, that he isn’t going to let you come like this.

Even if he's told you he likes the way you sound, has confessed that he likes watching you unravel; his favourite pastime, his favourite movie and soundtrack.

“Need to hear you, Rainy?”

“Want you,” you pant, breathless.

He fans hot breath on your skin. “Want me to fuck you here, baby? On my bench. Hmm?”

You’re fluttering, desperately to squeeze him—fingers or cock, you’re not in a frame of mind to be fussy.

Mind changing, singing, practically bellowing: please, please, fucking, please. Body thrumming, vibrating, legs desperate to shake—if not for the fact they’re keeping you upright. Your fingers find a place on his bench, digging, barely making a mark against the rest on his workbench. But it’s stable, rigid.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, softer, dripping it into your ear like honey—all encased in air that seeps inside of you and makes you forced to chase his lips.

It’s against them you say please. Kissing a y, an e and a s against his mouth, licking past his teeth, hips rocking into his fingers as he circles and circles and circles—

Then, nothing.

Retraction, emptiness. A desperate whine emerges, rising from the back of your throat until it fuses with the air.

An explanation almost demanded, but his belt buckle undoing silences you. His clothed cock presses against you, feeling how hard he is, the size of him making you clench your thighs as cool air kisses the back of your legs when he grabs a fist full of your dress.

“Gonna get rid of these.”

It’s deft, his finger—hooking in the band of your panties as he drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, letting it fall the rest of the way as the fabric finds a home around your ankles. For a moment they just remain there, not entirely confident you can step out of them until he holds you steady, talks you through it:

One foot, then the other. That's it, baby.

Because your body is on auto-pilot, doing things for you, for him. Like parting your thighs as his hand rests on your back as he softly urges you down. Your forearms find the bench, hingeing at the waist, lying your chest flat on his bench, sawdust filling your nose and stitching itself into the upper part of your dress as you turn your head, flakes sticking to your cheek.

And for a moment, an expanse of time, you forget how to breathe, how to be, where you are as you stare at him.

This man, this person who one day you didn’t know and the next you did—is now yours, all yours. Mine, he’d said in bedsheets after the conversation in the kitchen. Like that you’re mine, Rainy. A man you trust, like, lov—

Frankie, who is all handsome, broad and fucking kind, is now looking at you as if you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to devour in his life. Do it, you silently plead, beg, metaphorically getting on your knees as he washes you in almond-brown eyes.

He’s a sight you couldn’t have ever made up, least of all this one. Fingers, thick—one wrapped in a bandaid—pulling down on the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes, casting half of him in a shadow that makes you almost moan. There’s just the tip of his nose, just his mouth on show, lips spread and curled into a smirk as he lines his cock at your entrance.

You sure? He asks, fingers brushing over your hip, keeping the fabric back, as you smile, nod, and whisper for him to make you feel good before he eases the head of his cock in. It's then your mouth parts around a silent cry of his name, pussy welcoming each inch of him, opening, as you let him slide all he wants to give.

“Know you can take me,” he hushes, “I’m good at measurements, calculations—“

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, you like that.”

Whining his name, he smirks. Because both the feel of him and the act is something you couldn’t have ever concocted. Fuck, a year ago you wouldn’t believe the person you are either. Not this confident being almost laid down on his workbench, feeling this good, this attractive, all bold—asking for this, for what you want. No flicker of shyness or nervousness.

Then there’s him. A sight your mind is struggling to process. Frankie with his teeth glistening with spit as he stares down at you, as he sweeps that burning gaze over you and grunts at the feel of you. One hand, large, slightly calloused, finding meaning on your waist, the other holding your dress up your spine, pressing down, light, but firm—don’t move, baby, stay still.

As if you ever would.

The stretch is welcomed, a dull ache answered, all buried to the hilt. Remaining there, still.

“Move, please—fuck, Frankie, I beg of you.”

He chuckles. A low laugh.

But he does, pulling out before driving back in, making your vision swim, blur. It all overwhelming. Both the sensation and everything else—scents, sounds and touch. His hips slowly moving, his belt buckle clanging and it’s easier to find yourself draped over the bench, cheeks on the wood, inhaling it—the scent that lives in his clothes, in his fingers and aura.

Frankie, just Frankie. Your Frankie—

“So g—fuck—good for me.”

Your fingers dig, grasp—his cock kissing that spot inside of you that forces your toes to curl in your shoes, your mouth managing half of his name before it fades to a moan. All breathy, doused in whimpers and yes’s falling in a verse that leads to a chorus.

“Feel so—oh, good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

“Perfect. Feel perfect.”

He moans—low, tinged in a grunt, a hiss, your name etched somewhere in the sound—as he pulls almost all the way out, drawn out, an emptiness beginning to register before he thrusts in. Somehow deeper, somehow filling you more perfectly as you squeeze your grip on the bench.

And you’re close, all light and boneless—but heavy and alive, so alive you feel like fire courses in your veins and you could become more flame than a person.

“Come for me, baby. Right on my bench—fuck, you feel good, so tight—need y’to come. Right here.”

And it crashes against you, all of it. Suddenly unable to smell a thing, hear a thing—you just feel. Feel the sensation of just him and the tip of him hitting that spot which makes you arch as pleasure, all blinding and molten lava rushes through your blood, and flows into your muscles.

All numb and yet tingly.

It takes a moment, but your senses come back one by one, panting, breathless—muscles tired and depleted—as you feel his hips stuttering, the strained noises from behind forcing your eyes open.

He’s a picture, a work of art—a statue that should be carved by someone with talent. Sun streaks in and basks him in a golden hue, illuminating that heart patch on his jaw—the way his tongue is pinned between pearly white teeth, and the vein in his neck throbs angrily as he reaches his own climax.

You clench, aware of it, ogling and admiring pushing him over the edge as he curses, tensing, rigid, pace lost as he spills inside of you, happily taking it all, wishing to wring him dry and ensure he’s empty. Greedy, desperate and fucking needy.

Before his body finds refuge on top of yours, heart hammering against your spine—hat falling, tumbling off onto the floor as the two of you catch your breaths. His hand finds your cheek, stroking his thumb against it.

“Never… I’ve never done that before.”

Smiling, you gaze at him as best as you can. “I like how you drill,” you say, playfully, feeling his laugh rumble through him before he kisses your hairline.

It’s light—perfect.

Feeling the laugh bounce from bone to bone inside of you before he turns and eases you up, chest to chest, murmuring against your lips about a shower, about cleaning you up. And you keep smiling, even more so when he checks your chin and cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing over and over.

“You promised me I wouldn’t get messy.”

Thumb pausing on your cheek, he smirks. “I can clean you up, baby?”

Smirking, you shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “How are you planning on doing that?”

He tilts his head, before slowly grasping the bench, descending to his knees. Your mouth unable to stop itself from falling open, all wide, surprised as he presses a kiss to your knee.

“Might want to hold onto something, baby,” he says, writing it against your inner thigh. “Might take me a minute to make sure you’re all cleaned up.”

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while we still have some more chapters of these two, I've been experimenting with a few things and while it won't have any bearing on the main series, there will be some smutty-one-shots that can be read as and when, and if so people wish. they won't require reading of the series, but rather allow anyone to enjoy two people who are becoming comfortable with one another, exploring a few different things. i'm not sure on when the first will be out, but it won't replace normal uploads for them. but rather just be small little things i'd love to include but would feel shoe-horned into my plan. also if there's anything you'd love a bit more of, whether it's a bit more on rainy/frankie or their relationship, my inbox is always open. thank you for letting these pair into your heart.

[wings-of-ink]

If you're interested in an update on my new kitty pals, see below! 🐾

We have had a fantastic start with the boys. They are adapting wonderfully, and their personalities are really shining. They also have names!

Miles is our shy guy. He reminds me of a bashful college professor wearing a cardigan. He was very nearly called Milton. He is an absolute ham once he's relaxed but is cautiously curious still. He loves to run and wrestle and is very food-motivated.

Arlo is fearless and snuggly. He stirs a little bit of trouble, but he's super chill even when we tell him 'no.' He purrs almost constantly and appreciates gentle belly pets. He so badly wants to see behind the refrigerator (there's nothing there). He is very toy-motivated.

I gotta say, I've had some tearful moments with these two. The first time they snuggled me and purred, I - naturally - burst into tears. It made me realize just how long it had been since I heard purring.

Arlo and I had a moment yesterday. He was enjoying some bird-watching from one of Shadows favorite spots... And so, that made me cry too, lol. But Arlo patted my head. I've never had a head-pat from a cat before...maybe it was chance but it felt like he understood I was upset.

Anyway, I have been emotional off and on but this has been good for my heart. They have shown me in a very short amount of time that I really do have more love to give.

Enjoying my husband's lap and fluffy blanket.

Barely sits still enough for photos. His MITTENS though.

I worry about the integrity of this basket...

They like my closet and keep pulling my sweaters down.

They are the best of friends. Their shelter didn't think they were siblings but somehow bonded very tightly as if they were. They often chirp when they are apart to find one another. They love to chase each other. We call them brothers.

[im-just-daria]

In The Dark Part 2

The Jackal x Reader

Fandom: The Day of The Jackal

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You finally make it to Munich.

Warnings: Mentions of murder and dead bodies, threats, stalking, just the usual assassin stuff.

A/N: I know it took me some time. Enjoy the second part :) Feedback is most appreciated, as well as any mistakes you see <3

Tag: @spiderstyles04 tagged as requested <3

Your eyes shot open as the alarm on your nightstand rang loudly. With a heavy sigh, you tapped your phone to stop the ringing and rubbed your eyes as you stretched under the covers of your warm bedsheets. It took you five seconds to remember why on earth you set that alarm in the first place. Today is the first day of juggling full-time pub work and helping a criminal impersonate some German janitor to do whatever he needed. You certainly didn't want to know more than is necessary for two simple reasons- in case you ever get taken by police, the less you know, the better, and because you weren't sure how well you would cope with the fact that you possibly helped someone in murder.

Your feet touched the cold floor, and you walked to a chair by your desk with more clothes on it than in your wardrobe. You put on a sweater from the pile of clothes and walked to the bathroom. As you were sitting on the toilet, your mind started to replay last night's events. You were surprised at how calm you were; it was actually concerning. 'Wow, my moral compass is so off', you thought as you wiped yourself and stood up. While washing your hands, you suddenly remembered something from yesterday that had escaped your memory. You opened the drawer under the sink and saw the nail scissors still missing; the corners of your mouth moved slightly upwards. You made your way to the kitchen and found the piece of paper with the phone number the man gave you yesterday. You debated whether to text him or not ' I mean, the guy has a gun and knows all your personal details, but at the same time, I do have some questions.'

You bit your bottom lid as you finally decided to pick up your phone. You typed in the number and texted;

"Do I keep the receipts?" you asked, putting down your phone as you wanted to start your breakfast. You hadn't expected him to reply within five seconds. 'Does he not have a life?' you thought with a frown.

''Yes''

''Do I use only cash, or can I use my card?''

''Cash''

''Do you have any allergies? The prosthetic glue sometimes causes a rash:/''

'Fuck', You scolded yourself. You were one of these people who use emojis religiously, so your muscle memory just put it in the message. 'Fucking hell (Y/N), it is a random man who hired you to help him commit international crimes, and you threw in a frowning emoji'.

''No allergies, cash only, go to only bigger stores where it's relatively anonymous, try to blend in, lie if someone asks what it's for. Anything else?'

