#my brain feels like it’s on fire!! there’s so much new information to process!!

[mirixmoya]

can we talk about how Prosie was the reason why Effie became a Escort, and she probably had to watch her die because of her tributes during the war?

BESTIE I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS!!!

proserpina being the reason effie became an escort, the reason she is implicated in the hunger games at all, the reason she becomes associated with rebels, the reason she gets arrested and (presumably) tortured in mockingjay. the amount of guilt there would be unimaginable.

but then protective older sister effie. she was just trying to help her sister with her school project, to be supportive, to help out in any way she can. but (presumably) proserprina is amongst those are are rounded up in executed in the stylist purges come revolution. we know the capitol isn’t above making her watch. using it against her. effie’s guilt watching her baby sister be executed knowing that this time she can’t help… also unimaginable.

i’ve had my canon tragic trinket sisters for literally one day and i would die for them.

[blackknight-kai]

Let me start saying I love your blog, reblogs and headcanons, truly, all of the above🩷🩷

If you’re comfortable with the question, do you have any for the Destined One with a female virgin reader?

So I wanna say thank you 🫶🫶🫶🫶 I haven’t quite shared my own head canons much but I don’t have any issue sharing them 🫶 others do a much better job of it so I’ve left it to them. But! Your ask comes at a wonderful time as I needed a break from writing a fic 💀 (kill me im up to 20k)

Let’s get after it! Destined One & a female virgin head canons? I’ll give it a shot! There will be a nsfw section below sorry if that’s not your thing. I wasn’t super explicit on body parts etc but let me know if you guys want a Sun Wukong one? I’d try.

If you’re NOT in a relationship yet and he finds out? (Be it you told him outright or it comes out in passing conversation)

He’d would remain expressionless and quiet as usual. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it and remain respectful

But if you look closely you can see him swallowing thickly at the new information

Will NOT treat you differently

He has a LOT of feelings for you and knowing you haven’t shared yourself with someone else, while not a huge deal he’s never really cared one way or another, it’s something he finds himself thinking about often.

It makes him a little hot under the collar sometimes when he looks at you and remembers what you’d said.

NSFW - on the very rare occasions that he takes some time to himself or you’re not around, in the quiet he puts his goal to the side for just a moment and allows himself to think about his wishes and whims. Specially how he’d touch you and make it good for you because you deserve to be treated like you’re special and HE wants to be the one to do it.

If you’re in a relationship and it either came up naturally or during a more…heated moment.

Would absolutely freeze. Like body full on screenshot kinda freeze - only his tail would flick and twitch as he processes

Because honestly it hadn’t occurred to him before but it is NOW. He’s thought of you and making love with you but first or not first hadn’t been a topic of thought

He’d probably internally get flustered and his heart would race ridiculously but on the outside his expression would appear stoic or mildly surprised

Wouldn’t try to pressure you or make a big deal out of it, as though it doesn’t matter one way or another besides making extra sure you’re comfortable

His tail would eventually give him away though as it would be swishing behind him happy and interested as the information settles in his brain

Dude would be first and foremost HONORED If you shared that news with him and were giving him your first

Probably a first for him too ngl. I see him as someone who was so focused on his path that warming another’s bed wasn’t something he was willing to spare time on.

If it’s not a first for him too then it’s not something he’s done often and isn’t an expert

Would definitely thank you for trusting him with sweet reassuring kisses (if they are a little heated don’t blame him too much)

He is respectful! As I said no pressure. No rush. But would the information please him? Yes.

Definitely adds fire to his belly because HE will be your first

Sends a note of possession through him not because he’d “own” you but because regardless of being a first or not you’d be his and he yours.

NSFW:

Regardless of if you’re shy or ready to get the show on the road he’d be so gentle and would be careful, really careful.

Probably a bit unsure and might move a little too fast accidentally in his own lust but would immediately sooth you as soon as he realizes

Looks to your expressions and sounds to make sure you’re feeling good and safe

He wants to treat you WELL views it as HIS duty to make sure you’re happy

It’s a lot of pressure but he’d do his best and set his mind to it being nothing but perfect for you

I imagine at first his hands would be so feather light letting you get used to him and his touch as he undresses you piece by piece- he’d watch his claws unless he finds out you enjoy them grazing across your skin

He’d brush his lips across every piece of new skin revealed to his eyes unable to help himself

Finds out he really loves your chest, both feeling you & tasting you. as well as napping on you later

But over time as the act went on he’d be more confident, still tender but less unsure

He’d be enamored every time he got you to sigh or make a pleased sound

It’s his goal to hears those often

When he discovers how turned on he’s made you it would send waves of pride crashing over him, he had done THAT

Overall though he’d take his time

He probably won’t speak much if at all, but he’d make sure you’re ready every step of the way. If he does speak it’s not more than a few words here or there, low and only for you to hear as he nips your ear

Multiple check ins

He’s a giver, and while he isn’t practiced whatsoever he’d use his mouth and fingers to bring you pleasure, finding out exactly how you like it by listening to the way you moan or the way your body shivers and trembles with specific movements

He 100% will become VERY VERY good with his hands and mouth

His tail is sneaky, he’d use it as a way to hold on to your leg (holding you open while one of his hands is occupied) or would brush the the furry appendage across your skin just to see goosebumps rise in its wake

When you’re finally connected, after time spent letting you get used to him (and him you because let’s be real he’d be overwhelmed by the feel of tightly wrapped around him too) he’d roll his hips gently

He would make sounds, sighs and groans in your ear.

He’d love it if you cling on to him and tell him he’s doing something good

Full on shudders if you scratch his back or dig your nails into him - he loves it and he might accidentally thrust too hard when you do it

Wants to hear you 👏👏

Would keep control for as long as he could but would listen to your requests almost instantly if you asked him to move faster

Would love it if you moved his hand exactly where you wanted him to touch you

Would suck marks on your skin - thighs and neck, wherever he absentmindedly ran his lips. Would be shy about it later but would touch them possessively or when you’re dressed his eyes would stray to where his marks are on your skin.

Afterwards he’d silently but tenderly wipe you down and then pull you into his arms

Would nuzzle his face against you and breathe your scent as you both relax and come down from your high

Would massage any soreness you have that he could and feel pride at wearing you out, although his face wouldn’t show it

His tail would be like a vice around your thigh all night and trying to get out of his hold in the morning is a chore

He’d 100% take care of you especially for a first time is basically what I’m saying. After, he may be a bit rougher with his movements or may be impatient at times especially after a tough fight and adrenaline is still kicking but will always treat you tenderly as you guys build confidence together.

[hotchnerwrites]

hi i have a really weird request i was hoping you’d fulfill :) i read your request guidelines and it says you write for spencer reid but it looks like you write majority hotch fics, which i also enjoy:) i have hoping for a spencer reid x reader fic, i don’t have much of a plot in mind so you may need to get creative, or maybe it could just be headcanons, but anything with a weird reader. like maybe she’s an elementary art teacher type vibe (maybe she’s actually an art teacher, or maybe she works at the BAU, your choice) and she has pet bugs and wears cool clothes, that sort of thing. everyone always writes the reader to be really type a, really similar to spencer, yk? and as much as i love those fics i personally think he’d work well with a little more carefree, creative type person too. thank you so much and you absolutely do not have to write this if you don’t want too!!

Ladybird 🐞

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: SFW, headcanons kinda, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of (y/n), fluff

A/N: Hi anon! so glad you enjoyed my other fics! I'm so happy you requested Spencer, i've been itching to write my pookie but it's not a common request (yet?), i only have one other published fic of him. i looooooooooove writing his big brain self and ur idea of reader being an opposite personality type was so delicious to write ugh i'm quite happy with this fic. i also have some drafts of him (academic rivals, fluff fics etc.) but i don't post them bc im not at a 100% with them, they're much longer fics too lol. if you want those, i'm happy to post (slowly) so lmk. anyways, enough yapping, ENJOY THE READ!!! mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Please read my rules before req'ing. Send me stuff! :)

Spencer wasn’t accustomed to the sensation of being in the dark. If something new crossed his path, he’d devour every piece of information he could find, understanding it, processing it, then neatly filing it away in his mind for later use. The idea of being uncertain—it made him uneasy, like a puzzle with a missing piece, gnawing at him until he could fill it in. He hated the discomfort of not knowing.

But you… what were you?

You moved through life with a kind of fluidity he couldn’t quite grasp. Were you like water? No, no, you were too solid, too grounded for that. Fire, then? But you weren’t wild or destructive—your warmth didn’t burn Spencer, it invited him in. The wind, then. You were untethered and free. But even that didn’t feel quite right. The wind didn’t create, and you were full of creation. You existed in a plane ruled by feeling rather than logic, instinct over calculation.

Spencer couldn’t fathom you.

He prided himself on his ability to categorise things, to turn life into binary or categorical data. But you slipped like butter through his mental filing system, like something he could never quantify. You smelled like rain and cedar, like something both fresh and familiar, like petrichor clinging to the edges of an old wooden frame. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t place you, and maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

When you talked about your job— you were an elementary school art teacher— you talked about it with a kind of excitement that made Spencer envious. It was silly, really, but he wanted the one to be taught by you, to spend more time trying to figure you out. He loved his work, too, but it was so full of danger and death, and the way you loved yours made him want to be a part of the world you had.

The first time he met you, Spencer spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to decipher the colours in your outfit. He knew different textures weren’t supposed to be mixed (the Vogue magazine he had swiped at the doctor’s office had declared the mixing of dots and stripes a cardinal sin), but you had layered patterns like a painting. It shouldn’t have made sense. So why did it? He had opened his mouth to ask if there had been a method behind it, but you had flashed a smile at him that made his unfaltering mind stop dead in its tracks, and you had said, “Don’t overthink it, Spence. Just feel.”

As if it was something he knew how to do.

You weren’t chaotic, not exactly—but you were unpredictable. Spencer, with his equations and calculations, with his logic and probabilities, had always sought comfort in knowing the outcome before things even began. But you—you weren’t an equation. You were the space between the numbers, the part of the formula he couldn’t solve. You were a walking, talking example of Ramsey’s theorem— he knew where you started and where you ended, but he couldn’t untangle what was in between.

Every morning, you took a picture of your coffee. It was the same drink every day, but you persevered, swearing the foam made a new image every time. You’d tried to rope him into theorising with you, to get him to see the shape of the world in the swirls and patterns of the cream, but Spencer could never really see it like you. 

“You know it’s just milk and coffee, right?” He’d say, leaning over your shoulder to examine the mug. “There’s no scientific basis for anything more.” 

But you never held it against him. Sometimes, you’d nudge him with your elbow, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you said, “I think you’re missing out on a whole new dimension of the universe, Reid.”

He’d hum, a little smile on his lips, and then he’d drop the subject—mostly. He wasn’t one to argue for long, especially when it came to the things that made you happy, like the ritual of your morning coffee or the way you’d rearrange your art supplies by colour, even though it made absolutely no sense.

When Spencer found out you kept bugs as pets, he’d nearly leapt out of his chair.

“You— you have a mantis,” he stammered, eyes wide as he watched you let it crawl delicately over your fingers.

“That’s not just a mantis, Spence,” you scolded him gently, a smile tugging at your lips, “Meet Matilda. She’s my friend.”

Spencer blinked, processing. “Statistically, most people keep a cat or a dog—“

“I’m not a statistic, Spence,” you’d reminded him, voice gentle as if you were talking to one of your school kids.

He tried to understand, tried to decipher why anyone would choose to keep an insect as a pet, but logic evaded him, a feeling he only experienced around you. But when he’d watch you play with Matilda like she was the best thing in the world, he let it go.

He started bringing you little things—odds and ends that made him think of you. A book of surrealist paintings he thought you’d like. A smooth, speckled rock he found outside the precinct. A jar of local honey from a case in a small town, because you once mentioned you liked the taste of dandelions.

And every time, you’d accept them like he had just handed you a moonbeam, eyes lighting up in unadulterated joy.

“See?” you had murmured one day, holding the honey jar up to the light. “You do feel things, Spencer. You just don’t realise it.”

No, it wasn’t about logic. Maybe, it was just about you.

One day, Spencer caught himself carefully placing a ladybug outside on a leaf, rather than brushing it away. As he counted its spots for you— something about them bringing luck— he realised something.

Oh.

