#stands pensively in the living room!!!!!!!

[captain-hawks]

“i think iwa-chan’s in love with you.”

startled, you whip around to see the pensive look on oikawa’s face as he sits down on your new couch and looks around at the equally new furniture that now fills the rest of the living room.

glancing up from inspecting the array of trinkets on the bookshelf, mattsun nods in agreement.

you look between the two of them, bewildered.

sure, iwaizumi’s one of your best friends. but so are they.

(the years-long crush you’ve had on him is neither here nor there.)

“it’s the ikea effect,” mattsun says with a shrug, reaching out with a finger to spin your miniature globe on its axis.

“the what?”

makki sprawls out on the couch as well, kicking his feet across oikawa’s lap; they’re promptly shoved off. “i asked iwaizumi if he’d come over and help me build ikea furniture once. he told me he’d rather die.”

“to be fair, we almost killed each other building that tv stand,” mattsun adds.

“i tricked him into coming over after i bought an ikea dresser that needed to be built, and he took one look at the box and walked right out,” oikawa scoffs.

you blink at all three of them, heart doing something funny in your chest. “i mean, maybe he just felt obligated because he went with me and helped me pick most of it out—“

“i’m sorry, he fucking WHAT—“

“—HE WENT WITH YOU?”

“IWAIZUMI HAJIME STEPPED FOOT INTO AN IKEA OF HIS OWN FREE WILL?”

at that, the door to your new apartment swings open, and there’s a familiar, affectionate flutter in your chest at the head of dark hair that steps inside.

“i picked up those curtains you were talking about last night…” iwaizumi immediately starts talking, trailing off when he belatedly realizes you’re not alone.

oikawa hops up off of the couch, pointing an accusing finger at the logo on the shopping bag clutched in iwaizumi’s hand as he looks from mattsun to makki and trills in a singsong tone, “remember what happened last time one of us tried to get him to come to bed, bath, and beyond?”

“he said he’d rather die,” mattsun and makki reply blandly in unison.

iwaizumi gives the three of them a weird look and shakes his head as he turns down the hallway to use the bathroom. makki and oikawa start making kissy faces at each other until you smack them both with a throw pillow.

—and you try to hide the slight trembling of your fingers, shuddering in tune with the rapid beating of your traitorous heart, as you reach into the bag to take out the curtains.

(you decide not to announce when you subsequently find a bag of your favorite candy waiting in surprise at the bottom.)

[halfire]

i've been like. on my own more or less for so long i do not know how to. react. to things. and shit. i genuinely feel. like i have brain damage sometimes, how do people have. responses to things. every time. you can think in full sentences?? youve got thoughts that you can express???? i open my mouth and the only thing that comes out is a cacophony of "um! uh!"

[mostly-imagines]

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Touch Tank

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k (look it wasn't supposed to be this many- my characters got away from me)

Warnings: sheesh, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjob, creampie, Loki is very soft and worshiping, unprotected sex (be safe) I think that's it idk this is kind of mild compared to some of my other stuff- could be waaaay more raunchy lmao

Genre: fluff, smut

Summary: Loki is not the easiest person to get close to, but you're not deterred by his standoffishness. He deserves a friend in the tower and you're determined to be at least that much.

He's so pretty when he goes down on me // he tells me he's gentle when he wants to be // I think he wants to be gentle with me ~ Touch Tank by Quinnie

***

You rush down the hall, excited for your night out with a group of your non-Avenger friends. You make a point to see your other friends as often as you can to balance those relationships with your ones on the team. After all, living with the Avengers means that you see them all the time, but being an Avenger is not all there is to you. Walking into the main room you're surprised to see Loki sitting at the kitchen counter, just kind of staring at nothing.

"You alright Lo?" You ask him carefully. Your question seems to pull him out of whatever trance he was in.

"I'm fine." He says, though his face isn't convincing.

"Okay? Happy staring- I'm going out so- I'll see you later then." You frown heading over to the main elevator. Loki's not exactly close to anyone in the tower except Thor, and even that he'd argue is false but you always make a point to include him even when the others ignore him a bit. As you ride down to street level you can't help but wonder what has him so pensive up there by himself. On the street, waiting for a taxi to flag down, you can't get yourself to shake Loki from your mind so- reluctantly you dial one of your friends.

"Y/n!" Your friend's excited voice practically yells down the line.

"Hey! Listen, you know I hate to do this, and I wouldn't if it wasn't important, but I'm not going to be able to make it out tonight, something's come up. I'm okay, I just can't come. You guys have fun! I want loads of pictures and a play-by-play once one of you returns to life tomorrow yeah?"

"Aw we're gonna miss you!"

"Ditto! But I'll see you guys soon! Tell the girls I said hi!" You say.

"Of course! Take care, and call if you need anything!"

"Same to you!" You blow a kiss as you end the call and sigh. "Dammit Loki." You roll your eyes as you turn around and go back inside. You ride the elevator back up to the main floor where Loki is still sitting at the counter. You knock on the counter in front of him and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Aren't you meant to be going somewhere?" Loki's eyes narrow at you.

"I was, but I called my friend on my way down and she's actually not feeling too hot so we decided it'd be best to reschedule once she's feeling better." You shrug. You know better than to tell him you cancelled your plans because you saw him moping at the counter. He'd flip at the first possible hint of you pitying him, even though that isn't what this is.

"I see."

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" You offer.

"What?" He scoffs.

"Well- I was supposed to be spending time interacting with people tonight and that fell through but I'd feel kinda bummed if I spent the whole evening alone now after all the mental prep to be social so if you can be so terribly bothered to hang out for a bit I'd- value that." You say. Loki looks you over as he considers your words and then he sighs.