You felt the passive aggressiveness radiating from the message, but you just couldn't help yourself. There was something so satisfying about annoying this man.

''You didn't give me back my nail scissors.''

He didn't reply immediately, like with the rest of the messages, and honestly, you thought he would just ignore you. You put down your phone and turned on the kettle on your kitchen counter. You heard the notification sound of your phone. You almost sprinted to the phone.

''I will add 5 £ to the overall payment'' You smiled. 'Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it' You lost the battle with your self-restraint.

''But the good ones cost 10 £.''

''You remember I have a gun, right? Do not text or call this number unless it is important, or you will make it from Germany in a body bag. Now delete all the texts.''

'Fine', you thought to yourself as you put down your phone and got ready for your day.

Your shoulder started to hurt from all the supplies in your bag. 'Now I understand the need for backpacks'. Since you haven't seen his face, you weren't really sure what colours of foundations and powders to buy, so you got a few just in case. After all, your life pretty much depends on how well you execute this. As you passed through Vauxhall to get to Waterloo, you glanced at MI6 headquarters and wondered how much they didn't know. I mean, here you are on the pavement across the river carrying supplies necessary for international crime. 'Is it really that easy?' you thought to yourself.

The rest of the week passed by really quickly. If you weren't working, you were working on the prosthetic; if you weren't working on the prosthetic, you were trying to sleep, eat, get groceries or clean the house. Your back was killing you from being constantly hunched over your desk. 'I have absolutely no idea how single mothers exist.' you thought as you tried to stretch in your chair. The whole face prosthetic was done, as well as the wig; you were just finishing up the facial hair when you heard the knock on the door. You weren't expecting anyone, and you didn't order anything. A wave of uneasiness washed over you. You grabbed a scalpel from the desk you used to cut through fake skin and hid it behind your back. You approached the door and looked through the peephole. A delivery man was standing on the other side holding a bouquet of flowers. Now you were nervous; your love life was non-existent, so there wasn't a single person who could send you those. You opened a door hesitantly; you half expected the man to pull out a knife or barge in through the apartment. Instead, he just smiled and asked,'' Miss (Y/L/N)?''

You stuttered ''Y-yes''.

"These are for you." He handed you a bouquet of flowers and an envelope. At first, you simply stared at him, still expecting him to pull out a weapon, but he didn't. You extended your arm and slowly grabbed the flowers and the envelope. You felt sorry for the delivery man. He looked so confused. You looked like grabbing those flowers was a life sentence, and your heavy breathing certainly didn't help.

''Um, have a nice day,'' he said hesitantly and left.

''You too!'' You said a bit too loudly as he was almost out of your sight.

You closed the door and locked it. Making your way to the kitchen, you set the flowers on the counter and opened the envelope.

IN Saturday 19th of April 19.25 RyanAir Stansted-Munich.

OUT Sunday 20th of April 22.45 RyanAir Munich-Stansted.

Premier Inn Munchen Messe Hotel Munchener Str.

Use your card; put everything necessary in the check-in bag. When you get to the hotel, send a text message. You will receive further instructions once you arrive. Don't do anything stupid, or these will be your funeral flowers.

You pulled out your phone and booked all flights and the hotel as the note instructed. The hotel itself was on the outskirts of Munich. You knew you would have to call in sick tomorrow to make this flight. Once all the bookings were confirmed, you ripped the note and flushed it down the toilet. While making your way to the desk, your eyes fell on the flowers you left on the counter. Your lips twitched upwards as you approached them. They were really beautiful. You filled a vase with water and smelled the bouquet before putting it in the glass. You moved them to the living room so they could get some sunlight. You were determined to keep them alive as long as possible. You let out a laugh as you realised that the first flowers you have ever received from a man were from a criminal who attached a note with a death threat. You made your way to the bedroom and finished the prosthetic for tomorrow. As you were packing and preparing, a shadow of a smile still danced on your lips.

The flight was as stressful as you thought it would be. You were sure you looked suspicious because every few seconds, you looked around, scouting the airport for security and police. You tried telling yourself that you had absolutely nothing illegal in the suitcase, which was true after all. Make-up artists travel daily with tons of stuff like yours and don't get stopped by border control. You finally reached the hotel, paid the taxi driver, and entered the Premier Inn. You approached the lady at reception, who smiled at you.

''Hi, I have a booking for (Y/N) (Y/L/N), 1 night'' You tried to calm your nerves and keep a relatively neutral face as you handed her your passport.

"Of course," she replied and started clicking on her computer. "Right, here is your key and a letter from your fiance."

You grabbed both items as well as your passport, to be honest; after the flowers, you expected him to pull some shit like this. 'What a psychopath, he really is enjoying this, isn't he? At least now I know he won't break into my room at night.'

''Thank you,'' you replied to the receptionist and made your way to the room. You only wanted to shower and eat, but you knew the envelope was a priority.

You left your bag on the floor, took off your jacket and left it on a chair. Leaning against the desk, you opened the letter.

16.00 Ludwig-Thomas-StraSe 27: The doors downstairs and upstairs will be open. Do not knock; just come in. Wear something with a hood, and make sure your hair isn't visible. Take everything with you; you will go straight to the airport.

Walk, do not use public transport. And try not to look suspicious; you already did a shit job at that at the airport.

''What the actual fuck?'' you actually said it out loud. Was he actually following you at the airport? You shook your head and exhaled deeply. ''This is a fucking joke''. You let out a dry laugh and decided to have a shower and sleep. A realisation hit you as you stood in a bathroom, about to undress. What if he had cameras in your room? A part of you- the logical part- wouldn't be surprised if he had cameras here and in your apartment. But the other part -the weird, unhinged, delusional part- tells you he isn't that type of guy. ''Jesus Christ (Y/N), you don't know that man,'' you scolded yourself and got undressed. It was a very brief and quick shower. Once you got into bed, you closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep. Fifteen minutes into your failed attempts at falling asleep, a phone rang; you immediately recognised the number, and your heart stopped. You accepted the call and said shakingly. ''Y-Yes?''

"Didn't you forget something?" You almost forgot how he sounded. It's been over a week, after all. His voice was calm and smooth, with a British accent dominating his pronunciation. You mentally checked everything you brought with you, nothing coming to your mi- ''Fuck I am so sorry, I forgot to text you when I got here,'' You said quickly.

''I need to know you are making your locations on time; I won't always have a way to track your phone.''

'Oh my God, ' you thought. So, this isn't a one-time thing.

"Um, yeah, that's fair. I have a question, though, and it is rather important," you said, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

''Make it quick; I don't have time.''

''That's what she said,'' you whispered timidly, immediately regretting the words as they left your mouth. 'That's it. He is gonna hang up now; great fucking job (Y/N).'

Instead, you heard a chuckle on the other end of the phone. You suddenly felt proud of yourself, and involuntarily, your mouth formed into a smile.

''What's the question (Y/N)'' He said in much lighter tone. You felt a bit more confident now, knowing that he actually found you funny.

''Do you have any cameras in my apartment or the hotel room?''

You could almost hear the confusion in his voice ''No.''

''Okay, that's good, yeah, okay,'' you exhaled, and a silence followed.

''Anything else?''

Once again, you lost the inner battle with your self-restraint and grinned as you tried to put in your most seductive voice.

"So," you said, taking a pause. "What are you wearing?" You honestly thought he had just hung up. After about ten seconds, as you were about to check the phone screen, he simply replied, "Good night (Y/N)."

Little did you know, a smile adorned his face as he hung up the phone. A smile that hasn't visited his face in years.

The next day, you checked out of the hotel at 11 in the morning and made your way to a cafe. You had 5 hours before you had to be at the location given to you. You tried to focus on a book you took with you, but after rereading the same page four times, you gave up. You ate your food and drank your coffee before going for a little walk. You really needed to calm down. Munich was much warmer than you thought, you decided to see the city centre rather than sit in one cafe for 5 hours. As it was getting closer to 4 pm, you started to make your way to the address. You followed Google Maps as you saw the right flat complex. The man didn't lie; the doors were open downstairs. You made your way up the stairs, looking for number 27. Your heart started racing as you stood in front of it. 'Just go in. You are wasting time.' You stood outside for the next two minutes before reaching the door handle. You opened the door and stepped into the hallway; you were immediately met with a familiar face you saw 10 days ago; however, this time... it wasn't in the dark.

You knew already he was tall; his face perfectly reflected his usual voice, emotionless, graceful, calculated and confident. Freckles were scattered across his clear skin, and his ginger hair was messy, but somehow, it fit him perfectly. His green eyes were focused on yours. He was leaning against a wall with his arms folded. You closed the door behind me, not sure what to say. He beat you to the greetings.

''Lingering outside someone's door for 3 minutes is rather suspicious, don't you think?'' His eyebrows raised as the sentence left his mouth.

You just stared at him, ''Yeah, um, yeah, it is, and you told me not to be suspicious.''

'Yes, I did'' He said seriously.

You tried your best to lighten the mood ''Soooo, do I get the house tour?''

''No, the bathroom is on the left. Go there and don't leave; set up everything you need.''

''What, is there like a body in here?'' You said jokingly and chuckled. You looked up at him to see his reaction. He just looked at you with a specific look that answered your question.

''Ohhh, okay''. You swallowed and made your way to the bathroom.

'Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic'.

The bathroom was small and didn't have much counter space. There was a chair and a stool. You opened your bag and set all prosthetics and the wig onto the sink counter; all make-up brushes, palettes, foundations, and powders were left on the chair. You turned around to grab a towel behind you when you were met with a familiar build. You gasped loudly, startled. How could he move so quietly?

"You can sit down if you want." He didn't reply; he simply took his place in a chair and looked at you expectingly.

It felt weird. Being cramped with a killer in a tiny bathroom, you wondered if the body lying somewhere in the house belonged to the man you would help him look like.

You began examining his face, your eyes tracing every curve of his face. His eyes never left yours; you guess he still doesn't trust you enough to be this close to you with his eyes closed.

"Your face has a rather unusual structure," your voice hitched as you realised how it sounded. "It's not an insult, just," you exhaled. ''Your eyes, sockets, and cheekbones are very hollow, but your lips are full. I will need to add some extra padding to make it look believable."Your hands were slightly shaking as you waited for his answer.

''Just do what you must. Be done by 8.30.''

You nodded.

His skin was unbelievably smooth, and his eyes still hadn't left yours, examining your every move. As you were working, you tried to explain everything you were doing. However, with the lack of his replies, you felt like you were just conversing with yourself instead.

After two hours of silence from his side, you opened your mouth but hesitated to say the sentence you wanted.

''Did you know that red hair and green eyes occur in only 0.14% of people on the planet?'' Once again, you expected silence, but he replied simply ''Yes''. Well, it's better than silence.

''How did you know?'' You asked, trying to hold the conversation.

''How did you?'' You sighed.

''I asked first.'' It was a childish answer, but a small smile played on your lips.

''My friend told me years ago,'' He said hesitantly.

''That's nice; I learned that in school during make-up classes in my first year,'' you replied calmly, suddenly feeling at ease.

''Did you like them?''

You were taken aback by his question. ''The classes?'' Still in disbelief, he showed interest.

He simply nodded.

''I did; I always found it relaxing; it's like painting or drawing for other people.''

You decided to take advantage of his sudden talkativeness.