I love her.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[abyssalzones]

experiencing Disabled Rage, so i would like to ask if you have any bits and bobs about abw!ford's eye (or. lack thereof) for me to chew on like a dog

ooh good question... I will do my best to assuade your rage with some thoughts of mine, one disabled to another.

worth noting I do not have experience with missing an eye so it is of course possible for me to get something wrong here, in which case: sorry. (Lot of fucking words below the cut. also tw for discussion of traumatic injury, particularly the medical aspects of eye injuries)

general medical/background information:

I'm actually unsure if it's an enucleation (removal of the eye) or an exenteration (removal of the whole socket including optic nerve) with plastic surgery to recreate housing for a prosthetic

the reason I'm unsure is because I imagine there would be a pretty nasty scar left behind due to the violent nature of the injury but I don't know if they would just scoop out the whole thing due to nerve damage? I'm not a surgeon and this is a cartoon so I opt for easier narrative answers, in which case more likely enucleation.

keeping that in mind I think even if ford Could hypothetically get plastic surgery with his fancy shmancy oddology money he's more likely to leave any gnarly scarring (that doesn't interfere with his health) as-is... a reminder of what happened, maybe?

initially he wears an eyepatch while recovering + going through the process of being fitted for a prosthetic and then it just kind of becomes his brand, I think it makes for a nice parallel to stan... where stan (in the main timeline) is wearing a fake eyepatch (concealing things but not Really concealing much of anything, she's still the same grunkle you see on the surface) ford actually is covering up secrets in an effort to protect himself but he also ends up owning his Weirdness brand. y'know. it's symbolic

more disability specific stuff:

adjusting to the eyestrain is a Bitch And a Half, especially considering ford as someone who does a lot of writing and illustration. I think it would fuck up his journaling in the sense that he'd stray to the side of the page he can see without realizing it and leave a noticeable gap. knowing him he'd train himself out of that habit but I could see it being frustrating

oh baby you thought those "things I see in the periphery of my vision" hallucinations were bad before huh. this guy's hallucinations have a name and everything. bill might as well have his own condominium apartment in his blindspot even if he isn't a tangible problem in his life anymore

I don't think the injury would've been deep enough to hit brain tissue but I can't imagine any optic nerve damage would help in regards to ford having a potential TBI. he's Mr Symptoms to me but in particular I think he's sensitive to light and probably has more coordination issues than main timeline ford

fiddleford and stan (or lee, in the case of this au where I like to imagine she'd start using a more butch-y name) both pick up the habit of staying to the sighted side of ford, though this would be awkward for oddology publicity photoshoots where obviously they'd want ford in the middle as the face of the company... cue ford bumping into whoever is unfortunate enough to be in his blindspot. a lot.

with that in mind I think ford probably feels pretty frustrated and embarrassed by the new limitations considering how much he's prided himself on his independence in the past. it takes a long time for him to let fiddleford or lee help him with things like shaving (particularly difficult because he can't just focus his good eye on the other side of his face in the mirror, obviously. and no he isn't allowed to just set his face on fire) or even just reading if his eye is tired. but part of this au is him allowing himself to be looked after, so...

it's also difficult sometimes just for the painful memories it brings up. it isn't just a clean hole in his face, there's signs of a struggle. there's always that unspoken question of how it happened-- how do you avoid your status as a victim of violence when it's literally written on your face? but then if it looked neater, would it magically erase the fact that it did happen? would it just make him feel worse, more like he's hiding the end result of the worst mistake of his life? so without the eyepatch he feels very vulnerable.

fiddleford will plant a kiss on his brow sometimes which makes him feel a little better (avoiding the scar itself because it's sensitive for both psychological and nerve-damage reasons)

when the twins are old enough to start spending more time around their uncles/aunt I could imagine dipper finds it spooky and theorizes as to The Mystery of Grunkle Ford's Missing Eye (sort of like how he fixated on stan's "tattoo") whereas mabel is like waittt can you get fake eyes in different colors? what if you had a cool marble pattern in there. like these

I think he'd pick crystal or neptune

this has been Eyeball Talk

[vilicusreads]

A glimpse into my Feathered!Ford AU!

(TW- Mild blood, injury.)

_________________

During the portal years, Ford admires Bill to the point of pure, unbridled worship. Every word Bill says, according to Ford, must be utterly true and cannot be challenged by a mere mortal like him.

So, what does Bill do with this new upper hand? Well, something funny, ofcourse! You can't have a human puppet and *not* use them for hilariously stupid things, right?

So, Bill jokingly throws in some nonsensical "facts" whilst giving Ford admittedly true information about whatever it is Ford wanted.

"The sky is actually green, you know. Your weak, mortal eyes just can't register it and make it seem blue."

"Did you know that you can, infact, drink acid? Chemists are only hiding it from the population because they want to drink it all themselves! Hydrochloric acid tastes like blue raspberry."

"Hey, by the way, toes are just a conspiracy theory to give governments power and control over their people."

But his most far-fetched one, as he thought, was telling Ford that some species of birds in Gravity Falls are much more intellectual than any other known animal on Earth. He told Ford that, infact, the ancient Mayans used their feathered knowledge in order to know everything and anything they wanted.

But Bill, unbeknownst to him, accidentally slipped not so subtle notes in his untruthful words. As Ford thought Bill was telling *him* to use the birds aswell.

This then resulted in Ford conducting multiple experiments, all of which ended in failure (because, obviously, Bill lied about the birds containing secret information) but Stanford knew he couldn't give up. He had to please his "Muse" and show Bill he was as useful as he thought.

Ford sadly ended up spiralling down an unfortunate route, having unsuccessful attempt after unsuccessful attempt.

Until one day, he (with the willing help of his best friend Fiddleford) constructed a machine that should hypothetically link up the brainwaves of a bird's with a human's.

They, after it was constructed, promised eachother to use it in a safe environment, and to wait until all the safety checks had been carried out before doing so.

But Ford grew increasingly impatient. Not having seen Bill in months, he thought he had to do something to impress his Muse and get him back. So, when Fiddleford left, he turned the machine on and collected his lab rat.

A stunning, cream feathered bird he named "Karla", for good luck, of the same species he had captured tens of times before.

(RIP bird population..)

So, Ford took the necessary steps, placing Karla in the containment chamber, before readying himself and initiating the test with a button press.

Yet, an unexpected lightning storm rolled around, striking the exact chamber that the process was happening in.

With a sharp ringing in his ears, Ford found himself flung onto the floor with a roaring fire right behind him.

It had gone wrong once again, it was yet another failed attempt.

After collecting himself and stumbling to his feet, he put out the fire with a nearby extinguisher and sat dumbfounded on a nearby stool.

Though, he quickly noticed a strange feeling resonating within him. Each one of his limbs felt fuzzy, and his back ached painfully. Had he experienced blunt force damage to his brain from the explosion?

But before he even had time to think, a soaring pain ripped down his spine, every joint feeling as if it had snapped right then and there. Following this, his muscles started to burn and ache as if each fibre of them had been instantly turned to shreds.

He screamed. Every movement drove him deeper into pure, horrible agony. He felt as if his body was splitting itself atom by atom.

His back flesh tore apart, ripping and unfurling and staining his lab coat a deep red. The chilling sound of his bones cracking and reshaping echoed throughout the otherwise silent room.

He fell off the stool to his knees, gasping for air. This was it, he thought. He was officially dying.

With his vision fading and his eyelids fluttering to a close, he lost consciousness on the stone cold floor, collapsing onto his stomach.

________________________________

Hours later, he found himself waking up, eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the sunlight that shone through the windows. He tried to scramble weakly to his knees, but found himself being weighed down by something. A blanket of sorts, he supposed.

Though, as he finally snapped himself out of his freshly awakened, drowsy state and looked around, he found himself covered by two large, bloody wings that poked through the fabric of his coat and splayed stiffly out on each side.

He immediately shot up, adrenaline coursing through him, and stared wide-eyed at these new feathered limbs in.. what?.. He didn't know. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to feel.

A mixture of shock and dread washed over him. This couldn't be happening. He was surely experiencing some type of delirium, some visual hallucination.

He hesitantly reached a hand out to touch the stained feathers, which, to his surprise, he found out were real.

He immediately recoiled from his own touch, the wings feeling frail, sensitive, and most prominently painful. Not to mention covered in his own dried blood.

Sharply sucking in air through his teeth, he hissed, bringing his hands up and burying his face in them.

Surely this was a dream. He was going to wake up soon, in the hospital, with Fiddleford at his bedside and the steady beeping of a heart monitor sounding. It would have all been some trauma-induced coma.

He just had to wait it out. It wasn't real. It had to be fake.

But, eventually gathering himself and setting his doubts aside for a moment, Ford decided to assess his current situation. Even if the wings were made up or not, the wounds on his back that surrounded said wings were definitely real, and, if left untreated, would surely become infected.

He took deep breaths to ready himself, before starting to stand up. The pain in his back immediately returned, shooting through him in waves as he pushed through and took slow, strained steps towards the exit, with the wings dragging stiffly behind him.

(May rewrite in more detail / make into an actual story!)

-COMIC COMING SOON-

[saline-coelacanth]

Random lore headcanon type things because that's what my brain decided to do. So yeah here are some of the cool ideas that popped into my head that I wanna ramble about.

So I don't think we've been given a whole lot of information about the whole process of an elemental power moving on to a new person other than the basics. We know they can be passed on genetically, or given to someone manually, or they just sort of find a new host after a while. So I wanna give some ideas about how all this works,

Starting off with the most simple way, passing an element on through genetics. Assuming only one parent has an elemental power, it's pretty safe to assume their first child is gonna get the power unless it decides to skip a generation because Nya mentioned they can do that sometimes. Things only really get complicated when both parents have elemental powers because then it's random as to which power the kid is gonna get (at least in my version of things it's random)

So how exactly would the parents know for sure if their kid got their powers? Well I like to think the previous master would feel a gradual loss of their powers. Using Ray and Maya as examples here, I imagine after Kai was born, Ray could still control fire, but it started to get weaker and weaker over time until one day, he could no longer control fire at all. This was the main indicator that Kai had inherited his powers. And then when Nya was born, as similar thing happened to Maya with her powers.

Elemental powers also don't manifest fully until the kids are older, usually around their teens, but it can happen sooner like with Morro or Lloyd (but that could also be because they had started training when they were young). But I still like to think that even if they can't fully control their elemental powers, there will be little things that indicate what element they have. A master of ice would just naturally be cold all the time, and then the opposite for a master of fire. A master of earth would be much stronger than other kids their age. A master of lightning might gather more static electricity. Things like that.

Finally moving on from that, let's talk about the next method of manually transferring your powers to someone else. Unless I'm mistaken, I'm pretty sure the only example we know of this happening is with Zane, and we also didn't actually see any of this happen on screen. But I imagine transferring your powers to someone else would be relatively simple considering the previous Master of Ice was able to do it without anyone realizing. Just as long as the elemental master is willing to give up their powers, they can choose a new host and idk, probably do some little ritual that transfers the powers over. Again, we don't have much to work with in canon here.

The main downside to this method is that it would leave the original EM physically drained for a bit. See, with genetics they'd have the luxury of losing their powers gradually, but with this method you're giving up your powers all in one go. And as we've seen before, getting your powers taken away seems to be pretty taxing on someone.

And then the final method we have is when an elemental power just finds a new host which is what happened for Euphrasia. (Morro had been dead for a long time and I think the element of wind just finally decided it was time for a new host) So yeah, I imagine the most common way for this method to work is if an EM dies without passing their element on and then after a while, the element is able to find a new host. I think the reason why it took so long for wind to find a new host though was because Morro was just that stubborn and refused to give up his element. Another example that's slightly different is Nyad since she technically didn't die, but her powers did eventually find a new host because we've gotten multiple masters of water after her.

But another idea that I came up with is that an EM can actively choose to give up their powers and just like... send them into the world to find a new host I guess. I don't think we've seen anything like this happen in canon, but I like it as a concept so here it is. This would be similar to the method of giving a new host your powers, the only difference being that you don't have a specific host and you're just giving up your powers so they can find some new person to latch onto. It's just much risker than finding a new host yourself because then you don't know who's going to get the power.

And yeah that's my ramblings about elemental powers and how they get passed around. We don't get a whole lot of depth about this in canon so I think it's a really fun thing to explore and think about.