"I suppose I could spare a few hours, but only because I can't stand watching you mope around the tower the way you do whenever you're disappointed, it's pathetic. But this favor is a huge inconvenience to me I just want you to know that." He says and you have to fight the urge to smile. You know the show of bravado is for his own sake more than anything, and you're willing to let him have it, but it's funny to think of how much rationalizing he's doing to convince himself it's alright to spend time with you.

"Your sacrifice is both duly noted and greatly appreciated. I can offer you compensation in the form of a meal or freshly baked cookies." You say. Loki's eyes light up very briefly at the offer of cookies, he'll never admit it out loud but he loves your baking, he always eats almost half a tray when you make them.

"You know Midgardian food has very little appeal to me, but I suppose a batch of cookies will do." He says with feigned disinterest.

"Do you want them now or at a later date?"

"I have no interest in dragging this out, so now would be better."

"Alright, give me five minutes to change, I'll make you some cookies and we can throw on a movie." You smile at him. You change out of your dress and into a hoodie and shorts. Twenty minutes later you're sat with a tray of cookies and a few other small bites with some random sitcom on the TV.

"I don't understand the point of this. Is there even a plotline?" Loki scoffs.

"Yes but only a little one."

"A little one?"

"So there are a number of shows that you can throw on and watch out of order with little consequence. Like if you do watch every episode in order there is a throughline of like character development and life changes but if you jump into, let's say, season 3 episode 2, you'll just see some funny little antics that are mostly inconsequential and chances are will not come up again until maybe the finale where they recount all their little goofs over the years." You explain.

"Why?"

"Mindless entertainment? It's nice to have something to watch that you don't have to be aware of watching." You shrug. "Lots of shows have complex storylines and characters that need to be paid attention to in order to comprehend what you're watching. Sometimes you don't want to do all of that." You shrug.

"If you don't want to think about what you're watching, why watch anything?" He frowns.

"Pass the time, fill the silence, any number of things. Like we have one on but we're talking now so we're not really paying it any attention, but because it's a sitcom we're not missing anything vital because there's nothing vital to miss. And when this conversation lulls to a stop we'll just tune back in and pick up wherever it's at."

"Your Midgardian habits are very strange." Loki hums.

"What do you do when you're bored and want to be entertained without much effort?" You ask him.

"That specific phenomenon I'm not quite familiar with. If I'm bored, I read, practice spells, on Asgard there wasn't much time for boredom." He shrugs.

"Well, things are different on Midgard. And seeing as you hate everyone and everything about this place you may find yourself well acquainted with that specific phenomenon sooner than you might think." You say.

You gotta say you're pretty proud of your ability to interact positively with Loki. When he first started living here you never would've guessed you'd be watching movies and having silly conversations like this. He's always been rather closed off from the team but perhaps that's something you can actually work around.

*~*~*

"Loki!" You call when you catch him in the hall.

"What?" He rolls his eyes.

"Are you busy?" You ask.

"Why?" His eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Well I was meant to go to the aquarium with Thor today-"

"Thor is on Asgard." Loki says.

"Yes exactly." You nod. You weren't meant to do anything with Thor today, but it seems the key to the trickster god is minor deceptions.

"Did he forget you were going to this 'aquarium' today?"

"It would appear so. Which- I'm not mad about really but these tickets did cost money and I can't exchange them for another date so I was hoping you'd be able to replace him that way the ticket doesn't go to waste." You explain to him.

"You don't have anyone else you could ask?" He huffs.

"Not on such short notice." You shake your head.

"How short is short notice?"

"We need to be there in forty minutes."

"Oh you have got to be kidding me." Loki scoffs.

"If you come with me, when we get back I'll bake you a batch of cookies." You offer. It seems to be the easiest way to get him to do things. You watch Loki contemplate for a moment before he caves to his inner discussion although you're not sure there was much of a debate once you offered baked goods.

"Very well, I'll go so you don't waste your money, but you can't keep bringing your nonsense to me in exchange for cookies." He says.

"Of course not!" You smile knowing damn well you will be doing it again if you see fit. Loki will never admit to enjoying your company or wanting you to make him cookies, but considering he always accepts your offers and never truly complains when you're together, you know the irritation is only a front. "We'll leave in 15 minutes 'kay?"

"Very well." He says. You head back to your room to get yourself together and 15 minutes later you meet Loki by the kitchen.

"Ready Lo?" You ask.

"Yes let's get on with it." He says. You loop your arm through his as you leave the tower and you're surprised he doesn't protest the contact, but you won't bring it up. At the aquarium, you excitedly talk about all your favorite exhibits as you walk from section to section. "So what was the plan exactly?" Loki asks.

"What?"

"With Thor, why were you bringing him here in the first place?"

"Oh! Well because there's a lot he still wants to learn about Earth so I've been trying to take him places where he can learn a number of things at the same time." You shrug.

"And how is that going?"

"We've done the zoo and a couple of museums already so I'd say not bad. Oh, we're by the jellyfish, you should see the touch tank!" You say.

"The what now?" Loki frowns. You grab his hand and lead him to the shallow tank of water off to one side.

"This is a touch tank. These are jellyfish, they're like 95% water and don't have brains, some of them are dangerous, but these ones are pretty harmless and you can touch them! Only on the tops of their heads though. Like this." You lift his hand up and push down all but two of his fingers and then slowly, you guide his hand into the water. "You have to be gentle." You tell him softly as you let his fingers touch the top of a moon jelly in the pool. You turn to Loki with a small smile only to find him already looking at you very intensely.

"I'm quite gentle when I want to be." He says quietly. You step back a bit and clear your throat, dipping your own fingers in to touch a jellyfish for yourself.

"Well I hope you want to be gentle with the moon jellies. This is one of my favorite things here." You tell him.