''I probably need a name for you, a fake one. I really don't mind; I just can't refer to you in my mind as 'him'.

His lips twitched, and he said, '' And just how often do you refer to me in your mind?'' You stopped all your movement and averted your eyes from his wig hairline you were just fixing to look at into eyes.

You opened your mouth in shock and said lightly, chuckling, ''Did you just make a flirtatious joke?''

''Don't get used to it,'' He said as you added finishing touches to his appearance. His whole demeanour is changed. He seems more relaxed, and his eyes don't seem so controlling. He also didn't flinch every time you touched his face without warning.

''Let's go with Charles.''

You hummed ''Fine by me,''

''Right, all done.'' You said proudly as you stepped back, allowing him to stand up and examine your work in the mirror. You personally thought you had outdone yourself. Maybe the overhanging thought of death if you fuck up had something to do with it, or perhaps you are just that good.

''This is incredible,'' he said, not taking his eyes off his reflection.

Somehow, his praise meant more to you than any compliment you've ever heard from your teachers. 'Yeah, because whether you live or die depends on this,' you explained to yourself, not even allowing yourself to think of any other reason.

''You have a plane to catch; you should go,'' He said, finally averting his eyes from the mirror towards you.

''Yeah, you are right, I'm just gonna pack up. Um, here is a glue dissolver and a brush. Don't rip it, or your face will flare up; ginger people have a lower impact tolerance, so um yeah,'' You said, trying to hold eye contact, but halfway through the sentence, you lost confidence. You simply handed him the bottle and started packing your things. As you were about to grab the door handle, you turned towards him. He was leaning on the same spot on the wall as when you walked in, and you stood in the same place as before. Except this time, the man looked nothing like himself.

''I will transfer the money tomorrow,'' he said once again emotionless.

''Okay'' As you grabbed the handle, you smiled and turned back to him. ''I just want to let you know that I had so many urges to say ginger jokes today, but I didn't, and I think you should know that and appreciate it.''

He stood there like a statue, motionless. After a few seconds, he smiled and walked away.

''Just go home (Y/N).''

You high-fived yourself mentally. Annoying this man was fun, but seeing him smile is even better.

You left the apartment smiling, not worrying about looking suspicious.

[fantisyoflove]

Relationship Stoplight ~ Neville Longbottom

Relationship stoplight is a level by level relationship imagine post. You decide how far you want to go with the character and keep scrolling until you reach a point you don't want to read about or until you finish the post. (gender neutral reader)

I hope you enjoy!

Friends:

Being friends with Neville includes...

Working on homework together

Talking about plants

Working late in the greenhouse for Professor Sprout

Bringing one another snacks and treats when you spend the weekend looking for plants along the shore of the black lake

Neville likes physical touch and will lean against you when you two stand next to each other. His leg will press against yours when you sit next to each other. And he will loop arms with you while you walk together. He craves the pressure of another person

Sitting in front of the fire Dean and Seamus are on the couch you and Neville on the rug. You are reading over Nevilles essay holding it in one hand while the other cards through Nevilles hair, his head in your lap, eyes closed, and hands folded over his stomach. "You might as well come out and say it" Seamus snaps slamming his book shut. "We are only your bloody friends for crying out loud!" Neville scrunches his face in confusion and looks to you for clarification. You were also startled by this sudden outburst and had dropped Nevilles essay. Seamus looks pointedly between you and Neville before looking at Dean for help. "He is right, you guys can tell us we are happy for you" Dean said. "What are you on about?" Neville asked. Seamus stood throwing his hands up in the air. "You and y/n are going together" you and Neville exchange a glance and then burst out laughing. "We are not together Seamus. We are just friends" you giggle. Dean raises his eyebrows in shock and Seamus looks completely bewildered. "Fine! Don't tell us!" He snaps and sits back down next to Dean.

You love playing with his curls at the nape of his neck. You beg him not to cut his hair.

You both are "shy" and "quiet" so you are often overlooked by your friends and classmates. You use this to your advantage to eavesdropping, gossip, and people watching together.

You are over the moon when he starts dating Ginny. You had been hyping him up to ask her to the ball for weeks!

When she breaks up with him you are there to comfort him and help him move on.

Relationship:

Being fluffy with Neville includes...

Nose boops

Him tucking your hair behind your ear before he kisses you

Pressing your forehead against his

Nuzzling into his neck

He likes to tickle you by blowing on your stomach

Always having to touch you

Having you sit between his legs during quidditch matches, you leaning back against him with his arms over your shoulders holding you close to keep you warm

Wearing his sweaters

Meeting his gran for the first time, she doesn't particularly like you but then again she doesn't really like anyone

"I appreciate you"

"You are the heavens and the earth to me"

"I love you" he whispers against your temple the back of his hand brushing against your cheek and the other holding the small of your back, pushing you against him. Your turn your head to kiss his fingers and whisper back "I love you too"

Neville doesn't bring you flowers but whole potted plants. Once you move in together you get him an aquarium full of live aquatic plants.

"Im so proud of you" you whisper when theh call his name. Neville receives the Herbology award at Hogwarts and is almost to shocked to move. You have to give him a little push off the bench for him to start walking up to recieve it.

Being smutty with Neville includes....

He worships your body

The first time together was silly and awkward but you both giggled and kissed and reassured each other through the whole thing

He loves you on top so he can admire every inch of you

Kissing you from your feet to your nose

He has a wicked tongue

The full definition of "making love" Neville is sweet and giving

You love the little huffs of breath that come from him and when he moans in your ear

You both arnt very risky so each time you both know you have as long as you need to be together

The first few times were quick but once you both learned each other's bodies you were able to make it last at least an hour every time.

Spending all day in bed together was your favorite and in his little house in the country you could walk around naked without any worries of someone seeing you

Your toes curl as you throw your head back chanting "Yes, yes, yes " as you slide up and down on his cock. His large hands firm around your hips helping you bounce up and down. He gasps and you know he is close. You looks down at him, one hand on his chest to balance and the other cupping his cheek. His mouth is slightly open, his breaths heavy. You cum hard, your walls squeezing tight around him, and try your best to keep the rhythm. Neville cums close after you. His hips come off the bed slightly, pressing into you. Finally your body relaxes and you lay on top of him gasping for breath. He lightly traces his fingers across your back, humming with pleasure.

[hyperiondickrider]

Baby Bunny~

(Chapter 6)

Vox x Reader; Valentino x Reader; Alastor x Reader; maybe Lucifer x Reader

After your untimely death, Mr Vox was kind enough to take you in and give you a job as his assistant. However, it appears that you’ve caught the eyes of few other demons, who are certainly not afraid of a little competition…

Vox was gone when you woke up.

Eyes still droopy with sleep, a big yawn forced itself from your throat as you sat up, the sunlight streaming in through the shutters slowing adjusting your eyes to the early morning sun.

The bed was empty, and in Vox’s place sat a neatly folded letter. You clambered over, recognising Vox’s handwriting and your name on the letter.

My darling bunny,

Im afraid i won’t be there to take care of you when you wake up, but i’ve been called on business to the Greed Ring.

Supposedly, Mammon has a business deal for me; one that will serve to increase the VoxTek empire exponentially, my dear.

Whilst I’m gone, i won’t expect you to be at work, since there won’t be anything for you to do without me there. So please, take some days to yourself, visit Angel Dust, whatever you wanna do.

There should be coffee in the pantry, and should you need groceries please take Velvette with you; it’s too near to that time again, and i really don’t want any incidents dollface.

If you need anything else, please go to Velvette, and the Val as a last resort. I’m still not sure how much i trust him around you, especially without me around.

I should be back in a few days, a week at most.

Love you baby,

Vox

With a smile and a giggle, you crumpled up the letter, deciding to take his advice and visit Angel as the day allowed it.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you dragged a brush through your hair, flinching as it scraped your ears, surprised at their unusual sensitivity. Shrugging it off, you through on some clothes, a sweater, skirt, and matching leg warmers, before heading out the door.

Skipping out the door, you stretched the remaining drowsiness out of your sore limbs, enjoying the glow of sun on your skin. Trying to remember to route, you decided to pick up a coffee on the way, unable to find any in the pantry.

Humming a tune, your nose twitched at the fragrant scent of coffee, ears perking up in recognition. Eagerly approaching the counter, you pulled out your fluffy wallet.

“Two caramel lattes, please!” You grinned lightly leaning back and forth on your heels as you waited patiently for your coffee. After all, Angie was never a morning person, so he’d hopefully appreciate being woken with his favourite coffee.

“Two caramel lattes for Y/N?”

Not noticing the stares and smirks you got, you grabbed your coffees and hurried out the door, eager to see your best friend after way too long.

The streets of hell felt more chaotic than usual. Had something happened? Was something going on?

Shaking off your anxieties, you continued the way towards the hotel, despite feeling as though eyes were constantly on you. The familiar sight of the hotel’s large doors were a welcome refuge, as you knocked gently, you timidity returning at the remembrance of many powerful people residing here.

“Omigodomigod is it a new guest! Vaggie Vaggie come here! Quick!” The door swung open with fervour too great for so early in the morning, and you took a step back out if surprise.

“Y/N? Ohh, are you here to see Angel? It’s great to see you again! Do you want to be redeemed?” Grabbed by the hand, Charlie hastily pulled you inside, bombarding you with questions.

“H-hi Charlie! No, im just here to see Angie, my boss gave me a few days off so i came to visit!”

“Oh, that is just wonderful! Im so glad Angel has such nice friends!” Charlie gushed at your innocent demeanour, pulling you towards the lounge where Angel was sitting on a couch, scrolling on his phone.

“Charlie, my love, calm down. Its 9 in the morning.” Vaggie put a comforting shoulder on Charlie’s shoulder, intending to relax her from her excitment.

“Charlie? What’s goin’ on?” Angel called out not looking up from his phone, seemingly uninterested in the commotion.

“Angie! I missed you! Here i brought you a latte.”

“Huh? Cutie! I missed ya too you silly rabbit! Ooh, is it caramel?”

“Yup, your favourite!”

“Satan, you know me so well!”

You giggled as Angel eagerly chugged his coffee, before pulling you into a tight embrace. You sighed into his touch, ears twitching pleasedly, as he scratched your head.

“Cutie, what are ya doin’ here? Dontcha know how dangerous it is outside right now? Didntcha watch the news?”

Your eyes widened and you glanced up at him. “Why? Is something goin’ on? Mr Vox doesn’t let me watch the news, he says he’ll tell me everything i need to know…”

Angel let out a string of curses and grumbled. “Course that fucking manipulative asshole controls all the information that gets to ya. The extermination, babes. Its comin’ in 6 months now, not a year. Everyone’s freaking out.”

You gasped, a hand shooting up to cover your mouth in shock. “W-what? But that’s awful!”

“Yeah, but we got a more immediate problem on our hands. You feelin’ okay, cutie?” Angel picked you up with a set of arms and turned you around to inspect you, as if looking for something.

“W-what do you mean, Angie?”

With a sigh, he grabbed your cotton tail, causing you to whimper loudly, tears forming in your eyes.

“You’re really fucking sensitive, cutie. Your heat’s about to start, i can smell it on you.” Angel sniffs the air for dramatic effect, causing you to giggle.

“But i should still have at least a week left?”

Angel put you down with a sigh, and glanced out the nearest window. “Cutie, there’s literally like, 15 sinners out there waiting for you to come out. What, didja collect ‘em like fucking pokemon?” The both of you start laughing, as you collapse into Angel’s chest fluff, legs weak from giggling.