[bullet-prooflove]

The North Star - Part Nineteen: Fucked Up - Terry Bruno x Reader (feat: Mike Duarte)

Tagging: @legit9thlunaticwarrior @bbyxoo @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @crazy4chickennuggets @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life @witches-unruly-heart @genius2050 @spaghettificationandpretzels

Part One: Moments (NSFW)

Part Two: Case of the Ex

Part Three: Her Worse Half

Part Four: Always

Part Five: Ask Me Again (NSFW) 

 Part Six: Degas

Part Seven: The Heist

Part Eight: A Part to Play

Part Nine: Home

Part Ten: Safe Space 

Part Eleven: Weak

Part Twelve: Got Your Back

Part Thirteen: Familia

 Part Fourteen: Gunplay

Part Fifteen: Friendly Fire

Part Sixteen: Alive (NSFW)

Part Seventeen: Karma

Part Eighteen: Lucky

You want a smoke. Christ, you want nothing more than to light up a cigarette and inhale but you couldn’t, it was one of the things the doctors were very clear about so instead you head to a bar. Your head's messy again, a chaotic space. You didn’t want to be in it anymore. You think about calling Terry but you knew he’d stopped in at SVU to check in on the case he’d been working. You're on medical leave, you had no place you needed to be, you're listless, restless, angry with no target to direct it at.

You strip off your blazer and throw it onto the stool next to you before signalling to the bartender. He pulls the bottle of tequila from the top shelf before pouring out a shot and pushing it towards you. It burns on the way down, warming your chest as it hits you. You tap your fingertips on the bar, watching as he refills the glass again.

You realise you should probably be raising a toast to Paul right now for doing something fucking right. Instead you tip the liquid down your throat before signalling for another. He gives you a look and you meet his gaze with a furious one of your own.

“Another.” You tell him.

You feel the third shot the moment it hits you. The room tilts slightly and all those intrusive thoughts evaporate, you feel lighter and a little giddy.

“Switch her to water.” A familiar voice says. “And me an Americano.”

You turn your head to see Mike standing beside you, Bono wagging his tail.

“Boo, you’re no fun.” You tell him as the bartender puts down a glass of water in front of you.

“You’re not supposed to be drinking on those painkillers.” Mike informs you, handing over his credit card to the bar tender. “They’re the same ones I was on after the attack. Trust me, things are about to get real fucked up for you.”

“I don’t see that making a difference right now.” You inform him with a pointed look. “Everything’s already fucked up.”

Mike says nothing as you take a sip from the water. It feels cold as it sweeps through you, leaving a numbness in it’s wake. You're used to this feeling; you’ve had it before. When things got too much, you want to shove everything away from you, get a little space because your brains too overcrowded.

“They were going to flip him you know?” You say into the space between the two of you, your thumb chasing a bead of condensation from the cool glass. “After everything he did, they were just going to let him carry on so he could flip on his dealer.”

Mike’s coffee cup hovers in front of his mouth as he processes this new information.

“Is that why you’re spinning out?”

“I’m not spinning out.” You snap.

Mike huffs.

“We’re sitting in a bar before the lunchtime rush and you’re almost three sheets to the wind already. How many more of these would you have had if I hadn’t got here?” He says, picking up the empty shot glass to show you.

“Give me a fucking break.” You mutter, rolling your eyes to the ceiling. “I just wanted to turn down the noise in my fucking head, for one fucking minute.”

“This isn’t the answer.” He tells you, setting the shot glass back down onto the bar before gesturing at your surroundings. “This is how you form bad habits. Do you want to end up like your parents, hermanita? Picking up a drink every time something goes wrong in your life.”

It's a gut punch, one that's meant to make you think twice about what you're doing. A surge of rage erupts through you because it's fucking true, and you hate it. Hate the fact that you’ve come this far and you're still doing the same fucking thing your mother and father had done before one of them fell asleep with a cigarette in their hand burnt down their own fucking house.

“That’s a low fucking blow Mike, even for you.” You tell him, feeling the agony twist in your chest as you stare at the three empty shot glasses all lined up in row. Your father used to do that, you remember it acutely because you used to count them, while he watched whatever game was on the TV in the bar. He always stopped when he got to five, five meant he could get in the truck and drive home, anything over and he was calling a cab.

Five, alive! He used to say when he clipped someone’s trashcan.

You count the shot glasses again.

Three, just for me.

Something else he used to say.

“I’m worried about you.” Mike says quietly. “I’m worried about how you’re coping. You have been through so much shit, in your life, in the past 48 hours. It’s more than any one person can be expected to handle…”

You cut him off.

“Don’t preach to me Mike.” You hiss at him. “Do not act like I don’t know you were a fucking drunk before you met Meredith.”

He sighs before he looks at you, because you were right. He’d had a slight problem before the attack and afterwards… It had gotten out of control, if it wasn’t for Bono, he thinks there’s a good chance he would have eaten his gun. He reaches out, his hand smoothing over the dog’s soft fur. Those wide, loving eyes look back up at him and he knows he has to keep trying. If it was anyone else, he thinks he would have told them to go fuck themselves, but it’s you. The girl he thinks of as a sister, the one that’s fucking struggling because her entire life she has been dealt a shitty hand, and now the job, the one she loves is kicking her when she’s down.

“That’s why I’m the right person to be having this conversation with, because I fucking get it.” He tells you, angling his body to read your expression. “I know what it’s like to be trapped in your own head, to feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of everything you’ve had to endure. I know what it’s like to hurt so fucking badly, it tastes like blood on your fucking tongue every time you try to find a way through it.”

“So, what’s the solution?” You ask him, each of his words is like a punch, hitting home because that is exactly how you feel. The anguish is fucking visceral, you can feel the heartache underneath the surface of your skin. “How do I survive this?”

Mike pulls out his phone, his thumb tapping until he finds the app he wants.

“Get your shit together. Our Uber driver will be here in a couple of minutes.”

You rub your hands over your face before looking at him wearily.

“I don’t want to go home Mike.” You tell him. “The last place I want to be is alone with my own thoughts right now.”

“We’re not going home.” He informs you before gesturing to Bono, who looks up at you his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “I promised Bono we’d go to the beach, so we’re going to the beach.”

Love Terry Bruno? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mushroominhere]

Self-indulgent tripe, existential crises and… Video games.

As an intense idiot who interprets everything that happens as a sign that the Universe is trying to tell me something… and that if I just think hard enough then it will bring me some clarity�� without a little daily distraction of videogaming I just wouldn’t be me. Ironically, through fantasy, they keep me grounded and tethered to reality better than my own thoughts.

Is it selfish to spend so much time in my own head? But where else would I go?

Here’s a wanky bit, brace yourself. Everyday feels like navigating to the core of my soul, passing and brushing past the countless emotional wounds like empty, December shrubs. Delicate and desiccated. The smallest movement cracking the twigs. They fall to the ground.

“That, when everything starts breaking down,

You take the pieces off the ground

And show this wicked town

something beautiful and new”.

Hedwig & The Angry Inch - Wicked Little Town (Tommy Gnosis version)

The daily thought-processing routine of identifying, decoding, dismantling intense feelings is like shoving a Blu-Ray movie into the disc drive an early-2000s computer. It recognises it and makes some attempt to read it because you have some experimental foreign software that accepts and interprets the information. But what results on the screen doesn’t feel quite right. Like this might not even be the actual, real movie and you have no way of knowing. There’s definitely a narrative though. It’s the best you can do. You have to work with it. You wish you could give someone the password so they can see what you’re seeing, but human brains don’t work like that. All you can do try to explain what you see. Badly. To yourself. Until now.

In case you were operating under the misunderstanding that any of this makes a lick of sense, such thought processes often indulge the wonderfully, conventionally-accepted batshit insane ideas like numerology, the various -ologies within linguistics and so on. Astrology? Maybe…? Probably not. Incidentally I definitely don’t give a shit about crystals… stupid, fancy rocks is what they is. And indeed anything purporting to be supernatural/paranormal. All of these things I place squarely into the box labelled ‘social constructs’. It’s a shit box, leave it be.

Even I don’t want to listen to this inside my own head, so I’m damn sure nobody else will. But here we are. Blame whoever installed the shitty software.

It’s exhausting.

But then! I fire up my virtual farm and realise it’s time to mow the grass, which is great because I was running low on silage for the cows. Maybe I’ll even be able to sell the excess to buy that other field I’ve had my eye on. Field 57 is perfect for expanding my burgeoning crisp empire. Everyone loves crisps. I plant the potatoes.

Can I squeeze in another cheeky half an hour? Do I chain some brutal zombie kills or do I earn a few more levels restocking my supermarket?

I wonder what I could have done with the time spent other than plugging thousands of hours into Minecraft, the Sims series and Fallout 4 (my ‘Big Three’) and I feel a little guilty. I once watched a Ted Talk where the take-home message was people on their death beds don’t regret the time that they spent playing videogames, they actually tend to regret focusing so much on their work, especially where they work for other people. That sounds reasonable.

“How would you spend your last night on Earth?

Would you kiss your enemies,

Say sorry first?

All the little battles that you never won,

All the music and the opera never sung,

Emotions that were silent all these years

…it's not a rehearsal,

You only get one life so make it right”

(Darren Hayes - Roses)

This is a mess. Life is messy. Messy is good. Let’s push through and mind the gap.

Be kind, work hard. Everything else is bollocks.

[mintmatcha]

cw: smoking, fighting, reader has dietary restrictions

You and Cami find each other behind the restaurant. You vape in hand, her with a cigarette. She says nothing when she lights up, leaning against the stone wall of the restaurant. You lean against the dumpster and try to make yourself small. The silence before the storm of service-- you both savor it, despite the fact she doesn't even fucking work here. No, Cami comes to watch the shitshow and add fuel to the fire.

The back door swings open and Bakugo steps out. He's a dream, blonde hair slicked back with sweat, white shirt dotted with sweat.

"Yo- family dinner's in the back." He nods to Cami, then finally, tragically looks your way. He nods, casual, nonchalant-- neither of you are trying to poke the bear.

"There's a special one for you to the side."

"Nice." You try not the smile, but it happens anyway. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

On cue, Cami sighs, much too vocal to be natural. She waits a moment, then does it again-- then again. Bakugo tries to walk away, but with every grumble he slows, until he's turning back around with a groan.

"What, Cams? What is it?"

"Nothing." She looks away, mouth screwed into a little pout. It's unfortunately cute, something she pulls off naturally well.She holds her cigarette between two lithe fingers, twirling and twisting it in clear demonstrations of thought.

"Jesus fucking Christ-- what?"

It's awful how beautiful she is, how even her sneer is stunning.

"You didn't cook me anything special," She brushes her hair over her shoulder. "You never make anything for your own fiance."

Fiance. God, that word stings a bit. His grandmother's ring sits on her finger, shined to a perfect glimmer.

"Are you fucking--? I made you dinner last Sunday and you didn't even fucking eat it."

"Oh, but you said it was dinner. Just dinner. It wasn't-" She glowers at you. "'Special.'"

"Do I have to label everything fucking special for you? Is that it? Cami needs to feel special?"

"No, you just have to stop calling the things you make for other girls special."

"She has food restrictions, you absolute psycho." Bakugo groans as he leans over himself, hands on his hips like he's about to vomit. "You're giving me an ulcer. I make dinner for my whole fucking staff-"

"So, I'm not as important as your staff? Really?"

"Cami, what the fuck is wrong with you?" The vein in his neck is thick with anger, "You need to get a fucking therapist, I swear to god-"

"Go fuck yourself, Katsuki." She's screaming now, voice to high and cracked that you jump at the sound. "I hope you fucking choke and die."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He sucks in air through his teeth. "Starve, I don't give a fuck."

"You-" Cami starts, but is quickly cut off.

"I don't give a fuck!" Bakugo breaks. He's screaming too now. "I don't give a single fuck, Cami!"

Before he turns, he looks your way one more time, and you swear he looks sad. Then, the door slams behind him.

"You know he goes home and fucks my brains out after we fight like this, right?"

It takes you a second to process that Cami's talking to you.

"Excuse me?"

"It's foreplay." She takes a long drag, then breathes out all at once. It's halfway done, but she drops the cigarette to the ground and lets it smolder. The ember burns crimson against the macadam. "He yells and screams and then fucks my brains out all night."

Hearing it hurts, but this isn't new information. He loves her enough for a ring-- you never thought you'd be competition to that. Her eyes narrow when you don't respond. "You think you're winning with this nice girl act, don't you?"

She leans against the wall again, arms crossed with a smug satisfaction. "Well, he doesn't like nice girls, he likes cunts like me."

You walk back towards the restaurant, then stop just in front of her, chin tilted high. She doesn't blink, doesn't flinch, not even when you bend over and pick up her cigarette butt. In a smooth motion, you smush it against the wall beside her, extinguishing the flame before tossing it into the make shift ashtray beside her.