"So anyone can just walk up and pet the jellyfish?" 

"Yeah! Isn't it cool?"

"Sure." He nods.

"Wait till you see some of the other Jellyfish they've got here! They're insane!" You take his hand again and walk further into the jellyfish exhibit.

"They have more open tanks of creatures?"

"Oh- no all the other Jellyfish are in closed tanks." You giggle.

"Just as well, you said some are dangerous, no?"

"Well, yes, but aren't they just so beautiful?" You say looking at one of the tanks.

"Breathtaking." Loki says before he can help himself. He clears his throat, lucky you're so captivated with the floating water creatures that you don't even notice his eyes on you as opposed to the exhibits.

"Thank you for coming with me." You tell him.

"You bribed me."

"True- but you still could have said no. Especially since you're not even a fan of our, how do you say it? 'Mediocre Midgardian food'."

"Yes well, you pout when you're disappointed and it's incredibly displeasing to see. The whole tower suffers your moods. And while Midgardian food is mediocre yours is- the least. Plus I can rub this in Thor's face."

"I see you really weighed those pros and cons." You chuckle.

"I must. If I'm to disrupt my entire afternoon on such short notice." He shrugs. You roll your eyes and pull him through to the next exhibit but the smile on your face can't be hidden.

~*~*~

You hum to yourself as you enter the tower library.

"Good morning Loki." You say immediately spotting him on one of the lounge chairs. He's always in here, it's like his sanctuary and over the last few weeks you've found it easy to interact with him.

"It's 3pm y/n."

"It's morning somewhere Lo, time is arbitrary, don't be a grump." You shrug.

"What are you doing here anyway?" He rolls his eyes.

"Utilizing the insane collection of books we have considering there's only like 3 people living here that would ever pick up a book for from here."

"You've been coming here a lot lately."

"Why should you be the only one taking advantage of this big otherwise undisturbed room?"

"The best part of this room is that none of you come here."

"If you want to not run the risk of having to interact with anyone who lives here to might I suggest your room which has a lock on it." You smile brightly.

"Very funny." Loki scoffs.

"I thought so too!" You snap back. Loki gives you a dry look.

"Must you be so-"

"Charming? Witty? Adorable?"

"Not quite the adjectives I would've chosen." He says.

"Well next time finish your sentence." You wink at him.

"Are you trying to get under my skin?"

"Of course not! But it's pretty easy."

"Why must you bother me?" His eyes narrow.

"Maybe because you like talking to me more than you want to admit."

"And why would you think that?"

"Because you always do."

"Do what?"

"I'm sure you can figure that out." You say turning to leave the library.

"Do what y/n!?" He calls after you. "You didn't even get a book!" He shouts as the library doors close behind you. Loki frowns to himself for a moment and then decides to contact the only person he'd ever go to for advice on any subject. A looking glass spell slowly brings Frigga to life above his palm.

"Mother." He gets her attention.

"Loki?" Frigga picks up her looking glass with a smile. "Hello my darling boy. So lovely to hear from you. Thor tells me you're well."

"In the physical sense, yes." Loki nods.

"What troubles you my dear son?"

"I think Midgardian women might be more confusing than those on Asgard." Loki says.

"A woman? Do you feel for her?"

"Don't be ridiculous mother." Loki's words come out as a breathless chuckle.

"It is not ridiculous. She plagues your mind. Why, if you do not feel for her?"

"Truthfully I'm not sure." He frowns.

"Have you considered that you feel for her?"

"How would I know?"

"I believe the fact that you are asking may perhaps be a strong indicator already. This girl, do you see her often?"

"She lives here so yes." He nods.

"I mean intentionally darling." Frigga smiles.

"What?"

"Walking past her in the hallways is not quite what I'm referring to."

"Oh- well she's the least insufferable person here so- sometimes, yes. Though it's usually her bribing me to do things when her other plans fall through."

"What do you mean?"

"Well she invited me to this water creature house they call an aquarium a couple of weeks ago because Thor forgot he was meant to go with her."

"Are you sure Thor was meant to go with her?" She asks.

"I don't follow." Loki shakes his head.

"I wonder if this girl is playing tricks on my trickster." Frigga smiles knowingly.

"Do you overestimate her or underestimate me to believe I could be outsmarted by a mortal?"

"It is not a blow Loki, be calm my son. She plagues your mind when she is not there, she has made her way to a spot many people never have the pleasure of knowing within you. I believe she has stolen your heart and even you do not know it yet."

"What makes you think that?"

"In all your years Loki you have never once asked me about a girl. And this one seems to have you quite... wrapped."

"I resent that notion." He scoffs.

"What made you contact me?"

"Well she was-" Loki stops himself, his mother has already decided Loki is a goner, perhaps he shouldn't feed her any more information.

"She was with you Loki?"

"I spend a lot of time in the library. She came by and we had a short conversation that's all."

"What did she say?" Frigga asks.

"She thinks I like her more than I do. Or rather more than I will admit. I asked her why and she refused to answer."

"Well- what would lead her to believe that?"

"I have no idea." Loki scoffs.

"How is your relationship with her different than with the others?"

"I don't speak to the others. I only speak to her and Thor."

"Tell me about her."

"She is- happy, but not like Thor- his happiness is loud and aggressive she is- a calmer happiness. She seems to be crucial to the peace in this madhouse. Not for me, for everyone. She's also frustratingly smart, she has a comeback for everything and- it's nice to feel as though someone on this dreadful planet can match me- even if I find it vexing at times. Also she bakes- I don't quite enjoy Midgardian food but her treats are quite good though I refuse to tell her that-"

"I'm sure she knows." Frigga says with a soft smile.

"Why are you smiling like that."

"If you could see your face when you speak of this girl you would know like I know that your heart is no longer yours."