Angel lowered a hand down whilst your giggles were muffled in his chest, touching your panties to discover the sopping wetness between your legs as you shivered at his gentle touch. You moaned softly, gripping his biceps as he inspected your slick.

“Yup. Babes, its like the heavens have literally opened up between your legs.” He chuckled at his own phrasing, scooping you up in his long arms. “We gotta get you home to Vox before it fully sets in”

“M-mr Vox isn’t here, Angie. H-he’s in the Greed Ring on business.”

Angel cursed loudly, drawing the attention of the other in the hotel.

“Angel? What’s wrong?” Charlie inquired curiously.

“Little bunny here’s about to start her heat, but daddy Vox ain’t here to help her through it. So I’m gonna hafta help her, cause there ain’t no fuckin way i’m handin her over to Val”

“S-sorry Angie, i guess you’re stuck with me until Mr Vox is back..” you trail off, your arousal growing steadily as your sight becomes hazy.

“Sorry Charlie, can she stay with me a while? I can’t leave her like this.”

“U-uh of course Angel!” Charlie blushes at the implication, but eager to help. “Y-you can be excused from activities until she can get back to Vox!”

Angel scooped you up, preparing to take you to his room when he was stopped by the sound of Husk’s gruff voice.

“Whatcha say, Whiskers? I can’t fuckin hear ya from here!”

Husk groaned, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “I said, Alastor ain’t gonna be fuckin happy about this.”

A figure emerged from the shadows, his grin tighter and more strained than usual.

“i thought i smelt rabbit! Has our dear bunny found herself in trouble, hm?” His teasing tone was lost on the crowd, you soft pants and whimpers permeating the otherwise silent room.

“I see, well im afraid i cannot allow this, my dear. You see, you associate with the television, and i cannot allow that sort of business in this hotel, understand?” The static in his voice grows thick, his irritation audible, but you struggle to understand anything, everythung buried in a hazy fog of lust and need.

“C’mon, Al, cut her some slack. The poor bunny’s in heat and needs help.”

“Hm, no can do, my effeminate fellow! Off she goes!” His grin is so stretched it bares his gums, as his jaw clenches, seemingly holding back from something.

“Satan, you are such a fuckin ass! Promise me you’ll at least get her to Val safely, you fucker! I ain’t strong enough to get both of us through that carnage while her stench literally screams sex. ”

“Hm, i suppose that i can do.” Alastor takes you from Angel’s arms, carrying you bridal style as the both of you returned to the shadows.

“Cutie! Don’t hesitate to call! I’ll come help if ya need me babes!”

You vaguely recognise Angel’s voice through the fog, distracted by the intoxicating scent enveloping you. Grabbing on to Alastor’s chest, you bury your head in his neck, sniffing him deeply, inhaling his musky scent, the pheromones making your head spin as you whine in pleasure.

You can make out Alastor muttering curses under his breath, his smile straining as his grip on you tightened.

“My darling, you smell truly delectable, i can barely contain myself. I wonder how you would taste…”

You whine and grab at him, craving contact, attention, to be touched. The ache between your legs was growing painful, your slick coating your thigh and soaking through your panties.

“A-Al, p-please h-help me~” you plead with him, begging to be touched, to be bred. His grip continues to tighten, bordering painful, until his resolves finally snapped.

Pinning you against the nearest wall, his sharp and yellowed teeth attacked you neck, biting harshly and licking the wounds, eager to draw blood, to taste you. Lapping up the blood beading from his teeth marks, Alastor groaned at the taste, the intoxicating taste of bunny blood. Rabbit meat was rare in hell, and hard to come by, but had always been a personal favourite of the cannibal.

“Fuck, my darling, you truly are delicious. I could just eat you up right now.” He chuckled darkly at your pained whimpers and terrified whines, continuing to suck bruises onto your flesh, leaving love bites and hickies, marking his territory before handing you over to Valentino as promised.

“If only you scent wasn’t plagued by the stench of that television, perhaps i would keep you all to myself this time. Oh well, perhaps next time my darling. Until we meet again.”

And with that, Alastor disappeared, leaving you collapsed on the floor in front of Valentino’s appartment.

With gentle whine and moan, you dragged yourself on shaky legs to the door, knocking and scratching on it until you received an answer.

“Who the fuck is there, hm? I’m fuckin’ off the clock, don’t bother me putas!” Val yanked the door open looking left and right before dropping his eyes to you, his grin widening.

“Awh, my poor little coñejita~ what’s happened, bebé?” Val cooed at you, blowing thick red smoke in your face as you tried to formulate a response through the haze and confusion.

“M-mr Val, i-i need help. M-mr Vox i-is gone, a-and my h-heat s-started. P-please h-help me, s-sir…” you started to tear up out of discomfort, the intense desire proving too much for you to handle as you made grabby hands to Val, who just cooed and scooped you up, closing the door behind you both.

Val chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing.“Don’t worry your pretty little head, bebé. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, hm~”

A/N: So excited to write these next few chapters lol. It’s getting fun and horny

Tags: @enby-rising @whocaresimnothere @christineblood @sirenetheblogger @vash-yuu

[urdreamydoodles]

X-men x Reader x Reader's Dog (Part.2)

How they handle your relationship with your dog (Part.2)

Yes... Mr. Pickles..again! (I love these headcanons so much, I'm sorry) These headcanons explore how eight famous X-Men interact with both you, their partner, and your small, not-so-bright dog, Mr. Pickles.

Characters: Emma Frost, Kitty Pryde, Rogue, Colossus, Warren Worthington III, Erik Lehnsherr, Laura Kinney & Charles Xavier

Emma Frost:

- At first, Emma finds Mr. Pickles somewhat beneath her—she’s used to luxury and elegance, and Mr. Pickles is, well, a goofy little dog with no real sense of sophistication. But over time, even the White Queen can’t resist his innocent charm. She’ll roll her eyes and sigh dramatically, but you’ve caught her cradling Mr. Pickles in her arms like a prized possession more than once.

- Emma telepathically keeps Mr. Pickles out of trouble when he gets into mischief, subtly guiding him away from precarious situations. You never really know how Mr. Pickles avoids disasters—like not falling off the balcony—but Emma just smiles slyly and changes the subject.

- Despite her initial reluctance, Emma begins treating Mr. Pickles like a little prince, often dressing him in designer dog outfits and expensive collars. She makes sure he looks his best when in public, often saying, “If he’s going to be seen with me, he must at least have some style.”

Kitty Pryde:

- Kitty absolutely adores Mr. Pickles from the moment she meets him. She’s a big dog person, and she thinks his cluelessness is part of his charm. Kitty will often phase through walls just to surprise Mr. Pickles, and she giggles every time he gets excited when she suddenly appears out of nowhere.

- Kitty spoils Mr. Pickles, always showing up with a new toy or treat for him. The two of them play together constantly, with Kitty making little obstacle courses or using her phasing powers to make the games even more entertaining. Mr. Pickles gets excited whenever she’s around, bounding toward her with his wagging tail.

- She affectionately refers to Mr. Pickles as “her little buddy” and is always ready to watch him if you’re busy. Kitty fully supports your relationship with him and even jokes that she might adopt her own dog one day—though she’s sure no dog could ever be quite as lovable as Mr. Pickles.

Rogue:

- Rogue is a little wary of Mr. Pickles at first, not because she dislikes dogs but because she’s worried about accidentally hurting him with her powers. You reassure her constantly, but she still keeps her distance for a while. Eventually, she relaxes enough to let him sit by her, and soon enough, Mr. Pickles is curled up on her lap.

- Once she gets used to him, Rogue finds Mr. Pickles incredibly cute. She often watches him run around with an amused smile, and she loves how much joy he brings you. Rogue even makes little knitted sweaters for him to wear during the colder months, often teasing you, “Ah hope he appreciates all this fashion work, sugar.”

- Mr. Pickles, naturally, adores Rogue, and even though she’s careful, he always tries to get her attention. Rogue finds herself talking to him in her soft Southern accent, calling him “darlin’” and “sweet boy” as he flops down beside her during quiet moments.

Colossus (Piotr Rasputin):

- Piotr is immediately taken with Mr. Pickles, finding the dog’s small size and silly demeanor amusing. He’s so large compared to Mr. Pickles that he’s extra careful whenever the dog is around, treating him like a fragile little thing. He’ll sometimes pick Mr. Pickles up with one hand and chuckle at how weightless the dog is in comparison.

- Piotr has a gentle, nurturing nature, so he treats Mr. Pickles with the utmost kindness. You’ll often find the two of them napping together, with Mr. Pickles sprawled out on Piotr’s massive chest, snoozing peacefully. It’s a sight that never fails to warm your heart.

- Piotr likes to create little pieces of art for Mr. Pickles, whether it’s a painted portrait of the dog or a small sculpture. He’s proud of his work and enjoys capturing the dog’s “unique personality.” Whenever he presents one of his creations, he’ll say, “For our little friend,” with a warm smile, and you can tell he’s grown just as fond of Mr. Pickles as you are.

Warren Worthington III (Angel):

- Warren is initially indifferent toward Mr. Pickles. He’s used to living a glamorous, high-society life, so a small, not-so-smart dog wasn’t exactly in his plans. But after seeing how much you adore Mr. Pickles, Warren softens. He’s the kind of partner who will buy the dog luxury bedding, gourmet treats, and custom-made collars because, “If he’s part of your life, he deserves the best.”

- Despite his aloof attitude, Warren secretly spoils Mr. Pickles. He’s taken the dog on private jet flights, giving him a first-class experience that most humans could only dream of. You often joke that Mr. Pickles lives a more extravagant life than most people, and Warren just smirks, saying, “He’s part of our family, after all.”

- Over time, Warren grows fond of Mr. Pickles’ goofy, clueless demeanor. The dog’s lack of intelligence makes him laugh, especially when Mr. Pickles tries to chase Warren’s wings as they flutter. “He’s not the brightest, but I suppose that’s part of his charm,” Warren says with a chuckle.

Magneto (Erik Lehnsherr):

- Erik is not easily impressed by much, and Mr. Pickles is no exception. Initially, he doesn’t understand your attachment to such a small, seemingly helpless creature. However, he respects your love for the dog and, over time, comes to see Mr. Pickles as a symbol of your compassion and humanity.

- Though Erik doesn’t outwardly express affection for Mr. Pickles, he’s subtly protective of him. On more than one occasion, you’ve noticed Erik using his magnetic powers to move metal objects out of the dog’s way when he’s about to run into something. He’ll never admit it, but Erik has a soft spot for the little dog because he knows how much Mr. Pickles means to you.

- Erik has a dry sense of humor when it comes to Mr. Pickles. He often remarks, “If only the world’s problems were as simple as this dog’s mind.” But when he sees you smile at his sarcastic quips, Erik can’t help but be grateful that Mr. Pickles brings you so much joy in an otherwise dark world.

Laura Kinney (X-23/Wolverine):

- Laura is not used to small, vulnerable creatures, so Mr. Pickles is a bit of an enigma to her at first. She’s hyper-aware of how fragile he is, and for a while, she keeps her distance, not wanting to accidentally hurt him. But after seeing how much you love Mr. Pickles, Laura slowly begins to warm up to the idea of having a small dog around.