"I don't think I'm winning." You wipe your hands on to your pants as you speak. "But I think you two are both losing."

restaurant au where bakugo is the tattooed kitchen asshole who you LOATHE... but you're also insanely attracted to because he yells at customers who yell at you

[msfbgraves]

Sometimes I get astonished by the world's insistence to push ideas at you. Turn on the tv or radio you are inundated with ads, there's news and talkshows - always bad news btw - and business and gossip mags and people assume you keep up with it all. While so much screams at you: you're ugly. The world is on fire. It hasn't gone wrong yet but it might. They are coming for you. Drink coca cola. Have you heard about the atrocity in Turkmenistan? Well there you go! Buy this! Watch that!

And I don't mind the information being out there. I mind the incessant manipulation of it, I mind how incredibly far you have to go in an effort to keep information out you don't want in. And I'm not saying, check with the news once every three days to make sure you have some idea what's going on. I mean the way you have to pay to shut it all up, and even then.

I was in Poland for a week and I couldn't read or understand any of it, though I could have searched for information should I have needed it. There was such a strange relaxation that came with not processing this stuff. I don't even get that in French or Spanish I understand too much of it. But Polish? Zilch. I only read what I wanted to read, talked to my friends and other people, processed what I engaged with. At home there's nearly always something beamed into your brain from outside that wants something from you, and you have to pay simply to make it stop. And you feel strangely disconnected when you do, as if you're missing something important. When the only thing you want is some choice on wether or not you engage with information. Or get sold some ideology. Or want to pay for some product or want to be scared out of your mind by some disaster. And you can but only if you cut yourself off from it, either through active work or by paying a fee. You can't walk through nearly anyplace outside where they're not trying to sell you something, even the lampposts in the park have stickers on them, every road has billboards. It's so odd. Again you have to put up so many barriers just to make sense of the soup in your own head. Even re:dracula is doing "based on your likes" and I have to actively click through the stupid merch store and I'd dearly love not to have to put so much brainpower filtering out information I do not choose to consume. There's a lot of that anyway simply by being around people. And it's fun to be around people! But at least they're not constantly trying to make me feel bad or trying to sell you stuff.

If I consume nonsense here on Tumblr, that's on me. But I don't want a paper anymore, I don't want TV, I don't Hollywood's revisionist history. They say being inside your bubble is a bad thing but that's only when they assume you lack any and all capacity to seek out information yourself. Well, I am. They create a world that pushes so many bullshit takes at us you don't have the peace of mind to reflect upon anything or form an opinion yourself, where in fact reaching a state of net zero information requires extreme effort. You don't have a lot of energy left to seek things out with how violently you have to protect yourself from people pushing stuff in.

I think it's ludicrous.

[alittledizzy]

Dizzy, I feel like I need your levelheadedness a bit rn... so that tweet, huh? Idk, I'm trying to look at it as sth not in a vacuum, his main is the least serious of all of his accounts and often he says things just to be a meme (plus that "lying" likes he just did), but it all feels weird. I feel like I've been witnessing a gradual progression of what they're willing to show us of their relationship the last few months and someone pulled a rug from under me and I'm all disoriented. Could be a play on words as well (we know Dream doesn't identify as gay) but I feel like I'm grasping at straws... do you have any thoughts?

I think feeling disoriented over it is a natural response - but here are my thoughts. They might be a little scattered too but my brain is just in that phase of taking in information and processing.

First thought: The progression of what just happened: he snapped pictures of him literally in the closet, then made that tweet, then liked a few responses saying he was lying. Which ties into...

Second thought: The tweet is also on his main account. Like you said, it's the least serious account, if you scroll through the only serious thing he's tweeted in half a year is 'merry christmas' - everything on there is a troll. Considering what the quote retweets look like, I think he's just written the account off and puts things there he doesn't feel like are a serious announcement or that he doesn't really want factored into the smaller audience of his genuine fanbase. Not that his fanbase doesn't see them but it's like - if he's talking to his people he has other accounts for that. That doesn't mean he didn't put it out there because some part of him felt like it would make him/George feel better to say, just that he also didn't want to say it in a way that didn't leave room for doubt. It's serious enough to be serious unless you know him and the context in which it's an automatic side-eye. Which leads to... Third thought: If the tweet had any serious elements to it, I think it's entirely likely it would be a kneejerk reaction to people telling the Spanish speaking streaming community that dnf is real and perhaps that being too much too fast for them - particularly George, who doesn't want anyone to know anything about him. Having come through the fires of Dan and Phil fandom, even if they were soft launching because they were happy in a new relationship and wanted to share, sometimes the journey of sexuality and relationships are one step forward, two steps back.

Especially if you're George and guard your personal information fiercely, especially if you're Dream that is terrified of putting himself out there with a label that might be 'wrong' and therefore doesn't want to definitively say he's anything.

Dream's comfort level is in eliminating what he's not (I'm not gay, I'm not straight) not in specifying what he is.

George's comfort level is posting a snapchat where he shows you has a smoothie and that's really the most you need to know about him as far as he's concerned.

So suddenly having people you want to be friends with addressing you and your relationship with complete sincerity when you haven't even had a chance to get comfortable with a soft launch amongst what you consider 'your' demographic might definitely cause a scurry of steps backwards. I'm a truther because it's fun and fandom is about having fun and enjoying the complexities of people and their dynamics. So I think about Dan and Phil, I think about people that go to great lengths to tie their lives and futures together. Buying a house, moving across the world, making sure everyone knows loud and clear this is your person - that can co-exist with fear and hesitation and not knowing how the world will accept you and not being sure if you want to leave the safety net you've made for yourself. So I guess a big part of me looks at this situation and thinks... seeing them work their way back up to comfort is gonna be so fun.

[dameronology]

you have my number {bucky barnes x reader}

summary: bucky barnes' memory is a little selective, thanks to all the brainwashing - but one thing he'll never forget is his love for you, even if you're a complete & utter pain in the ass. his ass. (based on deja vu by olivia rodigro)

^even tho this fic refers to bucky as having a new gf, the reader is still g.n :)

this is spoiler free! enjoyyy

- jazz xx

Your relationship with Bucky Barnes had been nothing short of a train wreck.

And frankly, that was putting it nicely.

It had been a short & passionate affair; intense and sweet and filled with so much emotion in such high concentrations that you'd both almost drowned in it. For every euphoric moment, there had been one so low that you'd scraped your knees on the ground. Climbing a ladder to heaven whilst simultaneously digging your own graves had taken its toll on you both, and eventually, you had no choice but to go your separate ways. It had been for your own sanity, really.

So there he was, tucked away in a neat little box in your brain, labelled don't touch, ever. Even when you were completely wasted, surrounded by your friends and their respective lovers, you never dared to venture back down that particular memory lane. Forgetting all the bad parts and selectively remembering the good parts was easy enough to do, but you had the common sense to remember why you'd broken up in the first place. Because Bucky Barnes, despite being easy on the eyes and having a charming sense of humour, was a pain in your fucking ass. He managed to press every one of your buttons without even trying and his ability to bring out the best in you was completely and entirely wiped out by his tendency to bring out the worst. That wasn't even getting started on his emotional hold-ups; a can of worms neither of you had dared to open until it became the very reason for your demise.

Six months had passed, and you'd managed to expertly avoid him. You worked different missions and Sam Wilson, god bless his sweet soul, went the extra mile to ensure your paths never crossed in a professional sense. On a personal level, however? That was a little more difficult. New York City felt a lot smaller after your break up. You found yourself occasionally ducking under your hood when you saw him on the F-train, or rushing to cross the road when you saw him coming towards you on the street.

That was when you had the whole city to lose yourself in; streets and shops and little food carts to distract yourself with should you need to. Being confined to the same room for a work party was a different story entirely, and one you didn't want to read. Yet, thanks to some insistence from your boss and a little grovelling from your colleagues, you found yourself rocking up to the former Avengers tower on a Friday night.

"So you do exist outside of your work uniform?" Sam Wilson greeted you with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah - nice to see you too, Wilson."

Despite your initial attempts to elbow him in the rips, he wrestled you off of him and pulled you into a tight hug. Sam was one of your favourite colleagues and oldest friends - he'd witnessed the rise and fall of your relationship with Bucky, and been there for you both during the break-up. That had been an exhausting few days, running between your respective apartments in an attempt to offer emotional support to you both.

"D'you want some champagne?" He asked.

"I'm good, but thank-"

You froze, eyes widening at the sight of James Barnes across the room. He looked quintessentially the same, bar for the fact his hair was a little longer and he had a fresh, pink scar under his left eye. Having ditched his usual attire for a black blazer, he looked good. Annoyingly so, in fact. It made you secretly grateful that you'd chosen to dress up a little more than usual too.

"- on second thoughts." You took the flute of champagne from Sam, also grabbing a shot of vodka from the same trey. It was gone in seconds.

"Need I ask?" Sam gave you a playful frown. His brown eyes followed your gaze over his shoulder, landing on the man you'd been staring at. "Ah. I need not."

"Sorry." You murmured. "We haven't actually spoken since, y'know."

"Since you had a break-up that made Ross and Rachel look good?"

"I don't think Bucky has ever seen Friends." You quipped.

"His loss." Sam shrugged. "You should talk to him."

"Nope." You snorted. "Absolutely not. I don't even know if he's moved on."

"Judging by the pretty blonde on his arm, I think he has," Sam replied. "Would you look at that! They're headed right for us."

That was a lot of information to process at once. You would have needed a week alone for your poor, tired brain to deal with the fact that Bucky had someone else on his arm, and a further three days to big yourself up enough to talk to him. Alas, that was not the case tonight. Instead, you had about five seconds between Sam finishing his sentence and your ex-boyfriend reaching you. It was just as well you found the energy within that timeframe to down your champagne.

You could see the woman on his arm clearer now. To give credit where credit was due, she stunning. She looked like the sort of girl who smelt of strawberries and Chanel, and grew her own vegetables on the fire escape. The kind of person you swore to be with every New Year that came, but quickly ditched after a week, returning to drinking coffee from the Starbucks under your apartment rather than going to the organic, vegan place a few blocks over. There was an ethereal glow about her and fuck. You were mad.

"Sam!" Bucky called out to his friend - for a minute, you thought he was ignoring you, before you realised he genuinely didn't recognise you. Your name rolled off his tongue with a tone of uncertainty, as though he was learning a new language and still learning how to pronounce things. "Wow. You look...different."

"So do you." You shot back. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Katie." He awkwardly smiled. "My...my girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you." You forced an equally pained grin, taking her hand in a shake.

"How do you and Bucky know each other?" She asked.

"Work." Bucky quickly said. You thinned your eyes at him, almost in disbelief.

"So you're an Avenger like these two?" Katie asked, clearly not picking up on the tension. "That's so cool."

"Not in an official capacity." You replied. "But they'd be fucked without me."

--

The night only got longer from there, really.

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to help the void in your soul. It was a gaping wound that Bucky Barnes had both filled and widened - and tonight, he was doing the latter. It sounded as though him and Katie were having a grand ol' time of it. From the parts of the conversation that you'd actually bothered to listen to, you'd gathered that she'd arrived in New York from London just over three months ago. That meant she had a fucking accent. Of course she did. It made everything she said a thousand times more interesting.

"We were in Paris, in this little cafe. What was it called, babe? Maison de vie?"

"Maison de l'amour, doll." Bucky corrected her. It had only sounded right when he was calling you that.

Your eyes shot up from your drink, immediately staring daggers at them both. The slimy bastard. You had been the one to show him that place. You'd been in Paris for a mission, and after realising it was your four-month anniversary, you'd taken him there for pancakes. It had been a slow morning, filled with hazy eyes and pink skies, and it had ended with him dropping the L-bomb for the first time. The photo you'd taken of Bucky, sat beside a pile of pancakes the same size of him and with whipped cream on his chin, had been your phone background until the day you broke up.

"I've been there." You didn't break away from his gaze, holding cold blue eyes in a trance that he found to be almost suffocating.

"Oh, nice!" Katie beamed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah." You sniffed. "The company was shit, though."

"Oh, man." She replied. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault." You gave her a sweet smile - to Bucky, it was a look of venom. "So, tell me more about your trip to Paris."

He quickly cleared his throat. "We didn't do much. Just a weekend getaway-"

"- are you forgetting that we saw Billy Joel?" Katie cut him off with a laugh. "The Billy Joel!"

"Right." It looked as though his mouth had gone completely dry.

"He told me he loved me for the first time to Uptown Girl-"

"-excuse me for a moment." You shoved your glass in her hand, before backing away from your little huddle.