"My heart is very much still-"

"No darling. You may not realize but your mind has already given your heart to her. Follow your heart to her. Allow yourself to go there. It will do you good and you deserve it."

"Mother I cannot." He shakes his head.

"You can, and I suggest you do soon. If you do not tell her she has your heart you risk her unknowingly breaking it. Though I sense she is more aware than you may think. Certainly she's more aware than you are."

"You keep saying that-"

"There was no day planned with Thor. I would bet money she wanted to go with you, but you are a tricky thing. To catch fox you must think like one."

"What do I do mother? If you are right and this girl does have me, what do I do?" Loki asks.

"Be kind, be honest, be true. Don't wait too long." Frigga warns.

"Don't wait too long?" He frowns.

"Yes child, that woman will not wait forever for you to wake up."

"What if she is not waiting?"

"You misunderstand. I'm not saying she is waiting on you to come to your senses what I'm saying is that affections change one day she may not enjoy your time as she does now, someone serious may woo her and you miss your chance entirely, stars forbid it but something could happen to her or you. Do not get in your own way Loki, you have a tendency to do that."

"I do not get in my own way."

"Loki." Frigga says, leveling her son with an unimpressed look.

"I will consider your advice mother thank you." Loki cedes.

"Good. I will expect an update soon so be prepared for me to check in."

"Of course mother. Take care."

"You too my son." Frigga sets her looking glass down and Loki disconnects his end of the spell with a sigh. If Frigga is correct, Loki has much to consider, and rather quickly based on her warnings.

*~*~*

When the door to the library opens you don't bother looking up. The book you're reading is far too interesting to stop mid-page.

"What are you doing?" Loki jumps when he walks passed you. You look up momentarily, debating how badly you want to make a stupid joke.

"I'm practicing my backhand spring." You say flatly.

"You're sitting on the couch?"

"I'm also holding a book and yet you asked what I'm doing. I don't know what answer you expected honestly." You shrug.

"I just meant you're not usually sitting around in here."

"Is reading in the library that odd to you?" You chuckle.

"Well- no. I was just expecting the library to be empty." He says.

"Would you like me to leave?"

"Why would you offer to leave? You were here first."

"Yeah but I can read anywhere. Your hermit tendencies limit your spaces far more than mine."

"I am not a hermit." Loki rolls his eyes.

"Of course not." You hum.

"I'm not. I just have no desire to waste my time having unintelligent conversations with the uncultured morons that live here."

"Well don't let me bother you then."

"Not you, the others. And you can obviously stay."

"Why thank you for deeming me worthy enough to stay in your presence." You quip dramatically.

"It's not as if you care what I deem anyhow."

"True, that was sarcasm. Happy reading." You turn your attention back to your book and though Loki would like the conversation to continue he can't think of anything to say to justify pulling your focus from the book you're so clearly captivated by. You're in the library with your book for a few more hours and during that time Loki cannot help the way his eyes wander to you every so often, he doesn't even realize it's happening at first but once he does his mother's words that have been in his head for the past 2 weeks ring even louder.

~*~*~

"Y/n!" Wanda practically sings as she walks, no from the sound of it she's skipping, over to you at the kitchen island.

"Yes Wanda my dear?" You chuckle, setting your sandwich back on its plate.

"You know our coffee shop?"

"Around the block?"

"Yep!" She nods.

"What of it?"

"Well I heard through the grapevine that someone who works there has a crush on you."

"You heard- through the grapevine?" You quirk up an eyebrow at her.

"Cassie told me."

"How did you end up in that conversation?" You chuckle.

"Not the point, we should go down there!" She suggests excitedly.

"I'm eating a sandwich-"

"Not right now, tomorrow morning."

"You wanna tell me- who this mystery crush is? Because I'm not going anywhere if you don't tell me." You say biting your sandwich.

"It's Elliot."

"Oh he's cute-"

"Wanda." Vision calls as the main elevator arrives.

"Soooo we'll game plan when I get back?" She asks walking backwards.

"Fine." You shake your head and chuckle as she disappears in the elevator with Vision. You take a bite of your sandwich, presumably alone again, only to hear a throat clearing from behind you. You look over your shoulder to find Loki the source of the sound.

"Oh hi Loki." You say covering your mouth.

"Hello." He mutters.

"What brings you out of hiding today?"

"I'm not a hibernating bear you know."

"Of course not." You hum. Loki opens the fridge to grab something to drink, although it's mostly just so he can convince himself to bite the bullet and confess to you before this 'Elliot' from the coffee shop has an opportunity to turn your head like his mother warned him of.

"Do you have a moment? I know you're- eating but I'd like to talk- about something." He says awkwardly.

"Sure. I can use multiple senses at once. What's up?" You ask taking another bite of your sandwich. Loki opens his mouth a couple of times before he frowns. "Is something wrong Loki?"

"I don't know." He says, brows furrowed as he looks at the floor.

"You don't know if something's wrong? Are you dizzy? Dehydrated? Feverish? Do you need to sit down?" You sit up, concerned.

"No, I don't."

"You sure? You look kind of- constipated. I think you should sit down."

"I don't want to y/n." He grits out.

"Okay, calm down no need to get angry with me for caring."

"You said I look constipated!"

"Well you do! But only a little bit!"

"This is not going at all how I planned it?"

"What are you on about Loki?" You frown.

"Nothing it was just way easier to do this in my head."

"Easier to do what?"

"Never mind. Enjoy your lunch." Loki pivots and you almost knock over your barstool trying to stop him from leaving the kitchen.

"Not so fast god of mischief tell me what it is you're so panicked about."

"It's nothing y/n." He rolls his eyes.

"Nonsense. If it were nothing you wouldn't have made such a big deal out of it in the first place." You tell him.