- Over time, Laura becomes incredibly protective of Mr. Pickles. She keeps a close eye on him when he’s wandering around, making sure he doesn’t get into trouble. “He’s helpless,” she’ll say matter-of-factly, but it’s clear that she’s grown attached to him. She’s even gone so far as to use her enhanced senses to find him when he’s lost in the house.

- Laura starts to see Mr. Pickles as part of her small, chosen family. She’ll sit with him on her lap while sharpening her claws, and when you catch her being gentle with him, she’ll shrug and say, “He’s harmless. I don’t mind.” Despite her tough exterior, it’s clear that Laura cares deeply for both you and Mr. Pickles.

Charles Xavier:

- Charles is amused by your relationship with Mr. Pickles, seeing it as an extension of your kindness and empathy. He finds the little dog’s simplicity refreshing in a world filled with complex, troubled minds. Occasionally, Charles will check in on Mr. Pickles telepathically, smiling to himself when he senses nothing but pure, unfiltered joy.

- While Charles can’t physically interact with Mr. Pickles as easily as others, he enjoys watching the dog from afar. When Mr. Pickles gets into trouble, like trying to chew on furniture, Charles will calmly use his telepathy to guide the dog away from danger. “He means well,” Charles will say with a knowing smile whenever Mr. Pickles does something silly.

- Charles has a deep appreciation for how much happiness Mr. Pickles brings into your life. He often encourages you to take time for the dog, believing that such simple joys are important in maintaining a sense of balance and peace. “He’s a reminder of the little things that make life beautiful,” Charles often remarks, fully understanding why you treat Mr. Pickles like your child.

[irondadfics]

Hello! I was wondering if anyone knows any fics of Peter being a bit of a dick? I love the stories where he is rude to people, normally as a way to push them away so they can’t see how bad his life is. Any examples of rude/sassy Peter would be greatly appreciated!

here are some for you! Happy reading

Wake up and smell the coffee by Bergen

The Avengers find themselves in need of Spider-Man’s help to improve their reputation. Peter Parker, however, doesn't exactly have the best reputation: he has been dabbling in a life of crime. Tony really doesn't care about picking up after some degenerate teen. Peter really doesn't care about some dumb adults telling him what to do. And nothing will ever, ever change their minds.

100 Hours (Community Service is for the Turtles) by orphan_account

“Hey there, Parker. I’ve got some exciting news about your community service sentencing,” the bright voice from the other line says. "It looks like you've been reassigned." “Oh, yeah?” Peter asks, warily. His social worker sounds excited, but he's been burned a few too many times to take any "good news" at face value. Peter listens to her explain with a furrowed brow, and when the call is over, he opens the web browser on his cracked Android and quickly types the words september foundation into the search bar. His eyes narrow as he peruses the top result. Oh, he is going to kill that Stark bastard. - All Peter Parker wants to do is fly under the radar. He wants to go to school, work off his sentence by picking up trash at the stupid park, and avoid going home for as long as possible each night. Unfortunately for him, Tony Stark has never been one to see untapped potential and not do something about it.

The seventh escape by Bergen

Tony and Pepper snatched Peter up only a few weeks after the first Spider-Man video went viral. Real fucking coincidence, right? Suddenly, Tony Stark rocked right up at his group home, strewing business cards around like he was Oprah. If Oprah were an ugly white dude with a goatee. “Big fan,” he told Peter, fasting forward through a video of Spider-Man catching a bus before it crashed through a road block. “In and out of foster care your whole life, am I right? I believe my wife and I could provide a very fitting home for you.” “Pass,” Peter said.

Paradigm shift by Bergen

Peter got a Stark phone when he was ten. Adrian took him to a big store with lots of TV screens that all played the same video of Tony Stark declaring to the world that he was Iron Man. They ducked behind the microwaves, both of them giggling as Adrian stuffed the phone under Peter’s sweater. They walked right out the door without tripping the alarm, and Adrian bought him ice cream to celebrate. — After his parents die, Peter is taken in by the Toomes family. Things slowly, then quickly spiral out of control. All Adrian wants is to take revenge on Tony Stark. All Peter wants is to do the right thing. Why is that so much harder than expected?

the long game by niniblack

“Your prints were a match for a missing persons case from ten years ago. A little boy who was kidnapped.” The officer pulls out a picture that she turns toward Peter. It’s a little boy around four years old, with curly brown hair. “That’s you,” she says. Peter shakes his head. “Do you remember how you got to that park? Who left you there?” “Lady, I don’t remember jack shit,” Peter says. “I was like four. No one remembers shit from when they were four.” --- Or: the biodad au where Peter gets arrested for selling drugs, and that actually improves his life.

[callsign-venus]

I'll Be Home for Christmas | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Description: With Bradley on deployment, you don't find the Christmas season as cheery as usual. The Daggers make it their mission to help you get into the holiday spirit. Cue intensely competitive gingerbread house decorating competition.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Fluff with a teeny dash of angst. Drinking. That’s pretty much it. Really just self-indulgent, friendship-heavy fluff with lots of pining. Enjoy x

Nat King Cole’s voice dances out of your record player has you put the finishing touches on your cranberry Aperol spritzes. Their cherry warm color makes you smile despite yourself. 

You have always loved Christmas, but this year it hits you like a truck – and not even one with a tree strapped on top. All the little traditions that usually warm your heart with holiday cheer feel just plain sad to do alone. You had a tremendous battle with your artificial tree, which fell on you twice. You were proud of yourself for not crying, and in the end you were able to admire all of its eight feet of glory. Then you remembered you had to light the whole thing. Two hours later, you had undone no less than three tangles of light strands, found out two of them were dead (and all your untangling had been for nothing), and had one big cry fest for yourself. Not even a steaming cup of cocoa made you feel better after that disaster.

Wrapping presents for your friends and family, rewatching all your favorite Christmas movies, and driving around rich people neighborhoods to admire their lights hadn’t gone as poorly, but they all made his absence grow harder to ignore.

When Bradley told you his deployment would last through the holidays, you struggled to keep your disappointment to yourself, though you’re sure he could see it shining in your eyes. As much as you would miss him during the holidays, you knew it was worse for him, with only emails and skype calls for comfort – no silly little Christmas rituals to occupy his mind.

“You need help in here?” Natasha’s voice jolts you out of your pity-party spiral.

“No, I just got distracted,” you say, scooping up two of the spritzes and offering her one. “Let’s get this party started.”

Phoenix smiles and accepts your cocktail. She herself had just gotten back from her own deployment, and pretty immediately sensed your holiday ennui. She was the one who suggested this festive evening, and you’ve never been more grateful for her friendship.

While you were listless in the kitchen, she had assembled the most perfect gingerbread house making station you’d ever seen: frosting packed into several near-bursting bags, candy canes arranged in perfect rows, gumdrops with a shimmering dusting of sugar, and a scattering of gingerbread roofs and walls waiting patiently to be dressed.

“Wow, Nat, this looks great.”

“Thank you. I’m sure the boys will mess it up in three seconds flat, but at least you appreciate it.”

As if on cue, your front door bursts open, and a clot of merrily dressed sailors spills into your home, arms stacked with presents for Secret Santa. You point to the open space under the Christmas tree, and quickly your and Natasha’s presents are joined by all the others.

After the presents are unloaded, you and Phoenix are engulfed in hugs. Fanboy is wearing a Santa hat, and he has two in hand that he passes to you and Phoenix, insisting that you put them on right now. You happily oblige, as you’re inching closer to how you usually feel during the holidays now that you’re surrounded by friends. Even Jake is cheery, having rocked up in an ugly Christmas sweater covered with bows and tinsel, which is bizarre yet comforting. You do your best not to think about the person you wish was here most, as the Daggers seem dead set to help you have a great Christmas despite his absence.

“This is for you, our gracious host.” Bob hands you a potted poinsettia. “Thanks for putting up with us.”

“It’s really no problem,” you insist as you place the flowers on the side table by your couch. “I love you all.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Still, we’re a lot, I know.”

He’s not wrong – Coyote and Payback have already found the spritzes and Fanboy’s popped three gumdrops into his mouth – but you don’t mind. Even when the gingerbread house decorating competition starts. Calling it a competition might be an understatement. The Daggers are more than competitive, especially about inconsequential things. Nobody speaks as they draft their houses in bright white icing and stud them with decorative candies. The only way to get them to quiet is through arts and crafts, you muse as you decorate your house with swirls of icing like snow drifts and tiny snowflakes dotting the roof and walls. 

The sabotage begins early, when Hangman reaches for a bowl of peppermints and not-so-subtly brushes his hand over Phoenix's roof, smearing the frosting.

“Hey asshole,” Natasha says. “That’s my house.”

“Oh really? Looks like you got a little smear there.” Jake slides a finger across Phoenix’s carefully piped shingles, messing up her roof even more.

“You’re a dead man, Seresin.” Nat narrows her eyes. She won’t go for Jake’s gingerbread house, she’ll bide her time. You’re glad you’re not Hangman right now.

“Got anymore spritzes?” Coyote asks you.

You nod your head. “In the kitchen, help yourself.”

When Coyote gets up to refill his glass, Fanboy snatches his piping bag and swaps it for his almost empty one. While Fanboy’s distracted, Payback helps himself to the pile of Twizzlers Fanboy’s been hoarding since the beginning of the competition.

“Who is even going to judge these?” You ask almost absentmindedly as you stand a gingerbread couple together at the door of their house with copious amounts of frosting. “We all know whose house is whose.”

There’s a smattering of laughter.

“We’ll figure it out after Secret Santa,” Nat assures you as she completes the retiling of her roof, the eaves perfectly punctuated with peppermints.

Before you can question the logic of that solution, Bob asks for your opinion on colored versus strictly green and red gum drops.

“Hey, no helping the competition,” Fanboy complains.

“What?” You level a heavy gaze on him. “Scared you won’t win if Bob and I combine forces? I would be.”

“I’m just saying, this should be a fair contest,” he says.

You shrug him off and answer Bob, but in the spirit of sabotage, you neglect to tell him about the frosting dried on his cheek.

Even though you’re risking your gingerbread house’s safety, once you’ve finished, you slip into the hall. You refresh your inbox on your phone, and you smile as you see an email from Bradley.

Subject: Miss you

Hey pretty girl. Been missing you all day today. Wish I was there to hang stockings and give you the best mistletoe kiss the world’s ever seen. Don’t forget to hang it – you can leave it up until I get back. Don’t have a lot of time, but I just wanted to let you know that I love you and I can’t wait to come home to you.

Your heart flutters, as it always does when you get an email from him. You quickly type out a response.

Subject: Miss you more

Hey hot stuff. I’ve already hung the mistletoe and have no plans to take it down until you make me see stars under it. I miss doing holiday things with you (you really know how to wrangle the tree), but Nat especially has been helping me through it. Still, I really miss you. All I need is your arms around me and everything will feel right again. Can’t wait to see you again.

You press send and sigh. You never want to complain – it’s Bradley who had to live on an aircraft carrier for months at a time – but sometimes it feels so unfair for two people to be so in love and yet spend the holidays all alone.

You give yourself a moment to collect yourself before you go back to the increasingly hostile competition. Jake has icing in his hair – you know Phoenix is responsible, but her wrath won’t end there – and Payback’s house had a giant fist-sized crater in the roof. Surely unrelated, Coyote’s knuckles are dusted with gingerbread crumbs. You couldn’t help the smile the chaotic scene pulled from you. Especially since your gingerbread house remains in pristine condition.