Your brain was focused on getting away and only on getting away. The room suddenly felt a thousand times hotter, and a thousand times smaller too, as though the walls were closing in on you. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if they'd just collapsed around you and swallowed you fucking whole. Anything to get away from this situation.

Making a beeline for the balcony doors, you elbowed them open and stepped outside. The cold air of the rooftop gardens was a welcome contrast to the stuffy indoors, biting, night air hitting your face like an icy hug. The sounds of the city rung below you - sirens and yells and tourists - and tangled into the faint sound of the music, all parts of a world that your brain was working overtime to block out.

You focused on the city instead, using the bright lights of the surrounding buildings to anchor you to reality. None of it really even made sense - you were over Bucky. Had been for a long time. It was just the thought of him doing all the things that he'd done with you, with someone else. It made you feel a little bad for Katie, too.

"I was going to tell you about Billy Joel."

You glanced over your shoulder, giving a derivative snort. "Piss off, Bucky."

"I'm serious." He ignored your demand, cautiously approaching you.

"I brought you those tickets!" You turned around to face him. "We were meant to go together. Billy Joel was our thing."

"We broke up!' He reminded you. "Like I said, I was going to tell you that we went together-"

"- I don't care." You cut him off. "I genuinely don't care."

"That was a lot of storming off for someone who doesn't care."

"Okay, maybe I care a little bit." You huffed, taking a seat on a bench. "It's not even that you're with someone else, it's that you're doing all the things we did. The nicknames, the pancake place, the concert."

"I..." Bucky took a seat beside you, pondering for a moment.

"And declaring your love for someone to Uptown Girl is fucking weird." You muttered.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Vienna, obviously."

"You're such a pain in the ass." Bucky replied. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't thinking of Katie in that moment."

You glanced up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"D'you remember that morning when we were in New Orleans?" He asked. "And we had a few hours to kill before our flight, so you started dancing around the hotel room to Uptown Girl?"

"I remember." You softly smiled.

"That was when I realised I loved you." He admitted. "I was replaying that in my head at the concert, and it just kinda came out, and Katie heard."

"Damn." You muttered. "Sucks to be her, huh?"

"I like Katie." He said. "Truth be told, doll, I'm still stuck in the past a little bit. With you, and with what we had."

"We fucking hated each other by the end, Buck."

"I know, but I mean all the stuff before that." He explained. "You were the first person who saw me for who I am and not what I've done. The first person that actually made me feel loved and worthy."

"I do try."

He lightly elbowed you "I'm serious. I think I'm just projecting my longing for what we had onto my current relationship."

"You're being painfully honest tonight." You observed. "It's fucking weird."

"Who taught me to be painfully honest?"

"Right." You rolled your eyes. "So this is how Frankenstein felt when he created his monster."

"You're the worst," Bucky muttered. "I genuinely am sorry, though. I shouldn't be recycling our memories. I should make new ones.'

Dusting off your trousers, you stood up. "You're right."

"Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"For finding me first," He replied, "and for teaching me what love is."

"Well, if you ever need to be reminded? You have my number."

[tamcitrus]

Fire and moon.

pairing: Benimaru Shinmon x fem. reader

genre: nsfw

words: 3,5 k.

warnings: a bit of degradation, public sexy time, orgasm denial, overstimulation, dom/sub undertones.

tam’s notes: Hi miss @writeiolite​ ! I’m you HQC secret santa! ♥ I was so nervous when I got you omg sjkdhas because I admire your writing so much, you’re so talented and an amazing person so I was a little afraid my writing wouldn’t be good enough. I’m so thankful for meeting you and all the beautiful people in the server. Thanks for being so welcoming, thanks for letting me help you and be a part of the staff and most of all thanks for being my friend. I hope you like this ♥

I CANT BELIVE IT’S YOUR GIF BUT HEY YOU HAVE A CLUE WHAT THIS IS ABOUT NOW dsjfhksldjf

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

When you left the Holy Sol Temple and chose to move to Asakusa, you never expected to find a man that attracted you there. The proto-nationalist land wasn't a place where you expected to have fun. You just wanted to keep a low profile and be in peace.

But then you saw this man, flying through the sky and destroying everything on his way down to finally land in front of an infernal and punch right through his chest. And something sparked inside you. It wasn't your pyrokinesis or a fight or flight response. It was something else.

Shinmon Benimaru. That was his name. Fire Force Seventh Company’s Captain. Asakusa’s King of Destruction. The #1 enemy of the Holy Sol Temple, or so they said.

After that destruction scene, you walked through the city trying to get more information on him. But also, just socialicing. It would be weird for a new citizen to ask too much about the same person. More so if that person was the head of the city.

This “king” wasn’t like others you could imagine. He wasn’t unapproachable, living in a castle surrounded of gold and extravagant stuff. He was there, among his people, walking through the streets and greeting everyone by their name. He received gifts, food, and talked to those that stopped him. You could say just by looking that he was recognized as a leader. Even when he didn’t acknowledge that himself.

The stars were on your side because soon after that you met him in the thermal waters. He was there, sitting with his arms stretched by his sides and with his eyes closed. You felt like a sparkle inside you, almost like tickles. You walked in silence to the other end of the pool, going in and sitting very slowly.

Benimaru felt another presence behind him and then felt the water moving as you submerged your body in the warm waters. He opened his eyes for a second to look at you and then closed them again. He preferred to be alone but as long as you wouldn’t talk to him he didn’t mind the company.

You were quiet the whole time you were there. It wasn’t an unpleasant silence. But you were expectant. You tried to not look at him. You really tried but you allowed yourself to observe what was on your eye level.

He was handsome. Not that you didn’t know that, but it was a whole different experience having him in front of your eyes, not even a meter away from your body. And naked. He was naked.

Of course he’s naked, these are thermal waters, you thought.

You were naked too. Suddenly you were self conscious, even when he wasn’t looking. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself and closed your eyes to submerge your whole body underwater and came up again. You sat there in silence again, looking at the moon, the house behind the man, the rocks and everything but him.

Eventually he left. You looked aside but still you noticed he stopped to look at you for a second too long.

You left a bit later, after you were sure he was long gone. You said goodbye to the nice lady in the reception and went home.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

Later that week, you were alone having dinner in a bar and he appeared.

"I don't know you, you're new here," he said as he nonchalantly sat on your table.

"Do you know everyone in this town?" you asked him. 

He sighed. That wasn't the answer he was waiting for.

"I do, actually," he said. 

The waitress silently approached and left him a glass full of something.

"Welcome, Benimaru-san. If there's something else you need you can tell us, the house invites you today," she said and walked away.

"Benimaru-san, nice to meet you," you said, playing fool. You knew who he was.

"And you are…?"

"New in town. I really like Asakusa," you smiled. His face looked more irritated than just a minute before. "You can call me y/n."

"No last name, uh?" he chugged the drink the girl left for him.

"I got rid of it," you said. And that was true.

"That's not a lot of information."

"You'll have to buy me a drink and I'll tell you more about me," you winked at him.

He clicked his tongue and you laughed.

“Just don’t cause troubles in my town,” he said and left.

“I’ll try!” you said as he walked out.

All the people at the bar were looking at you but you didn’t care, you had fun and he came to you.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

Would it be worth it to cause some trouble just to see his pissed face again? As you were thinking of some options for “trouble” you went to the thermal house again. And he was there.

“You again?” he said without even opening his eyes.

“It’s a small town,” you casually said.

“Are you following me?”

“Says the guy who showed up on my table out of nowhere,” you answered as you rushed to get into the hot water.

He remained silent again. It was the same as the last time, you sitting in front of him under the moonlight in a comfortable silence.

Even if you were comfortable, you were itching to bug him some more. Still, you just chose to keep your mouth closed. You rested your back on the rocks behind you and found a comfortable position to rest your head too, so you had to do the minimum effort to hold your body. You opened your eyes again when you heard Benimaru getting out of water, you felt drowsy and rubbed your eyes to force yourself to be fully conscious again.

"Don't drown here, this is my favorite place," he said as he walked away.

You looked at him and were about to give some sarcastic answer but then you saw his bare back and his ass and ate your words.

Holy Sol, that body. It had to be illegal to be so built and so handsome.

Before you fell asleep in the water again you got up and left too.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

"So you did cause trouble."

Same bar, same table, same man appearing out of nowhere in front of you. You huffed.

"I defended myself," you explained.

"That's why you beated up some guy?"

"If someone fights me I'll fight back," you explained.

"Which company sent you here?" Benimaru asked.

You laughed out loud.

"I'm not a fire force member."

"You have powers. The Holy Sol Temple sent you here?" he insisted.

"I left the Temple a long time ago," you smiled.

He stared at you, you supposed he was processing the information you just gave him.

"Well, have a nice day, Captain. I might see you later," you said and left him there.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

That night you were the first one in the thermal house. It was weird to be there without Benimaru's big chest in front of you, distracting you from the beautiful full moon that shone over your heads. You positioned yourself again in that way that let you just be sitting without any effort and closed your eyes.

"You again?" you said when you felt the water moving. You knew it was Benimaru.

"This is my town," he answered, ignoring your teasing.

"Right, I'm sorry, your highness."

He clicked his tongue. He thought about what Konro said earlier. Maybe she just wants to provoke you, Waka.

"Are you trying to provoke me?" he inquired.

"Who knows," you smiled.

"I wanna know," he said and closed a little the distance between your bodies.

"I told you you had to take me out first if you wanna know more about me," you licked your lips.

"I could just make you tell me in some other way," he threatened.

"Maybe if you fuck my brains out…" you battled your eyelashes as sweetly and innocently as you could.

He was over you the next second, his hand pulling your hair and making you throw your head back. His body felt warm against yours, even inside the hot water.

"I know you want it too, Captain~" you chirped. "Just stop thinking for a second and let your body take control…"

Yes, he did want it. It was weird to find someone that didn't fear him or admire him as if he was a royalty member. Then you appeared and you gave him all these contradictory signals. It was frustrating. He wanted to erase that cocky smile from your glossy lips… 

He kissed you. His mouth was demanding and the hand holding your hair guided your movements at will. You locked your legs around his hips, holding him close to you, and tangled your hands on his long hair. His hands went underwater to squeeze your ass and thighs and you moaned inside his mouth. You felt his leg under your body next and with little effort he walked out of the water with you clinging to him. He walked to the changing room and let you down over the bench that was there. You were about to sit and take his erection on your mouth but he pushed you back down.

"Who told you you could move?" he asked. The answer was implied in his voice. The atmosphere changed, he was in control now. Your teasing wouldn't affect him anymore. You rubbed your thighs in expectation.

You observed him as he slowly walked to close the doors -the one that gave you access to the reception and the back door you just crossed- and then he kneeled between your legs. The fact that you two were already naked saved some time.

He started circling your clit with his still wet fingers. You started whimpering after a minute, his calloused hand was doing wonders on your body. He pushed his middle finger inside you and kept rubbing your clit with his thumb. He moved his finger in circles inside you, enjoying your moans and your walls clenching his digit. He added his point finger in and sucked your clit on his mouth one time after another until you were almost screaming.

"Fuck, that feels so good," you whined.

If he just moved his fingers a bit faster you would…

He stopped and pulled his fingers out to stand up. When you looked at him he took his fingers to his mouth and sucked your juices from them slowly and pumped his dick with his other hand, putting on a show for you.

"Suck," he said as he pushed his fingers with precum on your mouth.

You obliged. You hollowed your cheeks and suck his fingers, moving your tongue around so you cleaned them perfectly.

"You'll have to do much better than this if you wanna cum," he said like he was disappointed.

He was over you kissing you again, his tongue took your breath away. You could feel his dick against your belly, it was so hot and leaking a bit. Your mouth watered at the thought of having it on your mouth. Subconsciously your hand moved to grab his dick but he stopped you.

"It seems you don't understand you can't move unless I say so," he said. He took a belt from a bathrobe and tied your hands together with it. You whined at the restriction and pouted at him.

"Bad girls don't deserve a nice treatment," he said. "And you're a bad girl."

"I'll do better next time," you said with a pout still on your mouth.

He pulled from the belt to make you sit. Your mouth was an inch away from his cock but you stood still. You had to be a good girl.

"Suck me off," he ordered.

It was almost a relief to have his dick on your mouth. You felt the bitterness of precum at the end of your throat and the salty taste of the waters you were in minutes ago. You could barely fit it in -it was logical that such a big man had a big dick- but you still tried. You bobbed your head back and forward and twirled your tongue around his length. He cupped your breasts and pinched your nipples, your muffled moans caused a nice tickling sensation on his penis.