"Yes, I over reacted, which is what I just realized and why I'm no longer interested in having this conversation." He says completely avoiding your gaze.

"Don't be a coward Loki." You snap.

"I beg your pardon?" His eyes widen.

"Don't be a coward. I've never known you to shy away from sharing your thoughts even when nobody asked don't tell me suddenly you're incapable of speaking your mind."

"I am far from incapable." He says.

"So spill it." You push.

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're not who I thought you were."

"Over a personal thought?" His eyebrow raises.

"It's the principle. What have you got to lose that makes you so fearful of your own voice?"

"Something I didn't even realize was important to me until recently." He says quietly.

"What's that?" You ask. Loki's eyes scan your face for a long moment, and if not for how close you are you'd swear he's holding his breath for how shallow it is.

"You." He whispers.

"I'm not going anywhere." You shake your head.

"I'm afraid you may take that back if you hear that which I refuse to say." He says.

"Is the reward worth the risk?" You ask.

"If I'm lucky."

"I'm disappointed that you see me as someone so easily run off Loki."

"That's not what this is." He shakes his head.

"No? It sounds like it."

"Do you see me as somebody that could be loved?"

"Of course I do. Thor loves you unconditionally. Your mother too from what I've heard."

"Do you see me as somebody that could be loved, by you?" This question is far more hesitant.

"Is that what you want?"

"In time, yes." He nods and a stray giggle escapes your lips.

"That's what you thought would drive me away?!" You shake your head. "Maybe you haven't noticed but I put quite a bit of effort into creating time to spend with you."

"Oh come on it's mostly coincidence, your friends canceling or Thor forgetting you had plans."

"You silly trickster. I chose to spend that time with you." You say.

"To be clear- does that mean you're as taken with me as I am with you?" Loki asks.

"You're taken with me?!" You blink at him in shock.

"Yes was I not clear about-"

"I'm joking Loki I just wanted to hear you say it directly." You smile.

"You vex me." He breathes out.

"And yet you like me anyway. Even more than I expected."

"Don't boast."

"How can I not?" You ask.

"I can think of a few ways to stop you."

"You can try Loki but I'm not so easily swayed." You taunt. Loki's hand comes up to your cheek and he kisses you. His lips are soft and he kisses you as if he's got all the time in the world. When Loki pulls away your eyes flutter open with surprise.

"How's that for sway?" He smirks.

"I'll admit that wasn't a terrible start." You breathe.

"Oh yeah?" Loki lifts you into his arms suddenly and you squeal in surprise as he carries you to his room. He lays you gently on his bed and kisses you again. "Not a terrible start is not enough." He hums trailing to your neck, peppering your throat with kisses and light nibbles. Loki pulls your shirt over your head. "Stars above you're beautiful." He mutters trailing his fingers delicately across your newly exposed skin.

"I'm not a flower you know." You giggle, the soft touches making you feel ticklish.

"What do you mean?" He frowns.

"Nothing bad. You're just being much more gentle than I'd have expected." You tell him caressing his face. He pauses for a moment as you trace his features.

"Do you remember what I said at the aquarium?"

"About the hammerhead shark reminding you of-"

"No about being gentle you silly girl." He says with a disbelieving chuckle.

"Oh! Yes that you can be when you want to be."

"Precisely."

"I didn't realize it applied elsewhere."

"Do you not like gentle?"

"Gentle is good." You shake your head. "Just unexpected." You smile. Loki returns your smile and leans down to press kisses down your abdomen. He pulls your shorts and panties off together, kissing your calf ones you're freed from the fabric. Loki's eyes are on you as his lips glide up your leg, opened mouthed kisses until he reaches your thigh where he bites at the skin, just enough for you to feel it. With one last kiss to your hip, Loki buries his face in your heat. You gasp at the first feel of his tongue against your center. His movements are unhurried as he watches your reactions to his mouth. When he finds the rhythm that you react the strongest to he sticks to it, enjoying the whimpers and moans he pulls from you and the way your body grinds against him.

"Oh god." You pant, one hand tangling in his hair. When you feel two of his fingers slowly glide into your entrance and curl upwards your eyes shoot open with a whine that makes Loki hum against you. You glance down at him, surprised to see his green eyes peering up at you with something akin to adoration shining in them and despite the pleasure building in your belly all you can think about for a brief moment is how... pretty he looks. Of course, that train of thought is lost when Loki wraps his lips around your clit, focusing his attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Between his tongue and his fingers you don't have a chance of staving off the orgasm that washes over you soon after. Loki works you through it, only pulling away when your breathing starts to steady.

"You are a vision in the heat of release you know." He says a hand on your chin to guide your attention.

"No, I did not know that." You smile reaching up to undress Loki. You pull his shirt over his head, littering his chest with kisses as you undo his pants but don't pull them down. You slip your hand into the waistband of his underwear stroking his hard hot dick.

"F-fucking hell you might be the death of me." Loki breathes out shuddering beneath your touch.

"I sure hope not. I quite like you alive you know." You joke with a giggle. Loki grabs your wrist and shakily pulls your hand from him.

"Right, if this goes on I'll embarrass myself." He says with a slight chuckle shifting to pull his pants down enough to free himself. He lines himself with your entrance and slowly works himself passed your walls with short rolling thrusts, deeper each time.

"That's nothing to be embarrassed about you know Loki." You tell him, admittedly a bit winded as he fills you.

"Maybe not, but I'll admit it's not ideal for our first time together." He groans as he bottoms out.

"Don't get caught up in expectations Loki." You tell him.

"Only my own darling." He says. Loki holds still for a few moments, allowing you to adjust to his size, only moving when you begin to grind against him.