You thank Nat for watching over it, and she responds with a bright smile. “No problem, I can’t have the boys messing up your Christmas celebration.”

“Hey!” All the boys except Bob protest in unison. Phoenix raises her brows, point proven.

Once all of the gingerbread houses are complete and aligned in a row like a candied neighborhood block, the party shifts toward the Christmas tree. Bob distributes presents to each of you. Yours is an envelope, and you know it is from Nat. Your name is written on the thick, cream paper in Nat’s graceful script, which you know like your own after years of friendship.

“No one can beat my present,” Nat boasts as she catches you studying the envelope.

“Oh we’ll see,” Coyote says.

You swallow down a little lump, seeing everyone around the tree without Rooster. Though you love and appreciate your friends, the emptiness of his presence is almost smothering.

Your mood warms when Jake volunteers to go first. You’re his Secret Santa, and just as you predicted, he loves the smartphone-controlled paper airplane you got for him. He opens it and has it folded  in a matter of seconds. He syncs it to his phone, and his first flight ends with the plane crashing into Coyote’s head.

“Durable.” Hangman remarks as he picks up the paper airplane, which holds its shape just fine.

“Asshole.” Coyote replies.

Payback is next, and he gets a bottle of scotch from Jake. You don’t know much about scotch, but from Payback’s reaction, you can tell it’s a really nice bottle.

Coyote gets Bob a navy Aran sweater, which Bob wastes no time throwing on.

“Feel how soft!” Bob says as he smothers Coyote in a hug. Cue three minutes of Bob inviting everyone to touch his sweater – you can’t blame him, though, it is really soft.

Bob’s gift to Coyote makes you wonder how Nat is going to top it. Bob made a crochet version of Taffy, Coyote’s miniature pinscher. 

“Thank you, I love it.” Coyote cradles the crocheted dog tight, and you wonder if you’re just imagining the tremble in his voice or if he’s actually about to cry.

“Come on Javy,” Jake says, “don’t go all soft now.”

Fanboy gets a countertop pizza oven from Payback, which instantly becomes one of his most prized possessions based on the sheer amount of pizza he consumes.

“Thanks, man.” He gives Payback a friendly punch on the arm. “You all have to come over for pizza night.”

You all hum in agreement. Fanboy’s pizzas are amazing, and you wouldn’t mind spending another night with everyone together. Well, almost everyone. You swallow down the lump in your throat.

Phoenix opens her gift from Fanboy slowly, as if she’s afraid of its contents. She peels back the shiny green paper to reveal a charcuterie board and a set of cheese knives with wooden handles that match the board. She hugs it close to her chest and mouths thank you across the room to Fanboy, who doesn’t notice because he’s reading the pizza recipe included with his oven.

Finally it is your turn. All eyes in the room land on you, strangely sober despite the freely flowing spritzes. You give Phoenix a quick glance as you slide a finger under the flap of the envelope, but her expression is unreadable.

“It's a…” you say as your fingers graze a satiny band of fabric. “Blindfold?”

You hold it up for everyone to see. Everyone’s expressions are carefully arranged to not convey anything. Not quite the laughter you were expecting. A sense of uneasiness blooms in your stomach.

Nat stands up and takes the blindfold out of your hands. Quicker than you can think, she’s tying it around your head.

“What is going on?” You ask.

She finishes the bow and pats your shoulder. “Just you wait.”

A few suppressed snickers fill the room and make your uneasiness melt into dread. The gentle shush of a door opening and closing makes it worse.

“I swear, if you guys are ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas-ing’ me right now I will be so angry.”

The silence that falls after you speak is so, so loud. No one turned the record, so even Nat King Cole is quiet. But then you hear it. It’s hard to explain, but you’d know that breathing anywhere. You’d spent many nights falling asleep to that gentle lullaby or hearing it as he held you close in the kitchen, neither of you caring that dinner was burning on the stove.

You rip off the blindfold, and there he is. Bradley. Bradley. Standing next to your Christmas tree, a bow tied around his chest. The Daggers surround him like magician’s assistants, all their hands raised in a sort of ta-da manner.

You leap off the couch and into his waiting arms. He smells like an aircraft carrier and shitty coffee, his clothes rough and government-issued, and his hair cropped a little too close to his head than you know he likes – but he’s yours. He’s yours in the way his embrace consumes you, blurring the line between you and him, erasing the months and miles of distance between the two of you. He’s yours in the way the beat of his heart drums in rhythm with your own. Yours in the way that you are his as well. He lifts you up so your feet dance in the air, pressing kisses to the top of your head.

He sets you down and crashes his lips into yours. He slips his tongue into your mouth unabashedly, and despite your audience, you let him. The kiss is long enough that you start to feel bad for everyone else, so you sheepishly pull away.

“Goddamn, Rooster,” Hangman says, “let the girl breathe.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves the comment away.

But you don’t want to breathe. Not if your other option is to kiss Bradley until you’re both oxygen starved. Because you’re starved for him, need to feed on his presence. 

Then the realization sets in. Rooster is supposed to be deployed for another month. You wheel around to face Nat. “How the hell did you do this?”

She shrugs. “Loverboy emailed me last week, just after I got home from my deployment. Said he was coming home earlier than expected, and he wanted to surprise you.”

“Wait, so all of you knew?” You pointedly look at everyone, but nobody can quite keep eye contact with you.

Bradley wraps an arm around your waist. “They all did pretty good keeping it under wraps, huh?”

“I would hope so, given our clearance levels,” Jake says.

Everyone laughs, but you’re still reeling. You can’t believe Bradley is here. His calloused fingers rubbing the skin of your back, just under the hem of your shirt. His gentle laugh reverberating against your body, reminding you what wholeness feels like. His lips, slightly chapped (with none of your chapstick to steal on the carrier), murmuring into your hair. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you know what he means nonetheless.

You’d imagined Bradley’s homecoming as a flurry of ripped clothes, bruising kisses, and mutual insatiable hunger, but this is better. All of your friends in the same room, sharing in this festive homecoming, looking like absolute dorks. Fanboy’s Santa hat sits askew on his head. Payback and Coyote are obviously drunk off their asses (they definitely pregamed the festivities, as Payback has been reduced to giggles and Coyote has actual tears streaming down his face). Jake has yet to realize the frosting in his hair, Bob the frosting on his face. And Natasha is a dork by association. You and Bradley too. But the overwhelming love in the room makes you want to sob happy tears.

Bradley happily indulges you all in judging the gingerbread houses. He gets down to eye level with each entry, runs his fingers along the roofs, occasionally snaps off a piece of candy and pops it in his mouth.

“Very good job, everyone.” He speaks to the group as if you’re all kindergartners, reveling in the building anticipation. There’s never a prize for Dagger competitions, but there doesn’t need to be. Bragging rights is all they need, no matter how menial the situation.

Bradley carefully reshuffles the houses in order from last to first place. Fanbody. Jake. Payback. Coyote. Nat. He purposefully shields first and second place. Only you and Bob are left – maybe the least competitive people in the room – and still, tension is thick in the air.

“And the winner…” Bradley’s voice booms like an old-fashioned gameshow host, “...is…”

He finally slides to the side to reveal your house sitting in first place.

Bob sticks his hand up for a high five. Your hands collide with a solid thunk.

 “Not fair,” Fanboy protests. “Rooster’s obviously biased.”

“Come on, he didn’t know whose house was whose,” Phoenix says. “Besides, you weren’t even in the top five, and Payback had a hole in his roof.”

“It’s ok, Nat,” you voice oozes with fake sympathy. “I’d be upset too if I spent so much time on a shit gingerbread house.”

Fanboy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh you want to play that game?”

He lunges around the table, and you immediately grab Bradley to use as a human shield. 

“Lots of talk from someone who’s gonna hide behind her boyfriend,” he says teasingly.

“I’m not hiding.” You tighten your grip on Bradley’s waist, his hands covering yours. “You can get to me, you’re just gonna have to get through him first.”

Bradley puffs out his chest. “Nobody disparages the gingerbread contest queen. She earned her title by being the best.”

Later, because he can’t keep a secret from you (the only thing that saved the Secret Santa surprise was only being able to communicate through email), Bradley confesses that he knew which house was yours the moment he saw it. But still, that one little detail doesn’t negate the fact that you are the gingerbread contest queen.

And Bradley defends your honor well as you maneuver him from behind to keep a distance between yourself and Fanboy. Eventually, Bob steps in to broker a peace deal to end the conflict. Somehow, you are roped in for bringing more spritzes to Fanboy’s pizza night, but he can no longer dispute the fact that you have the best gingerbread house. A win is a win, and your gloating privileges remain.

Later, when everyone is winding down and glancing at their coats hanging by the door, Bradley pulls you into the kitchen.

“Honey, I think our guests are about to leave.” You try to move back toward the living room, but Bradley keeps hold of your hand. “Please, let’s not be rude.”

He shakes his head. “They’ll understand. They know. They know exactly what it's like.”

You relent because he’s right. Even you don’t know what it’s like. Loneliness has been a long lingering companion of yours, but you suffer her presence at home surrounded by close comforts and your parents a short drive away. For Bradley, for Nat, for Jake, for Bob and all the rest, it’s different. It’s their job. They suffer loneliness with mostly long shifts and shitty food for company. 

So you let Bradley chase out his – and your – loneliness in the kitchen. As he pulls you ever closer, his palms flattening you against him, you wonder how you ever survived apart when it was so clear that your souls were really just one.

You break away panting. God knows how long you were indulging, but you just about jump out of your skin when you realize Phoenix is in the kitchen right behind you, pouring herself a glass of champagne.

Your cheeks warm. “Nat!”

“Sorry, didn’t bother me, so I didn’t want to bother you.” She shrugs. “Want a glass?”

You decline, and you and Bradley shuffle out of the kitchen like teenagers caught in the act. Nearly everyone is shrugging their coats on, chatting about the night, when they catch sight of the two of you.

“Now, just where in the hell did y’all run off to?” Jake prods.

You can’t even look at them.

“Just the kitchen,” Rooster says, locking his hand in yours. “Needed to make sure the champagne was still flowing.”

Everyone shares the same knowing look that makes you want to shove them all out the door. Instead, you and Bradley post up at the door like perfect hosts and thank everyone for coming as they slip into the surprisingly chilly night. Then, only you, Bradley, and Phoenix are left.

While everyone was saying their goodbyes, she was sipping her champagne and quietly wiping sugar, gingerbread crumbs, and crusted frosting off the dining table.

“You bitch,” you say as you swoop in to help her clean up. “How come you didn’t tell me as soon as you found out?”

She laughs and takes another sip of wine. “Why don’t you ask Rooster?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He sheepishly grins.

“In my defense,” he says, “it was a really good surprise.”

“I can’t believe you two.” You laugh. “But thank you for the surprise. It was wonderful.”

You try to direct your gratitude to them both, but something in Rooster’s expression snags your gaze and won’t let go. There’s still an unsatiated hunger heavy in his eyes.

Nat sets down her now empty glass. “Alright, lovebirds, I’ll take that as my cue to leave.”

She gathers her things, and you walk her to the door.

“Thank you.” You give her a hug. Neither of you are super touchy, but your gratitude for her tonight is almost endless. “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” She squeezes you tight before letting go. “Goodnight, Rooster!”

“Goodnight!” He calls from somewhere deep in the house.

“Sounds like he’s waiting for you,” she winks. “See you soon.”