"This is what it takes for you to shut up, uh?" he thrusted into your mouth a few times, going deeper each time.

He growled when he pushed just a bit further than the back of your throat. You resisted your gag reflex and deepthroated him as tiny tears formed in the corner of your eyes. It wasn't unpleasant, it felt good and despite his size he was being careful, which only added to your overwhelming sensation of arousal.

You needed some kind of relief. You needed to be touched or to have Benimaru inside you, but considering his dick was still on your mouth that wasn't an option. So you touched yourself, lucky you had your hands tied in front of your body. It didn't take long for him to realize and take a step back. He sighed and looked down to you, his long hair covering most of his face. You froze as soon as he looked at you.

"On your hands and knees," he whispered.

You obeyed and smiled to yourself at his bored tone. Because his eyes were lit up, he was having fun.

You positioned yourself as you could in the little bench and waited. His big hand was over your ass just rubbing it and squeezing. Then he raised his hand and slapped you.

"Fuck," you moaned.

"I thought you would be able to take orders given your past," he said as he rubbed your skin again. "I guess not."

He slapped your ass again and you moaned. He used one hand to rub your abused skin and the other to tease your entrance. You cried at his touch, your walls were clamping around nothing.

"Ple-please," you cried when he slapped you again.

His fingers were on your clit now, circling it and his thumb was going up and down on your pussy but not inside.

"Do you think you're in position to ask something, you slut?" he bent down to talk to your ear and you got chills.

He slapped your ass again and he could see his palm marked on your skin on a little prominence. He used his fingers again to stretch your pussy and you moaned, his fingers felt good but you weren't full, you needed more.

"More, please," you asked for it. You could talk now that you didn't have his huge dick on your mouth.

He made you turn around again so he could look at your face as he finally gave you what you wanted: his dick inside you. Your face and moans were a mixture between pleasure and relief. And he was having fun. Real fun and enjoyment, not like other times he met someone to satisfy his needs.

He felt your legs trembling and your hips were moving frantically, not matching his movements anymore. So he stopped. You whined and wiggle your hips to get him to move again.

"If you don't stay still I'll walk out through that door right now," he warned.

You sighed, tears threatened to fall from your eyes again. He traced patterns on your thighs with his fingers and observed how you put your tied hands over your eyes. It was taking all of your will to not move. He was stretching you so nicely, you swear you could even feel the shape of his veins on your walls, you felt full and almost satisfied. When he no longer felt the insistent clenching of your walls on his dick, he bent down and took one of your nipples on his mouth. You cursed out loud when he took your bud gently between his teeth. You never expected a tough man like him to be so gentle. Your climax was gone again but it wouldn't take much to build it back up. Benimaru put his mouth to work on your other nipple and gave a gentle thrust that caused you to moan again. How could he stay still being balls deep into you? How could he resist the urge to just chase his climax?

He thrusted again and you felt tight, like your pussy was accustomed to him not moving. It felt good, you fit on him like a glove, just like the right amount of pressure to not fall off. He circled your clit with his fingers again and you locked your legs embracing his hips again to have him deeper inside. He kissed you again and put his arm around your waist to hold you up against him and then your back hit a wall. You throw your hands behind his head to use his shoulders for support and adjust your hold on his hips before he started to thrust again. But this time he wasn't so gentle. He was going fast and strong, his tip touched your g spot every few times and you bit his neck to muffle your moans.

"It will take more than that to mark me," he said in an arrogant tone.

You huffed. You would be all marked up tomorrow with shapes of fingers and hands: on your waist, on your thighs, your ass. You heated your wrists enough to burn the belt restricting your movements and scratched his back with force. Your walls clenched when you heard him growl. That much will do to mark him, so you'll do it again.

His thrusts were reckless and he changed his angle from time to time. He held your waist with one arm and the other was on your leg, spreading it apart for him to get liberty with his movements.

"I'm so so close," you cried in his ear.

He knew it, he could feel it. His dick was being pressed hard in your pussy and it felt better than ever. It wouldn't take much for him to cum either. He kneeled and let your body down on the floor in front of him to take your legs and put in on his shoulders so he could thrust in a different position. Your back arched out of sheer pleasure and you moaned his name again. You couldn’t even warn him that you were on your climax before it happened, you just took his arm and scratched him even harder than before. Fucks and oh-s left your mouth each time his dick rubbed your cervix. You notice he was slowing down and you knew what he was thinking.

“Fill me up,” you said in a lustful voice. “Fill me up, please,” you used your heels to push him back to you.

He didn’t doubt anymore. He was back with his merciless thrusts, balls deep into you again. His dick was a bit harder to take after your orgasm but you couldn’t complain. You just wanted him to cum inside you and you even might be able to cum again just from the thought of if it. He found an angle in which both were moaning and he kept going strong. Your legs were trembling again and he felt tiredness on his muscles too. So he buried his cock on you a few more times and the little hold he had on his body snapped. He cummed inside you and you had another orgasm when you felt his semen filling you up.

After a minute he pulled out and collapsed by your side, both of you were struggling to catch your breath. You could just fall asleep there, or maybe in the warm water? As you weighed your options, Benimaru got up and walked outside and back. He kneeled by your side and cleaned you up.

"Oh, aren't you a gentleman?" you teased him. But you were grateful he wasn't a jerk as he looked he could be.

"Shut up," he said.

He cleaned himself and got dressed. You heard him talk with the old lady manager, asking for water and something to eat.

"There's a private room, you can stay here tonight if you're tired," he said as he observed you get dressed.

"Will you stay with me?" you smiled.

"Who knows," he answered and left.

You followed him to the private room where he was already sitting and eating. You took a seat in front of him and ate too. With a bit of teasing and other bit of luck maybe you could get a second round.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪  

[stratiotis-nth]

The few times Cas spoke about his true form, Dean had always imagined some terrifying robed creature with a bazillion heads and rotating rings and fifty giant wings from different animals. He imagined mighty beings that embodied the idea of God’s warriors. Cas once said his true form was size of the Chrysler building, and Dean had had to hide just how impressive the angel was despite looking and acting like a total dork. Cas as Cas was intimidating enough, but Castiel—the Chrysler-sized warrior of divinity—sounded terrifying and majestic all at the same time.

But apparently, Cas had omitted a few details. He had neglected to tell Dean that little bits of his true form lingered with him while he was in human form, some additions that couldn’t be seen but existed with him in another plane of reality.

So imagine Dean’s shock when he’s on a case and accidentally uses the holy fire glasses in his insurance company disguise. He didn’t even realize the difference until Cas joined him and Sam to help.

They were dealing with a Shifter who had been killing old people in a wealthy neighborhood in upstate New York. Cas, a fully functioning angel again, had offered to help when Sam and Dean realized they were up against a Shifter duo instead of a loner.

Sam was out getting grub when Cas appeared in the motel room with a whoosh of wings. Dean knew how much Cas had missed flying, and even he had missed hearing him announce his presence with that characteristic whoosh.

“Hey Cas.” Dean greeted without looking up from the laptop.

“Hello, Dean.” Was the usual response. He flicked his gaze up to Cas briefly, peering over the rim of the glasses he hadn’t bothered taking off. Dean did a double take when he caught a flash of black within the glasses’ lens. Frowning, he pushed the frames up his nose until he could squint through them properly. A sharp intake of breath caught in his throat.

“Dean?”

Cas’ voice floated through his mind but he couldn’t process it. He stared at the Castiel revealed through the lens, abso-fucking-lutely floored.

A pair of black wings, ones Dean had only ever seen the shadow or scorched remains of before, were folded neatly against Cas’ back. As the afternoon sunlight hit the feathers, Dean could see them shimmering and reflecting all the colors of the rainbow subtly. The feathers looked spun of night sky and stardust, light as clouds but dense and powerful was cooling lava. Dean had a really, really strong urge to run his fingers through them. They looked like they’d make his fingers tingle with lightning.

Alongside the wings, the other newly revealed part of Cas was his halo. He had never mentioned one before, so Dean had just assumed halos were just another one of those things crazy Christians made up. But apparently, angels did had halos, because there was a thin ring of glowing light surrounding Cas’ head like a circlet, hovering above his ears and just a few inches away from his hair and forehead. It gleamed an ethereal pale gold, almost white, light. As he looked at it closer, he noticed a few gaps in the ring, like jagged cracks where pieces had fallen away. Were they supposed to be like that?

Dean was so shocked that he wondered how the hell he was even seeing these parts of Cas now. It took him a moment for his sluggish brain to piece together that he must had accidentally taken the holy fire glasses instead of another fake pair.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

He blinked, still taking in the halo and wings, and cleared his throat. Cas was frowning at him in concern, his head tilted adorably to the side. The halo drifted and followed a half second behind his movement.

“Uh—“ a strangled noise escapes Dean’s throat. His fingers itched to dig themselves into those feathers, to trace that halo and try to feel the warmth of light. He swallowed thickly, his throat clicking. The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Are there supposed to be cracks in that thing?”

Cas blinked at him, thoroughly confused. A split second later, his face both flushed and paled at the same time. Dean worried the sudden blood flow would make him pass out, but then he remembered Cas was an angel.

“Those glasses have been burned in holy fire, haven’t they?” He asked, his wings tucking more firmly against his back like he was trying to hide them.

“Uh, uh yeah.” He stammered, wondering if he should say something to ease Cas’ obvious insecurity. “Grabbed ‘em by accident.”

Cas shuffled his feet awkwardly, the light of his halo dimming shyly. He obviously wasn’t going to offer any information unless Dean pressed a little more.

“So?” He managed to sound somewhat casual, even though his heart was beating loudly in his ears. “What’s with the missing pieces?”

“Ah.” Cas rumbled in his low voice. He avoided Dean’s eyes, his chipped halo floating after every movement of his head. “Well, to angels, the halo represents purity and devotion to God. It is the manifestation of each angel’s divinity. When Lucifer rebelled against Heaven, his halo was shattered as a sign of disgrace and he was banished to Hell. Other angels like Gabriel and Anna had a chip broken off because they rejected Heaven and their loyalties were to their own well-being. Angels cannot exist fully if their halos are damaged, but because Gabriel was an archangel and Anna became human, they were exceptions.”

Dean frowned. But Cas had way more than one piece missing and he was still alive and still an angel.

“So how come you’re still around?” He asked, waving a hand at Cas’ cracked halo.

“Because I was created already broken.” The words, delivered in a flat, emotionless tone, still cut through Dean’s heart. That wasn’t true. Cas wasn’t broken. He was just Cas. Perfectly fine the way he was. “As you have heard from many angels and Chuck himself, I came off the line with a crack in my chassis. I was created to be flawed.”

“Cas…” Dean began, trying to find the words to tell him that it wasn’t true, that everything Naomi and Chuck had told him was a lie.

“It’s alright, Dean.” Cas said gently, glancing at him for the first time since the conversation started. “When Jack restored me to my full power I asked to keep the cracks I bear. Not as an punishment.” he added, somehow interpreting the frown flashing across Dean’s face. “but as proof that angels can exist with their flaws and still do good things. That they can still protect humanity, as was their reason for existence.”

Well, when he put it that way, Dean really couldn’t protest. It was very Cas-like of him to not give a single fuck about being perfect and defying everything anyone has ever known by doing it his way.

“But I am sorry.”

That made Dean snap his head up sharply, looking at Cas in surprise.

“For what?” He asked incredulously.

“For forcing you to see me like this.” Cas’ wings spread out momentarily before being tucked tightly against his back again, hiding their magnificence from Dean. He hated that. He hated that Cas thought Dean wouldn’t want to see him like this, one step closer to his true form, to the real Castiel. “I understand it was undoubtedly shocking and unsettling, but if I could hide these parts of myself from those glasses, I would for your sake.”

“No.” Dean snapped vehemently, jumping to his feet and jabbing a finger at Cas. He hated that Cas believed the things he was saying. How could he not be awestruck by him, by his beautiful wings and perfectly flawed halo? “Shut the fuck up, Cas.”

Cas’ face fell even further than before, the corners of his mouth ticking down and his eyes falling downcast. He looked so…rejected. It cut right through Dean’s heart again, and he scrambled to fix it before they fell victim to miscommunication again.

“Cas.” Dean said firmly, ducking down to catch his gaze. Like a moth to light, that piercing blue gaze fixed on green and followed them up. “I ain’t unsettled. Shocked, but in a really good way.”

Cas looked frowned, confused. Dean plowed on.

“Dude, don’t be ashamed of who you are. Your wings and halo…they look awesome, man. Seriously. You look badass.”