"Move, Loki, please." You groan. Loki lets out a breath as he starts a steady rhythm. He's immediately a string of groans and curses in your ear as he fucks you, his sounds mingling with yours beautifully.

"Gods you feel even better than I could've imagined." He pants out between thrusts.

"Don't stop baby. God you feel so good." You moan, grinding up against his hips to meet his movements. Loki reaches between your bodies and his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles against the bud that turn your quiet moans to loud whines.

"Come on darling, I want to feel you cum on my dick. Please y/n- let go for me." Loki coaxes, kissing at your throat again and it doesn't take long for your body to tense with the feeling of another orgasm. Loki groans deeply as your walls tighten around him from your release.

"Did you like that Loki? Feeling my pussy clench from cumming for you? You're close aren't you? Come on baby, cum for me."

Loki's thrusts speed up a bit, then falter, and stall altogether moments later as you feel the heat of his release inside you. Loki kisses your shoulder gently as he comes down from his orgasm, your fingers stroking his hair a comfort he wouldn't have thought he'd enjoy.

"You know- I know you were trying to get me to stop boasting but if boasting always ends with us like this I'm inclined to do it more often." You say after a few moments of silence and Loki chuckles against your neck.

"Boasting is not a prerequisite my darling." He says sitting up. Loki conjures a damp cloth and gently dabs first your face, then your neck, and carefully between your legs before helping you into his shirt.

"Well what is?" You ask.

"There isn't one you tricky girl." He chuckles pulling you into his chest.

"How am I the tricky one here?"

"You caught the fox, I think that's worth some tricky points."

"What fox? Are you the fox?"

"Mhm." He nods.

"Well- then that's by far the best thing I've ever caught." You smile up at him.

"The fox isn't complaining either." He hums and you cuddle closer to him. This hadn't exactly been your original gameplan with Loki but this is way better than any outcome you could've expected.

***

[heich0e]

"sukuna!"

the itadori house is quiet as the call rings out through the narrow halls.

"SU-KU-NA!"

a door somewhere in the apartment flies open, and heavy footfalls land against the floor.

"what the hell are you yelling for?" the elder of the two itadori brothers turns the corner into the living room, sweatpants low on his hips and his chest bare. his glower is fixed upon his little brother, seated with his legs crossed in the centre of the sofa, a throw pillow cradled on his lap.

yuuji pouts.

"i'm bored."

"i'm gonna kick your ass," sukuna mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"wanna go see a movie?" yuuji asks him, his eyes bright with expectation.

"no," sukuna replies flatly.

"what, why?" yuuji complains.

"last time we went to the movies on a friday night we were surrounded by teenagers sucking face for two fuckin' hours,"—he holds up two fingers for emphasis—"i'm not spending my night off watching some seventeen year old snots trying not to cream their jeans just cause they've got a tongue in their mouth for the first time again."

yuuji grimaces a little, both at the memory and his brother's less than enticing use of imagery.

"but i'm bored," yuuji sighs, flopping down onto the sofa with the pillow hugged to his chest.

"so you've said." sukuna lifts an eyebrow. "where's your little minion tonight? lose track of her or something?"

"she's not my minion," yuuji points out.

"co-conspirator then," sukuna rolls his eyes.

yuuji huffs. "she's not answering my calls. i bet she fell asleep after she got home from class."

"still surprised the two of you don't have some kind of weird telepathy goin' on considering how much time the two of you spend together," sukuna drawls. "try tappin' into that. maybe she'll pick up."

yuuji's stares at his brother for a moment, a pensive furrow on his brow.

it's quiet.

sukuna smirks. "gettin' anything?"

yuuji's expression relaxes again, and he slumps further into the sofa. he sighs resignedly. "nothing."

the younger itadori brother surveys the elder for a moment, and sukuna crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

"why are you all sweaty?"

"just got back from a run," sukuna replies curtly.

"you're wasting your night off running?" yuuji asks skeptically.

"yeah, and now i plan on jerking off, taking a shower, and going the fuck to bed—what's it to you?" the elder snaps.

yuuji's nose wrinkles at his brother's crass remark.

"gross," the youngest mutters.

there's the muffled sound of a cell phone chiming somewhere in the room, and yuuji hastens to free the device from the front pocket of his hoodie. his eyes light up when he sees the notification on the screen, hopping up to his feet.

"fushiguro just got off work early and said he'd go to the movies with me!" he cheers excitedly. sukuna rolls his eyes at his brother's enthusiasm as he watches him dash across the living room towards the genkan, clumsily pulling on his sneakers and tugging a cross-body bag over his chest.

"y'know, if you run the whole way there you'll look too eager," sukuna singsongs from where he leans against the wall on the other side of the room. even from such a distance away he can see the blush that paints the tops of his baby brother's cheeks.

"shut up!" yuuji replies, reaching for the doorknob.

"try not to cream your—!" the front door slams behind him before sukuna can finish his remark.

the eldest itadori chuckles a little to himself, shaking his head at his little brother's antics. he reaches up and ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck.

"what would you have done if we really did have a telepathic connection?"

sukuna pauses, his hand still brushing through the back of his hair. he turns to glance down the hallway behind him, only to find you—dressed only in his hoodie, the same one that matches the sweatpants he has on—standing behind him with your hands on your hips.

he smirks a little at the sight, appreciating it for a moment.

"surprised you made it all the way out here," he remarks, his head tilting to the side. "those legs were pretty shaky a couple minutes ago."

"shut up," you mumble, turning your nose up at him indignantly.

"how come everyone's always tellin' me to shut up?" sukuna complains, slinking towards you. he tugs you forward into him by the pocket of his hoodie, his arms snaking around your waist.

"maybe because you deserve it," you remark smugly.