“Get home safe!”

And with that, it’s just the two of you. You expect Bradley to pounce the second the door closes, but he doesn’t appear as you linger by the doorway. Odd. You check the kitchen, living room, and dining room. All empty.

“Bradley?” You call.

“Right here.”

His response floats from down the hallway, from your bedroom.

And sure enough, there he stands in the doorway. Right under the mistletoe you hung up earlier in the week, the biggest grin on your face when you pictured his homecoming some time after New Years, all the Christmas decorations gone except the lonely mistletoe, waiting patiently for his arrival. But now, you can put the mistletoe to good use while Christmas is still bright on the horizon. The warmth of the season bleeds into the warmth of your kiss. Christmas will come as surely as it would have if Bradley was on deployment, but now you welcome it. You want lazy days sipping eggnog and baking cookies. You want late, festive nights at the Hard Deck with the Daggers, getting into pool competitions with Bradley as your loyal teammate despite how disastrous you are at pool, assured in his easy we-lose-together attitude. You want a Christmas morning with presents that don’t matter because the best gift you could ask for has already appeared right by your tree tonight, wrapped in a bow.

“Don’t leave me ever again,” you whisper against his chest.

“I won’t,” he says, “I won’t.”

You both know it’s not something you can ask of him, not a promise he can keep. It’s not fair to either of you to pretend like this will be his last homecoming, the last time you both are starved of each other for months. But right now, it feels good to pretend.

You can’t think long about his future deployments, however. Your worries melt away as Bradley makes good on his promise to give you the best mistletoe kiss the world’s ever seen.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Blow Your Top Off

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: angst, being picked on and teased, blowing up and saying something hurtful

Summary: By day, you're a badass Avenger with fire powers. By night, you're a chemistry student just looking to get a degree. Things would go so much smoother if Loki wasn't there to bother you every single time.

Squares Filled: free space (2021) for @lokibingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Another successful mission down and your day isn’t even halfway over yet. Off goes your Avengers clothes and on goes your casual clothes. Your Avengers outfit consists of stretchy spandex, leather knee-high boots, knife holsters, a fire-resistant jacket and fingerless gloves, and cute cat earrings to top it off. Your public attire consists of leggings, boots that scrunch at your ankles, an oversized sweater, and a cute headband with little ducks on them. 

No one would be able to tell that the badass Avenger is now a snuggly college-going woman. You grab the things you need for all of your classes and cram them into what feels like the smallest backpack ever. You grab your laptop bag and head out of your bedroom to join the others in the main room.

Only a few more semesters of this. You can do this.

“I’ll be back at two in the morning. Don’t wait up for me.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Natasha says. “To work physically then mentally sounds exhausting.”

“It’s not easy but if I want my biochemistry degree, I have to.”

Your love for science and chemistry is almost as big as your love for being an Avenger and helping people.

“Hey,” Bruce says and comes out of his lab, “when you get back, I’ll have the lab unlocked for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you guys later.”

A lot of the time, you, Bruce, and Tony would spend time together in the labs to create different chemicals and hone your skills as a scientist. They do their best to push you to the limit which you’re thankful for. There are things you won’t learn in college that Tony and Bruce can teach you. You leave the tower and walk down the street to the nearest subway. You don’t have a car but you like taking public transportation. It helps you calm your mind before a stressful day in school or at work. You don’t have to worry about driving laws or other people because you can sit back and focus on other things.

People pass by you without a second glance because they don’t recognize you without your Avenger gear on. You’re kind of glad that you’re not seen as a celebrity like Tony. You like separating your personal life and work life. You’re not paying much attention to those around you but you do notice when you see familiar black shoes in your vision.

Loki saw you leave the tower and decided to join you on your walk to school. Out of all the Avengers you deal with, Loki has to be the worst one. It started off as a dislike but it’s creeping into annoyance and hatred territory. All he does is play pranks on you, always trying to one-up you on missions, annoys the shit out of you, and generally isn’t a good person when it comes to you. To others, he’s quiet and minds his own business so you don’t know why you’re the outlier.

“Leave me alone, Loki,” you sigh and continue to walk.

“What? It’s good to have a buddy in the city. You never know when someone will come up to you and grab you.”

“If they try that, I’ll burn them,” you smile sarcastically. Not only are you a badass Avenger, but you also have fire powers you know how to use well. You look at Loki with fire in your eyes. “Do you want a demonstration?”

Loki chuckles, completely unaffected by your threat.

“Darling, I’d ice you out before you even got the chance.”

“Don’t call me that,” you glare and walk faster to get away from him.

“Whatever you say, love.”

You two get to the subway and walk onto the same subway car. The bastard even sits next to you even though there are other empty seats around. Since it’s past eight at night on a weekday, the subways have been cleared of everyone bustling to and from their jobs. You put in your headphones to block out Loki’s chatter even though he continues to talk.

You’re not sure why he’s going to the same college as you, or why he’s even going to college in the first place. He claims he wants to try more human things like college but you don’t believe him. He got himself enrolled in the same classes as you as if he’s actually interested in chemistry. You’re here to work hard to further your career while he’s here to mock you. 

He uses magic to cheat for the right answers, which is another reason why you hate him. He can do things effortlessly and nothing bad ever happens to him. The subway ride only takes twenty minutes but being with Loki makes it feel like it’s for longer. 

For the first class you two have, Loki tries to disrupt your train of thought or messes up your notes so you have to start all over. He continues this behavior for your next two classes so much that you’re about ready to burn this entire building down with him inside of it. He’s picking something off your sweater and is talking about something he noticed about the previous Avengers mission and it’s starting to get to you.

You grip the sides of your desk and allow your fire powers to flare angrily. Your powers even burn the edges of the desk to a dark char.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I will blow your fucking head off,” you hiss at him.

By the last class, you’re just trying not to cry. Loki is really pressing your buttons and you’re trying to be nice and civil about it. If he continues then he’s not going to like what comes out of you. For someone with fire powers, you’re usually very tame. However, when you get pissed, everyone better stays out of your way because you can be very harsh.

“I’m warning you right now, stop,” you whisper to him.

Loki pokes your side once and that’s enough to make you blow up. You stand up so angrily that you kick your chair back several feet behind you.

“Shut the fuck up!! God, you’re an annoying little prick!” you scream at him. Everyone, including the teacher, stops what they’re doing to look at you. “No one at the tower wants you there, you’re always butting into everyone’s business like it’s yours, and I’m shocked you were ever loved in the first place! Odin should have left you on Jotunheim! No wonder people like Thor better!”

Loki stares at you with his mouth open and hurt written across his features. Yes, he knew this was coming. He knew if he continued to bug you, this would come out and bite him in the ass. He just never knew how much it’ll hurt.

“Y/N! Loki! Please exit my class,” the professor scowls. “Make your way to the Dean’s office.”

You huff in anger and gather your things while Loki sits there dumbfounded. He brought this on himself but he can’t help but feel hurt at your words. You’re the first one out of the classroom with Loki trailing behind you slowly. The Dean didn’t have anything helpful to add since she told you to go talk to the counselor who might help with your anger issues.

You’re not sure why this is necessary but you don’t want to get expelled from this school. You’ve worked too hard to let Loki ruin it all for you, so you go to her office without question. You and Loki have been sitting in her office for the past thirty minutes without saying a word to each other.

“Do you have anything to say to each other?”

You turn away from Loki without looking at him, proving to him that you really don’t want to look at him. It took everything in you not to use your powers on him.

“Okay, we’re going to try something.” She reaches into her desk and produces two pens and two pieces of paper that she passes to you two. “You’re going to write something you like about the other. Just one thing. Can you do that or should I get the Dean in here?”

The fear of getting expelled is enough for you to comply with her silly request. You cross your legs and use your thigh as a base so you can write on the paper. Loki sees you doing this so he decides to do this, too. You peek over at Loki to see something shining on his wrist. He always has the best things to wear since he brings them from Asgard. On his wrist is a shiny gold bracelet that has the stars woven into the sides of it.

It’s pretty, you guess. You can’t think of anything else since you’re still pissed at him so you write that you love his bracelet. Once you’re done, you fold the paper and hand it over to Loki. He’s finished writing and folded his own but only takes yours instead of exchanging it. He opens it, reads it, folds it back up, and pockets it.

“What about my note?”

“I couldn’t think of anything.”

He grabs his bag and leaves the office before you can say anything to him. The counselor sighs and writes something down on her pad.

“Listen, I’ve seen your record. This is your first offense. I only wanted to keep the peace here. Don’t do it again.”

You grab your bag with a huff and leave her office without another word. Prick, you think to yourself. Loki isn’t there when you ride the train back to the Tower. You’re so exhausted that you’re not even going to go into the lab to do some extra work. Your mind is too preoccupied with Loki to care about anything else. What you said was mean and you shouldn’t have said it, but he makes you so fucking pissed.

You walk into your room and dump your bookbag onto your bed so you can put everything away. You get to the last few items when you see a plastic baggie at the bottom of your bag. It wasn’t there when you left the Tower earlier. Inside the baggie is Loki’s bracelet and a note. You open the note and read Loki’s delicate handwriting.

I couldn’t think of just one thing. Everything about you is amazing. I am sorry for bothering you.

If you felt bad before, you feel guilty now. Loki has had a thing for you ever since he came to the tower, but he doesn't know how to deal with these new emotions. Everyone always chose Thor instead of him. He never ended up with the girl so he never got the feeling of liking someone. He messes with you because at least your attention is on him, but he never knew just how bad he was affecting you.

What the hell are you going to do now?

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[treefory]

An offer you can’t turn down?

A 1,018 word fic that’s 95% monologue and 5% dialogue. I won’t let Capo and Hector have a break lol.

He found himself staring off the edge of the cliff of grove cove. Pink waters flowed in paths around the islands and dipped into tall waterfalls that led to the ocean below. The sounds of the crashing water almost completely drowned out the sounds of the bizzyboys playing volleyball behind him.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and with a few tries with his lighter, he had it lit in his mouth. The salty air drifted the smoke away after every draw. He always appreciated every bit of down time while he was on the clock.

Things are different now. Almost a month ago, the world almost ended. Inspekta fell from godhood and became human again. Everything seemed to change in one day.

“Heya capo!” A familiar voice called from behind- no, Nostalgic was a better word instead of familiar.

Capochin turned to face Inspek- wrong name, he turned to face Hector. His voice was different compared to when he was a god. It was older but still sounded the exact same when he ascended 33 years ago. Like hearing an old song from your childhood that brought back so many memories.

He still looked the same too. His dark blue curly hair that fell over his shoulders, A red and yellow sweater that was tucked into his pants, And A black button nose below his big red glasses. Other than some new wrinkles that decorated his face he looked the exact same way he did the day he became a god.

…The day he became Inspekta

“Yeah?” Capochin replied gruffly. It was so weird having Hector back. He wasn’t used to his boss being able to just walk up to him. A part of him missed the days where he chose when to see him.

“We’re all a getin shaboingboings.” Hector gestured over a nearby hotdog stand. But the way he said it was off. It was a command- an order- a demand. Not a question, but a fact.

A month ago, Capochin would have never batted an eye to his words. A devoted follower of the “one and only god” would never question his leader. He did whatever he said like how he was meant to. Workers answer to the boss and do as they’re told.