Cas’ lips parted in shock. Dean nervously fidgeted with a pen he had forgotten was in his hands, tapping it against his palm as he struggled to find the right words.

“You ain’t broken or flawed—you’re just Cas. My—“

Best friend didn’t cut it anymore. They had gone through too much together to be best friends. Brothers didn’t sit right either. Dean didn’t feel the same things for Cas as he did Sam (it made him shudder in disgust just thinking about his little brother like that). Dean knew what it was like to lose Cas and Sam—Sam, he had lost his family, his blood. Cas, Dean had lost a part of his soul.

“—you’re my—“

Dean wanted—needed—to say the words. But nothing fit, nothing felt right. No word could describe just what Cas was to him.

“—you’re my angel, Cas. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Cas just stared at him with another one of those soul searching gazes. Even when he was human, Dean felt he could still see straight through him, searching for deception or lies and every time never finding one.

There was a small, awed smile on Cas’ face, and before Dean could register what was happening, Cas gently cupped the back of his neck and pulled Dean down. Soft, chapped lips pressed briefly against his forehead, warm and sweet and grateful. They were gone a moment later, and so was Cas’ hand.

“Thank you, Dean.” He said softly after a while. “I appreciate it.”

Dean blinked and nodded stiffly. His entire body was shaking, aching to feel that warmth again. “Don’t…yeah, don’t mention it, Cas. I just…you gotta know the truth.”

Cas’ wings were fluffed up a bit, and they twitched against his back like they were itching to spread out. His halo was glowing much brighter than before, matching his smile.

“I have always been honored to be by your side, Dean, but it is nice to hear that you consider me yours.”

There was a lump in his throat that muted his voice. He nodded, shivering when he felt the cool, electrified tingling brush of a feather run down his arm and the warmth of light as Cas’ halo grew brighter.

“Always have. Cas.” He murmured, staring down at the pen clutched between his trembling fingers. He could feel Cas’ smile grow, and the primary feather of his wings brushed against his arm with a little more intent.

“As have I.” His response was so quiet that Dean almost didn’t hear it. But a shiver ran down his spine nonetheless. There was something different in the air, now that there were these confessions in the open. It wasn’t quite like a straightforward declaration that Dean was Cas’ and Cas was Dean’s, but it was pretty damn close. It was just a soft, gentle confirmation of how they had felt about each other since Cas pulled Dean from Hell all those years ago.

The quiet, peaceful moment between them was effectively shattered when they both heard the motel door open and Sam come barging through. They both jumped apart. They might have confessed…something between them…but that didn’t mean they were at all comfortable letting Sam see them in such an intimate moment.

“Uhhh…” Sam came to an abrupt halt as he took in Dean and Cas all but throwing themselves in opposite directions. “did I…?”

“No.” both Dean and Cas said quickly. They faltered and fell silent. Sam glanced between them hesitantly, like they were a bomb about to go off. Dean peeked over at Cas, noticing how his wings were fluffed up almost twice their size, his cheeks burning when he noticed Dean had noticed.

“Riiiight.” Sam said. “Well…there’s uh…been another body. I was gonna grab you and go…?”

“Yeah.” Dean said immediately, straightening up. “Let’s go.”

Cas looked like he wanted to protest—or force Sam to leave so they could deal with twelve years of tension—but Dean pointedly sent a prayer his way.

Tonight. Promise.

Cas’ wings fluffed up even more, his halo’s light shone so brightly it poked Dean’s eyes, and his face was redder than a tomato.

Dean grinned before grabbing his keys.

“See ya at the crime scene, angel.” He said before ducking out of the motel room.

“Is Cas okay?” Sam asked when they were in Baby.

“Oh yeah.” Dean grinned smugly, already looking forward to tonight. “He’s definitely okay.”

He’s got a chipped halo and beautiful wings that had once been burned to bone.

He’s Dean’s angel. He’s perfect.

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Undercover- Mob! Steve Rogers Part 2

Okay here is the highly requested part two to my Mob! Steve post! I had some technical difficulties posting it but hopefully you guys see it in the tags now :)

Warnings: swearing and smut

Word count: 2.8k

“When I said go undercover, I didn’t mean under his covers, Agent.” Director Fury slammed his hand down on his desk. It had now officially been twenty-four hours since your encounter with the mob boss and you had been waiting anxiously all day to talk with Nick Fury. The rumor around the office all day was that he wasn’t too pleased with how things went down.

“I did what I had to do, sir.” You stated boldly.

Fury scoffed but didn’t respond.

He was quiet for a moment, his eye scanning over the piece of paper in his hand. You fidgeted uncomfortably as your legs were still sore from your romp last night and you tried to hold it together as Fury gave you a weird look.

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You muttered a thank you as you took a seat.

“Listen, this is all good and fine but I want more. This,” He waved the note in his hand. “Is just a drug felony. I want this bastard put away for life.”

“But what about Stark?”

“A slippery politician, nothing more. I want insight on just more than this. I want it all.”

You sat back in the chair. You understood where he was coming from, but he was also acting like you hadn’t just uncovered a huge piece of information.

“Sir-”

“Which is why you’re going to continue...seeing Rogers. Your undercover assignment has just been extended until further notice.”

“But, sir!” You stood up in protest.

“But nothing, Agent. You’ve made your bed and you’ve already lied in it. Now do it again.” He snapped.

“Are you pimping me out, sir?”

“You did that yourself, Y/N.” Fury snarked. “Anyway, as we speak I have other agents creating an entire new identity for you on the internet so when Roger’s does eventually look you up he’ll find everything we want him to find.”

You felt yourself sinking back down into the chair. He was being completely serious. You suddenly felt very hot as you processed all the information coming at you.

“And what exactly is it going to say?”

“That you are Y/N Monroe. You are the same age as you are now and a barista at the coffee shop just below your apartment. You went to the University of Minnesota and graduated with a business degree, but currently can’t find any jobs. Pity. Your parents died when you were young and you have no siblings-no need to wrap anyone else up in this. We’ve made an Instagram account since that seems to be the most popular app among adults your age. I pushed for no socials but apparently it’s weirder if you don’t have one.”

“Okay...but I don’t have a coffee shop below my apartment.”

“You do now. Your stuff is being moved into a safe house apartment on the other side of town. That’s where you’ll be staying for now. Don’t worry, I have Parker holed up in the apartment two doors down.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to try to calm down. There was nothing else you could do. Fury was right, you had made your bed. You reached over and grabbed the file that Fury had pushed towards the front of the desk. Your new life all put together in a Manila folder.

Damn you, Ma and your slutty advice.

“You can go now.” Fury waved you away, now totally focused on whatever file he had in front of him. You hesitated, wanting to say something but nothing came so you left.

“Y/N!” Peter ran up beside you as you stormed down the hallway. “Heard we’re gonna be neighbors.”

You smiled at how excited he was. “It’s only temporary, Parker. Don’t wet your pants.”

Peter blushed and gently shoved you to the side as you both continued walking. “I know that. But doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. We could have movie nights or something.”

“I suppose we could find some time.” You nudged him back.

“Oh here, before I forget.” Peter shoved a brand new iPhone into your hand. “Fury had me add some tweaks to the geo location so it’s more precise than what Apple has. My burner number is already programmed in there too.”

You studied the burner phone, impressed that they didn’t just give you another shitty tracfone like you were used to.

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not that much younger than you.” Peter grumbled as the two of you finally made it to the parking structure.

You smirked over your shoulder as you walked up to your Jeep Wrangler. “Young enough. ‘Night, kid!”

Peter flipped you off but was smiling the whole time as you drove off.

You punched in your new address in the GPS and followed along as it brought you to the older part of town. You had always loved this part of the city but never thought to move out here. Even though it wasn’t the new upcoming neighborhood, the rent prices had been driven up by the young kids moving in who just “adored the old time aesthetic” and the lofted buildings.

Your building was one of those you noted as you parked your car outside of your new address. The old brick building was tall, maybe six stories and had fire escapes littered across the front of it. The front door was a rusted green that you had to yank to budge to get open.

Extra security, I suppose. You laughed to yourself.

Your apartment was on the third floor and right off the freight elevator. You weren’t expecting much when you opened the door but you made a noise of pleasant surprise when you did.

The inside was warm and inviting. A plush gray sofa that resembled a cloud was center in your living room that you saw right away from the small entry hallway. As you stepped in further you saw a decent size tv mounted against the wall and two bookshelves on either side of it, filled with books and records that went along with the record player that was right underneath the television. To the left the living room was the kitchen. Nothing big, which you didn’t mind-you weren’t the best cook in the world. There was a small bar-like counter that had two barstools perched underneath. Down the small hallway you found your bedroom. A king sized bed covered in an off white comforter set with matching sheets. Small potted plants hung from the corner near the window and an array of makeup and perfumes littered the top of the wooden dresser.

Tentatively you opened the dressers to find a whole new wardrobe waiting for you. There were basics: such as t-shirts, jeans, bras and panties but there was also a whole drawer dedicated to skimpy lingerie that you knew was expensive. The walk-in closet was filled with dresses, some formal and some you wouldn’t let your grandmother even see hanging off the rack.

“Well done, Fury.” You mumbled to yourself as your fingers ran down the silk fabric of a long evening gown.

You were settling on to your couch, sweats on and a glass of wine in your hand when you heard a knock on the door. Slowly you got up, grabbing your gun from the plant next to the door. You looked through the peephole and let out a curse when you saw none other than Steve Rogers standing outside your apartment.

You shoved the gun back into the plant and ran your fingers through your hair before opening the door, but leaving the chain attached.

“Mr. Rogers, how can I help you?” Your eyes twinkled as the man in front of you rested his arm on the top of the door frame and leaned close to the opening you had created.

“You said I would see you soon, princess. Looks like soon is now.” The nickname again caused your stomach to flutter.

“I was just getting ready for bed. You’ll have to come by another time.” You feigned a yawn. Steve’s eyes blared as he stood up straight.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting, Miss Monroe.” Your heart jumped at the use of your alias. Thank god your team worked fast.

“And it’s rude to show up to people’s apartments unannounced, Mr. Rogers.”

“Open the door, sweetheart.” He hissed, but his eyes held anything but anger. He was intrigued. He never found a woman before who wasn’t afraid to dish back his sass. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Say please.” You teased through the opening.

“Please.” He said through gritted teeth.

Chuckling you closed the door gently and undid the chain. Before you could reopen it though, Steve pushed his way through scooping you up in his arms as he did. You naturally wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms held tight around him as you squealed against his neck.

He walked you back into the living room and plopped down on the couch, holding you so you were still straddling him.

You pulled away but kept your arms hanging loosely around him. He smirked up at you as his fingers toyed with the hem of the tank top you had on. His eyes fell to the wine that was only half drank on your coffee table.

“Heading off to bed soon, huh?”

“My bedtime snack.”

There was a part of your brain that recognized him for who he was: evil. But another part of your brain saw him as the man who made your body feel things that it had never felt before and that had your heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush. The part that recognized that he was so easy to talk and joke with. The great sex wasn’t a bummer either.

His smirk was replaced by a genuine smile as he pulled you down and gave you a kiss that had your toes curling. He moaned into your mouth as you slowly ground your hips against his, your fingers tugging at the hair by his neck. His tongue massaged yours, letting you know exactly who was in charge at this moment. His hands ran underneath your tank top, fingers tracing up your spine before reaching the front and giving your nipples a slight twist.

He moved his mouth from yours and peppered kisses along the side of your neck as he lifted the tank top over your head. He threw it to the side as his mouth attached to your protruding bud while his fingers pinched and toyed with the other one. Skillfully, and with his mouth still attached to you, Steve flipped you over so your back was on the couch and he was on top of you. He lifted his head, his blue eyes clouded with lust as he started kissing down from the center of your chest, down your stomach and down your legs as he pulled your sweats along with him.

He hummed as he spread your bottom lips apart with his fingers, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. You wiggled your hips against his face but he responded with a smack against your core.

“Honey, you gotta learn who’s in charge here and who’s-“ he kissed your clit ever so slightly, teasing you. “Just a little cock slut.”

His tongue circled over your bundle of nerves while fingers toyed with your slick. Gently he pushed two fingers into your pussy. Your eyes fluttered closed as his steady rhythm and flick of his tongue brought your orgasm to the forefront.

“Shit, Steve…” you whimpered, gripping his hair and pulling him close. “Oh fuck, I’m close!”

“Let me taste you, princess.” Steve growled. You nearly lost it at the sigh of your juices dripping from his chin. “Give it to me like the good girl you are.”