"now is that any way to talk to the guy who just let you cum on his face?" he asks, dipping down until he's nose to nose with you. he watches the way your eyelids flutter a little at his sudden proximity. feels the way your breath breaks on his lips.

"no, but it's the way to talk to the guy who left me right after to go talk about jerking off with his brother," you reply, but it lacks the bite he knows you're aiming for—too breathless to have any real sting.

"aw, were you lonely?" sukuna drawls, inching closer until his smirking mouth is right over yours—close enough to feel the soft, wet heat that radiates from it. practically close enough to taste it.

you shiver a little bit, your facade of indifference fracturing under his nearness. sukuna's smirk splits into a full-blown grin, and before you can even blink he's got you tossed over his shoulder as he carries you back towards his bedroom.

"sukuna! put me down!" you protest, wiggling in his grip. the tips of his fingers dig into the soft give of your bare thighs, keeping you still.

"no can do, kid," he replies easily, ignoring your complaints.

he kicks his bedroom door closed behind him with his heel, and tosses you down onto the rumpled sheets of his bed. you bounce slightly as you land, but eventually settle, leaving you to you stare up at him, your chest heaving, from the mattress below him. he leans over and crawls into his bed overtop of you.

"we've got two hours to kill before he comes back, y'know," sukuna says quietly, dragging his lips up along the edge of your jaw. "how should we pass the time?"

[glossykissies]

maybe reader complaining about soldier boy smoking so he ties her up w a vibrator to her clit and smokes in front of her… 🤭 he’s so mean (we love it)

there wasn’t many things you hated, especially not when it came to soldier boy. you liked the things most people didn’t like about him — the fact he was ruthless, the fact he could be cold toward others, brutal. his character itself was perfect, and the more he was around you the happier you were.

what you couldn’t stand, was the smoking.

you get it, he comes from a different time before all the anti-smoking propaganda. he was mostly indestructible, so the health thing wasn’t exactly a concern— but he was getting too comfortable. smoking in your apartment, stinking up your pretty little living space — and that, you couldn’t do.

you come home from the bakery, baguette beneath your arm and a couple of moorish pastries bagged up in each fist ready to put away until you needed the snack — and there’s ben, staring pensively over the city, staring out your window, smoking.

“ben.” you pout, stopping your movements in putting away your purchases to lightly stomp your foot. “i told you.”

“told me what.” he hums, barely listening as he was clearly in deep thought. you huff, you hate when he got into these grumpy moods.

“you can’t just smoke in my apartment! atleast open a window.” you stomp over to the window beside him, pushing it open and staring at him pointedly. what you wanted to him to do, was chuck it out. but instead, he simply stares at you — taking a long drag. you purse your lips angrily, trying to think of another argument to make him speak atleast. “you know that’s bad for you.” you point your chin up, matter of factly. he reacts now, turning a little more toward you with a chuckle.

“for me? you do know i’m…” he taps a heavy fist over his lungs. “pretty indestructible, sweetheart.”

“okay, well have you considered that it’s bad for me? not everyone is a supe, you know.” you’re getting more and more hot and bothered by the fact he just won’t listen. he watches you before rolling his eyes up at the ceiling.

“you don’t seriously believe all that second-hand-smoke bullcrap, do you? god damn, what in the fuck are they teaching kids in school these days? school wasn’t that long ago for you now, was it?” his irritation turns to amusement as he smirks down at you cruelly, addressing the age gap between the two of you meanly.

“you’re being unfair.” you step closer, and he smiles, taking a drag before blowing a cloud of cigar smoke in your face.

“and what the hell are you gonna do about it, babyface?”

naturally, you throw a tantrum — and wind up right where you thought you might, on your bed with your legs spread. but your man isn’t between them, no. he’s pulling up a chair with a new cigar between his lips, having just finished tying you open on the bed, vibrator pressed firmly to your aching clit.

“now i’m not a bad guy, sweetheart.” he begins, voice rumbling deep making you clench around nothing. “am i? didn’t gag you, not yet anyway so you can fuckin’ respond when i speak.” he prompts, nodding to you before taking another long drag. the room is cloudy now, but not as cloudy as your brain.

“n—nuh—no!” you whine pathetically.

“too right. no. done a lot of bad things, sure. fucked up a loooot of people. but i’m not bad. not to you.” he pauses thoughtfully. another drag. you’re raw and aching and you just wanna cum but it’s just not enough. “so i think it’s fair… that i get to do whatever the fuck i want around here, and as long as i’m treating you like a pretty princess — you can’t tell me shit. does that sound fair to you?” he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows and you mewl. you want to say no. you don’t agree. but fuck, you loved him.

“yes!” you squeak.

“yes who?”

“yes sir.”

with that, he smiles slowly, reaching over and stubbing the cigar out on the ashtray he’d placed on your pretty pink dresser. standing, you finally see the length of him tenting his pants and you suddenly start feeling like maybe the little vibration he’s offered you is enough to make you cum, because you start throbbing.

ben cups your cheek, stroking a thumb over your forehead, then your cheek, and then tugs playfully at your bottom lip as you stare up, glassy eyed, whimpering and desperate. “sweet thing.” he tsks, giving in and kissing you.

he tastes like tobacco, and you don’t even mind.

[joemama-2]

ten reasons i love you

pairing: gojo x fem reader tags/warnings: angst, angst, angst, light fluff, smut, death, divider by @cafekitsune

word count: 2459

Reason #1: you’re patient

Sometimes, I get a little jealous. I wish I were like you, and I try to be, but no one could ever be like you. You handled every situation, every wrongdoing, every argument, every fight, with grace. A simple and natural elegance.

Every time, it proved why I fell in love with you. 