He has been there since day one. His first follower to bow to his feet. To hang on his every word. To be the god he prayed to when he felt his lowest and the god he thanked when he felt his highest. 33 years of pure loyalty to his eldest friend.

The way he cooked for him his favorite meal, burgers with tomato, lettuce, pickles, and steak. The meat was personal. A perfect representation of him giving himself up for his god. And he did it every day for him.

He’d watch inspekta take the first bite, and swoon when the flavor hit his tongue. His heart would skip a beat just by the look on his face.

He loves it

He loves me

He’d go to the end of the earth for his god. He’d destroy the world for his god. Rule over everyone with his one and only god. Then will they be equal, Side by side, together

“Nah” Capochin turned away, back to the ocean, and took a breath from his cigarette.

“What?” Hector faltered “but-“

“I’m not going” he deadpanned

All of that was 33 years ago. On his knees begging for something- ANYTHING more than praise. Give him an inch of respect and I’d feel like a yard- no, a mile!

And nothing

For 3 decades, treated like his dog. ‘Capo, deliver this letter!’ “Capo, put up more poy-sters!” “Capo, more burgies!” Capochin didn’t even sound like a name anymore when you toss it around like that.

It’s not even his real name. a name earned through accomplishments, how many letters were there now? Yet a name he clung on to with every fiber of his being. It was his worth

Everything he was worth to inspekta

But he’s gone now.

“But why not?” Hector challenged, his words had a layer of confusion to cover hostility

What? Not used to him saying no?

“Cuz I don’t want too” he said with a shrug

But he did want to. So so badly. A terrible force of habit. He was the god of leadership for a reason. His voice really was like a melody that you couldn’t help but get lost in.

That song was stuck in his head for 33 cobdanm years. This earworm told him to end the world and he danced along to the rhythm. Like a good little dog who only answered to his master

But he was tired of being his bitch

“And I don’t got to, if I don’t want to.” Capochin finished

Hector paused, he knew this ran deeper than not wanting hotdogs. “Capochin…” he held onto his own tail “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer

“I know I put yew threw a lot for a long time. And it’s just… I’m so, so sorry for what I did.” He began wringing his tail in his hands “but, fwom human to human, let’s just hang out! Like old times!”

Capochin took a drag “I appreciate the sentiment…” he took the used up cigarette from his mouth and stamped it out on the ground “but I don’t forgive you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

That hurts to admit. Would he really never? Not today at least. Too many raw feelings to stuff down. Jealousy, hatred, stress, admiration… love? There was no way to fit all that junk into a neat box. You Have to wait for it to cook down before it could fit.

“Oh… okay. Sorry for botherin’ yew.” He choked. With his tail still clutched in his hands, he turned and began walking away.

Capochin looked back and yelled “AND PUT YOUR TAIL DOWN! You want even more bandages?!”

“No sir!” Hector dropped his tail as he called back and hastily returned to the bizzyboys.

Even after all those years, he still couldn’t help but care.

[homeofatlas]

Maybe We're Both Chasing Ghosts

Summary: You and Elisa break up and long for each other.

Auhors note: yall i know i said i was gonna write the other one first..........im so sorry, hope ur in the mood for some angst tho

WC: 2k

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

Letting go has never been easy for you. You never learned how to give up, concede, or when it was time to let something go. Especially when someone is the love of your life. 

You’re going crazy. Plain and simple you’ve started seeing things. The side table lamp Elisa always used to have on in the living room when she was up late is on when it’s just you in the apartment, her figure walking around the corner, the smell of her as you walk past the door to the balcony. Everything you do reminds you of when she was here. Everywhere you go there's a woman with the same colour hair or skin tone and there’s a colleague who’s expression reminds you of the way Elisas brows furrowed when she was confused. It all makes your stomach hurt to look at and yet you never look away. You’ll hurt as long as you get a chance to see a part her again. 

You know Elisa was doing what she thought was best for both of you. The constant near misses with communication. How far apart you always felt even when you were right next to each other. The stretches you’d go without talking and when you did it felt forced and stilted. Nothing like the beginning when the silence had been because you both were quieter people and enjoyed simply basking in each other's presence. There were times when it had felt like you almost had what you used to have back before it would slip away again. The silences which would drag out seconds too long. 

Maybe it started when you felt like you were overwhelming her, maybe it started when she stopped looking for you first in a crowded room, maybe it was over the second you were finally comfortable. It seems to be a running theme in your life, “Nothing gold can ever stay.” What you won’t admit to as a non religious person is the day before she told you it was for the better to walk away, you asked the moon to keep her. I’ll do anything, just let me keep her. You pleaded and yet no one listened. 

She’s your best friend even though you haven't spoken in months. Three months, two weeks and four days if you were counting. She knows you inside and out, from the food you don’t like to how you appreciate actions more than words. What gets you is the way she knew everything about you and you knew everything about her and none of it was enough to prevent this. 

As the winter months begin to creep in and the wind nips at your cheeks again you feel the weight of her absence more than ever. You never realised you’d become conditioned to having an arm slung around your shoulder until the first time you shivered in a group of friends and a weight hadn’t overcome you to pull you into her side. When you’d been cold and no one had grabbed your hands to warm them up and kissed either side of your cheeks to make you smile and blush. Something in you had felt incomplete without nagging Elisa to put on an extra sweater as you went out because it’ll be cold and you are only human no matter what you say about being super hot Elisa. The way you’d looked up the hall to see whether or not she was coming and then remembered no one was there and there hadn’t been for a while. 

Her ghost hangs heavy in the side of the couch she always used to lay on with the pillow she liked and in the weight of the pan she used to cook almost every meal (the handle feels different like it’s been melded to her hand exactly). Since she left you’ve been missing a part of you. Date your best friend, they say, it’ll be amazing. It was, you wouldn’t give a second of it for anything but this type of pain makes you understand why they call it heartbreak. You feel as though you’ve been split in two and are missing a limb. You’d never been a child who’d cried for their parents and when you’d moved to Europe for schooling you’d never looked back but now at 26 you were learning what it felt like to be home sick. 

Elisa pov:

She’d fucked up. She didn’t know loneliness could be so all encompassing. She’s tried to fill her days with training and exercise and then going out with friends and calling her family “just because she wants to talk.” All of it is to keep her from stopping and thinking about you. The way she’s become less of a whole while still being one person. Half of her is missing. She can’t explain it without sounding like she’s co dependant but she couldn’t tell where she ended and you began. 

Something is missing. 

Scratch that. 

Everything is missing. 

A part of her is empty. 

And she knows she’s got no one to blame but herself. Instead of talking to you, she’d decided the connection you’d had was too good to be true. Of course it was, how can something so romantic exist in real life? It doesn’t. Except it does, the little voice in her heart whispers, you had it. She’d seen it, she’d felt it, she’d tasted it. Had it in the palm of her hand and let it slip away. 

The ache is eating away at her. A dull pulsing in her head constantly, she keeps herself exhausted to the point of falling straight into bed when she gets back to her apartment. It’s hard to call it home anymore without your perfume lingering in the air anymore. Your chapsticks stashed in various drawers through the apartment are gone. All the lights are off when she comes back. The place is empty. She’s empty. 

She’d taken down all the photos and traces of you left around and put them in a box hoping it would help her heal faster. All it does is test her willpower to not empty the tubes of chapstick trying to touch something your lips have been on. No matter what she does, the quiet keeps creeping in. She can’t outrun the itch beneath her skin. The ache in her bones that never seems to fade. The feeling in her gut screaming something isn’t right. The quiet used to be her sanctuary now it’s suffocating without you to smile at her from across a room or squeeze her shoulder as you pass by. 

She simultaneously feels invisible and like she sticks out like a sore thumb in every room she’s in. She’s not meant to be there. She’s meant to be next to you. But now you’re standing on the other side of the change room laughing at a joke she hasn’t heard, hasn’t told and something in her is coiling. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen when it snaps. 

Jackie is helping you put your necklace back on and it shouldn’t bug her but it does. She’s hot and this room is too small. She knows it’s not like that but when Jackie brushes your hair to one side, a tad unnecessary if she gets a say, she has to tear her gaze away. Putting your necklaces back on after practice used to be her job. The small moment of quiet intimacy is what she’d wait all day for. When it felt like nothing else in your relationship was working, she’d always had that at the end of the day. Her fingers brushing the nape of your neck, the brush of your hair to your side, a smile creeping onto her face. If no one else was in the room she’d kiss the back of your neck and wrap her arms around you from behind. You’d stand there basking in each other's presence until you were ready to let go. 

She’s fuming someone has taken her place, although not really and if someone has taken her place as your partner, her stomachs turns and she might be sick at the thought. A small voice calls out within her, be gentle with her. 

She needs to get out of here asap. She’ll call her mom on the drive home, then go for a run, then pick up groceries when she gets back, she should really call her brother soon and see what he’s been working on lately, maybe there's a game on tonight she can catch- anything to keep her from thinking about you and this and how she’s fucked up. 

Cause here’s the thing, even when you’d stopped texting her when you got home and when slowly less and less clothes of yours were appearing in her laundry, you’d never stopped being in sync on the pitch. Always anticipating the others' moves before she did it herself. It was infuriating to know you almost had it all. That’s what happens when you know everything about a person, every habit, every movement, she knows she could pick you out of a room of people just by how you breathe. 

By the time she gets home from her post practice run she’s too tired to make dinner. She’ll order it in, making a deal with herself that she’ll walk to go pick it up. One of the things that most endeared her to you in the beginning was the willingness to break your nutrition plans laid out by the staff. Technically you were allowed to eat what you wanted but some foods were heavily discouraged. Such as pasta with a ton of carbs and no vegetables, which happened to be your favourite meal. 

Slipping her shoes on and beginning the walk down to the italian place you loved to have date nights in she remembers all the times you'd made the walk together. She tries to not think about you and keep herself busy. The key word is tries because about 95% of the time she fails at it. A part of her hopes she’ll walk in to pick up her order and you’ll be there too. Hearts, stomachs, and feet falling in sync together once more. Please, she turns her eyes upward, let me get what I want this once. 

Despite her quick checks around the restaurant and toward the bathroom and her dragging out the process longer than she needs to just in case you showed up, she resigns herself to a life of loneliness. Lost her thoughts she pulls the door open as someone pushes in and they stumble into her. 

“Oh my god i’m so sorry-”

Your eyes turn upwards and meet hers. You both suck in sharp breaths chests in sync as they push against each other. Your eyes lock and the tension is almost unbearable but pretending like you don’t know each other is the most unbearable thing that could happen. Her hand, which came up to stabilise you, rests on your arm. Her thumb twitches to flick up and rub soothing circles right below your bicep. 

If she gets a second chance she’s thinking now might be the time to act on it. She lets herself relax and smile at you, she can instantly feel the sigh of relief. 

“Pretty sure this isn’t on your diet plan” She teases. 

You smile challengingly up at her, “Pretty sure it isn’t on yours either.”

Your smiles are growing bigger by the second. 

“Well,” She whispers and leans closer to you, dropping her voice to an octave where she knows only you’ll be able to hear her. “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

She knows what speaking low in a crowded room does to you, it’s no surprise when she feels you shiver against her. She wraps her hand around her bicep now, rubbing your arm up and down as if she’s heating you up, all an excuse to touch you again. 

You lean in conspiratorially, “Okay your secrets safe with me.” Nodding to sell the act. 

You both stand and stare because what are the chances? Maybe, you both think, I don't have to keep chasing your ghost.