“Oh god!” You called out as he hit that spongy spot that caused your thighs to tighten around his head. Your body spasmed as it rode out your orgasm. Your chest heaving and your legs shaking as he slowly pulled his fingers from you. A moan was caught in your throat as you watched him put his soaked fingers between his lips, a look of pure satisfaction covering his perfect face.

Steve leaned his body over yours but careful not to let his full weight fall on you. He ran his nose up the side of your neck, along your cheek before letting it rub against your own. You grabbed his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. There was something so erotic about tasting yourself when your tongues met.

“Show me your bedroom?” Steve pulled away. You gave a weak nod. Steve stood up and hoisted you up, your legs weak beneath you.

“Poor baby.” He cooed in your ear. “Only one orgasm down and already can’t walk. I can’t imagine how you’ll be when I’m done with you.”

With that he lifted you and walked down your short hallway to the bedroom. In your hazy, post orgasm mind you hoped the mattress was comfy. You hadn’t even tested out beforehand.

Steve threw you on the bed and you sighed as you fell into the cloud. You leaned back on your elbows and watched as Steve unbuttoned the new shirt and trousers he had on. You stifled your laughter thinking about the wine stained ones back at his house.

“Something amusing to you, sweetheart?” He grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards the end of the bed. He lifted your foot up, setting it over his shoulder as he kissed the inside of your calf.

“No, sir.” You teased.

“You’re a bad liar.” He nipped at your knee.

Not as bad as you might think.

Steve made you come at least four more times that night. Your body completely spent when he finally rolled over and laid next to you, yours and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You rolled over and threw your leg and arm over his body, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. Steve’s fingers toyed with yours as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Spend the night?” You asked into the darkness. It was nearly three in the morning and your eyes were slowly closing no matter how much you willed them to stay open.

“I have some business things that I have to take care of early in the morning.” He answered, his fingers running up and down your arm.

“Oh, okay.” You said sadly. Steve’s chest rumbled with light laughter as he brought your hand that was in his up to his lips and gave it a kiss. You were soon realizing that he was actually a very affectionate person.

“But I want you to come back to the house tomorrow. I’ll send one of my guys for you in the afternoon.”

“Really?” You sat up. Steve blindly reached for your nightstand and turned on the lamp that was on it. His hair was tousled from the numerous times you had run your fingers through it and his lips were red and swollen. He looked like the epitome of sex and it was fucking hot.

“Yes, really.” He chuckled. He grabbed your phone that was on the nightstand and held it out for you to unlock. You did quickly and he took it back and started typing. “I don’t give out my personal number to a lot of people.”

“So I’m special.” You wiggled in your spot, a grin covering your face.

“Yes. You are.” Steve looked back at you and you were taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. He handed your phone back to you and you laughed at the name he had for his contact: Steve Rogers and an eggplant emoji.

“You’re a child.” You giggled.

Steve rolled his eyes and got out of bed and you took the time to appreciate his bum as he walked over to get his pants.

You gathered the soft sheets in your hand and brought them up to your chest. Although you weren’t sure what you were trying to hide, he had seen it all.

Once he was dressed and you slipped on a robe that you found hanging behind the door, you walked him out. He stood in your doorframe, his large figure making the space seem very small. He smiled as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your head and leaned down and gave you a kiss.

“Make sure to lock all the doors behind me. And text me when you wake up tomorrow.” He demanded softly.

“Mmmkay, I will.” You said hazily.

“Go get some sleep, princess.” He laughed as he pushed away from the door and walked to the elevator. You watched as he got in and gave you a quick wave before whipping out his phone to make a call.

Once he was out of sight you closed the door softly, making sure to bolt everything before heading back to your bed. You were too tired to even clean up before you passed out.

[beyondspaceandstars]

hello writer!! i was wondering if you could do a fluff arranged marriage loki oneshot with the prompt “can we makeout now?”

thanks for considering!

Dating and Marriage

Relationship: Loki x Reader

Warnings: N/A, just fluff!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: alright i hope this is okay and ended up well i love the arrange marriage AU and i thought i was gonna be better at putting this together but maybe its clunky or something idk i still like it so i hope you do as well!

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It had taken you a while to get somewhere in your relationship with Loki.

When the two of you were informed you had already been promised to one another before either of your births, you weren’t too shocked. As both of you came from royal standings, arranged marriages were far too common for a variety of reasons. In your case, it was to cement a peace treaty.

Sure, at first, you and Loki were very annoyed with the decision, especially since neither of you was ever even given the chance to be in on the conversation but that annoyance wasn’t allowed for very long. You two were adults now and had to take on your royal responsibilities as such. That responsibility included following through on the outlined marriage.

Loki didn’t seem to harbor any malice towards you and you never held anything against him. But, still, it wasn’t like you two were in love. You were tolerating one another.

And for a while, that toleration was enough. As a couple, you were quite poised in public. Sometimes you thought maybe it was hard for others to believe it was an arranged marriage based on how much you seemed to accept each other’s company. It was okay at times, you felt like you had a friend. Being a royal in a whole new palace could be lonely. Loki at least would spare you some time to sit and chat.

But this unusual friendship you two had started after the wedding was growing into something else for you day by day. And as much as he probably wanted to deny it, you could see something shift within Loki. He’d look at you differently. Reach for your hand when out of the public eye. Even began inviting you to spend his leisure time with him.

There was no avoiding the fact you two were headed on a different course than originally planned in this arrangement and despite its prevalence, you two didn’t speak about it. But you were growing greatly tired of ignoring it.

"We should go on a date," you suddenly said one afternoon. You and Loki were sitting in the library. He was in his favorite chair, consumed with some fairytale while you were seated on the couch across from him, in the process of knitting…something. You didn’t know what — you had only taken up knitting because you had heard other princesses did it. Making scarves had become all the rage.

You could feel Loki eyeing you suspiciously as you tried working on another stitch.

Eventually, he placed his book to the side and spoke. "A date?" Loki echoed.

You shrugged, not taking your eyes off the yarn. "Yeah, a date. You know, just the two of us. We could go out or — or maybe make some dinner here. I’ve been having the kitchen servants teach me about cooking."

"I know what a date is," he sighed. "What I meant is, why should we go on a date? We’re already married."

You felt a bit defeated with that response. You set your yarn on your lap and looked at your husband. He was watching you quite intensely, waiting for your answer. You shivered under the icy stare.

"Y-You don’t want to—"

Loki cut you off abruptly. "I didn’t say that." He glanced down then back at you. "It’s just that… Dates are for wooing, yes? Why would I need that when I can already tell you’re taken with me."

Your heart dropped. You blinked at him, stunned. You hadn’t expected him to just…admit he knew what was working up in your mind. There was some pride in his eyes at your reaction but behind it, you could make out a hint of fascination.

You tried shaking off your pounding heart. You promptly picked back up the yarn, continuing your hopeless scarf, as you responded, "Have you never considered that maybe your wife still wants to be wooed despite the status of her interest."

"So you admit," he chuckled, "you have fallen for me."

You scoffed, "Don’t act all high and mighty. I’m well aware of how you look at me."

You heard Loki lean back in the chair as the leather of it creaked. You could feel his eyes roaming over you but you didn’t know in what capacity. Whatever was in his eyes now you were ignoring as you frantically tried to focus on knitting and not your love confession.

"Okay," he eventually said. "We’ll have a date."

It was impossible for you to hold back the smile forming on your lips.

***

After minimal deliberation, Loki agreed to let you cook for him. You had heard that the Midgardians used food as signs of love and were fascinated with trying to learn some dishes. You studied with the servants for days trying to perfect a meal. They were always a little uncertain about letting a princess in where servant frequented but once you explained this time you were cooking to please your husband, they giggled like schoolgirls, excited to help.

Once you felt prepared enough, you informed your husband of when you wanted the date. You may have had to do some rework of both your royal schedules but it was fine. Meetings are forever, love can be fleeting.

You were preparing the food when Loki hesitantly entered the kitchen. You had explained that you two would be eating at the kitchen table. It was just a little table where servants usually sat to eat meals or relax in between shifts.

Loki had originally protested this saying he was not of such low status. You assured him that there was no intimacy to be found at the grand dining hall. It was far too big and annoying for two people. He didn’t argue further, just mumbling that he’d be there at the time requested.

And, luckily, he followed through.

"Hi, honey," you smiled, watching the stew simmer above the flame.

Loki took his seat gently as if he was going to catch something from the table. "This is really what you wanted to do for our date?"

You nodded. "I’ve had so much fun learning this meal and doesn’t it smell great? I think it’s going to be nice. I ever have bread baking." You motioned towards the stone oven. Loki followed your gaze but didn’t look impressed yet.

"We could’ve very easily had someone make this for us," Loki pointed out. "We have that luxury, darling."

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your bubbling stew. You could feel your anger bubbling in the same fashion.

"That’s not the point, Loki," you said, the tone in the kitchen shifting as you spoke his name. You rarely ever did. He perked up as you continued, "The point is that I, your wife, like you and would like to express my adornment through a freshly cooked meal."

Loki fell silent with that, something that was so rare for him. You didn’t push any further, though, and instead killed the fire under the stew and presented your bread from the oven. You divided it out into individual portions then placed each on the table. Still with an annoyed, sour look, you sat across from your husband. He was watching the stew, you were watching him.

"It—It looks delicious," he said

"Thank you," you mumbled. You two dug in then, this date now turning out a bit more awkward than you had planned. Neither of you spoke for a while, instead filling the kitchen with the slurping of soup and chewing of bread.

Loki soon began looking between you and the food like he was working up the courage to say something which was absolutely ridiculous to you. Your husband was one of the most outspoken people in the realm.

Eventually, you just decided to look up at him, your eyes begging for him to say whatever he wanted to say.

"This meal is lovely," Loki eventually said. "Th-Thank you for…doing all this."

You smiled, a faint blush creeping up on your cheeks. "You’re welcome."

Loki finished his stew then asked, "What else should we do on this date?"

Now you were really blushing. While taking your little cooking classes, you asked the servants what else goes on on dates. They seemed like lovely girls and you were curious. You had heard stories before of dancing and parties but you wanted something more intimate and you had never actually been on much of a date before. You spent time with boys in your youth and the night before your wedding you and Loki had talked for a little bit but nothing was ever of such fashion.

One servant had informed you, quite shyly, that she and her boyfriend always finished their dates by making out. You had gasped, amazed at her bluntness but then remembered these were servant girls. They lived far less controlled lives than you.

You were partially envious but then you realized, technically, you had a husband. A husband who was capable of making out with you even if such actions and beyond were typically reserved for very a calculated time — heir bearing, such intimacy only happened during the time when potential conception was at its peak.

"Well," you said, running your spoon through your bowl of stew, "one of the servants that helped me said her and her boyfriend end their dates with make-outs."

"Making out?" Loki repeated, brows raised in surprise. "But it’s not—"

"I know."

He looked away. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. "You want to make out with me for fun."

You giggled at his shock. "Is that so unbelievable? I thought we already established I am into my husband."

"Yes, but you, well, neither of us, have never been so bold before."

"But it’s not such a bad thing," you shrugged, "to be so bold."

Loki hummed in agreement as he eyed you. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you definitely knew something between you two had shifted. It had already been shifting, sure, but your newly expressed desires opened the dam walls.

"Alright, dear, I think I can indulge you."

You smiled at his excitement which he was certainly trying to hide. But you maybe wanted to take a moment to maybe mess with him a bit. "Hmm," you glanced around at the dirty pots and pans, "after we clean up."

Loki’s jaw dropped. "What?"

"We can get on with our date once we clean up."

"You’re kidding me, right?" He pointedly asked. You shook your head. Loki huffed, "When did my wife become such a tease?"

You stood up, collecting your bowls and plates, bringing them to the counter. "I’ve always been like this, honey," you said. "Maybe you just have to get to know me a little bit more."

Loki began stalking towards you as you pretended to be fooling with the dirty dishes. "Well, darling," he said as his hands came upon your hips, "there’s something you must know about me and it’s that I don’t like to be kept waiting."

"I can maybe leave all this for later if you ask nicely."

He scoffed. "Are you asking me to beg?"

You shook your head. "I’m just asking you to ask nicely."

"Fine," he sighed. "Please, can we make out now?"

You sighed, leaning into his hard body. His arms moved to wrap around your waist now. "Yes, your majesty."

Loki chuckled lowly, dangerously, in your ear. "Thank you, princess."

He leaned his head around and within seconds, your lips were captured with his, getting more and more lost in one another as you two become a miss of kisses and touches.