But, I love when you’re patient with me. I know I can be hard to handle sometimes, annoying, or an “ass”, whichever name you decided to grace me with that day. You stayed with me, even when sometimes I wished you hadn’t. Because I knew you deserved, deserve, better.

“Can’t you just tell me all the reasons now?”

“Nope, that would ruin the surprise. You get your next reason next week.”

A gentle kiss to the forehead, followed by one to your cheeks, nose, and then lips.

Reason #2: the way you laugh

I know it’s getting hard to do that now, but when you finally do, it’s the most pleasant sound my ears have ever heard, that my body has ever felt when you giggle against my neck. It sounds like a sweet melody, one that makes you warm. One that makes you smile, without noticing. 

I don’t think anyone could ever have as beautiful as laugh as you do. Even then, it wouldn’t compete.

The way you laugh sounds so natural like you don’t care who hears. I miss your laughs so much. Whenever I hear it, in that moment, everything is okay. Everything is perfect. Because you’re perfect. 

It’s the sound of joy that fills up a room and my heart. I wish I could listen to it forever.

“I didn’t take you for a poet.”

Satoru laughs, dimple more prominent. “I can be cute when I want to.”

You smile, followed by your oh-so-precious laugh. He practically melts on the spot. He can hear the rattling in your chest he’s unfortunately become familiar with. But his face doesn’t fall, instead, he holds you closer and presses a kiss to your hairline. 

It feels like just yesterday when you both got the news, when your lives changed. It’s the second week, but he just prays for time to slow down. For he’s not ready for the future. 

Reason #3: your determination

It’s so beautiful to see. The way you try and try, even after failure. The way you never give up. Maybe it’s because you’re a bit stubborn, but you never back down. It’s a quiet strength about you that I hope you can make loud one day.

You’re fierce, but quiet. Determinated, but timid. I’ve never seen those combinations before, but now that I have, I love it. 

“I wish I was still strong enough.”

His heart breaks at the sight before him, along with your resigned tone of voice. Pushing some strands of hair out of your eyes. “Listen,” he murmurs, head titling. “You are strong, then and now. You will always be strong. Do you want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I know you. And I know you’re not ready to give up, just like I’m not giving up on you. We’ll both fight this. In the end, I’ll buy you that ice cream you really like.”

Tears fill your eyes, a sad smile playing on your lips. “Okay, I can’t wait.”

Reason #4: your creativity

I know you’re trying to find ways to take your mind off the now, I am too. I didn’t think someone was capable of picking up on hobbies so fast, but the gloves you knitted me say otherwise. Oh, and the cute little crotchet animals that now take residency on my side of the bed. But I’ll let that slide, just for you. (The little gray bunny is my enemy, btw.)

I wish I was as creative as you. It’s like your juices just get flowing and once you start, you don’t stop. I love seeing it happen in real-time. It makes you happy, I know that. So it makes me happy too.

I’ve been getting more yarn now when I’m out, it’s kind of just like second nature now, I guess. They’re starting to pile up, but I hope one day they’ll all be gone. 

“Keep her off her feet more.” The doctor tells Satoru, who currently stands with a pensive expression, fingers curling around your own. “Your wife needs all the rest she can get, so if you can, keep her on bedrest with less strenuous activities.”

Bedrest. 

That word alone shakes you to your core, a prime example of your deteriorating condition. You can hear your weakened heart pound in your ears, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. If you’re being advised to be put on bed rest, what hope is left for you?

Almost none.

Reason #5: how you care about people

“That’s ironic, isn’t it?” You huff out, a wince soon taking over. 

Satoru’s comforting hand places itself on your pale one, smiling. “Just keep reading.”

With one final breath out, your eyes travel down to the small journal, reading today’s entry.

You have a certain way of making people feel seen. Including others in conversation, making sure no one is left out. You listen when needed, comfort when needed, and give advice when needed. Even if you’re not doing the best yourself.

You make people feel important, make me feel important. You look beyond titles and hierarchies and just see…me. 

If someone’s at their lowest, you make them feel seen. I’ve seen it, I’ve experienced it, and I love it.

You don’t even know you’re reaching out for him until his arms wrap securely around your waist. Careful not to drop his full weight onto your frail body. But god do you wish he did, you missed how things were before.

Hot tears stain his shirt and Satoru feels his own set begin to let loose. He’s always been good at comforting you when you’re crying, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t cry with you. 

Reason #6: the way you make the mundane beautiful 

“Mundane.” You repeat, coughing. 

“Mundane.” Satoru confirms, holding your hands. “Do you think mundane is bad?”

“I feel like I can’t even do mundane things now.”

His head shakes. “You can, and you do. Life is mundane with you, but it’s also exciting, beautiful.”

With a jut of his chin towards the journal, you take the hint and continue reading.

How you can turn something so ordinary into something magical is still beyond me. Maybe you’re a secret witch (I would like that). You look for the beauty in things.

The way the sun hits the leaves, the sound of rain, or the way our hands fit together. You see the world in a way no one else does.

I see the beauty in you too. When your nose crinkles because of my “smelly” socks, your head tilting when you’re confused, or even that look you give me when I say something stupid or funny. I like admiring you, and I like the way you admire. 

Reason #7: how you make me a better person

There’s a resounding thump noise as you throw the journal into the wall. Health slowly failing along with your own mental stability. Satoru holds back a frown, feeling himself uncomfortably shift beside you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He gently asks.

“I don’t wanna read anymore.” Your voice is bordering on unrecognizable, the rattling in your chest more prominent.

He heaves a small sigh, walking over to pick the book up and back to you. Sitting on the edge of the bed and carefully regarding you with an examining gaze. “Why not?”

Many reasons. “I-It just makes me emotional, Satoru.” 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything!” You shout, looking at him with a pitiful expression. “I’m already fucked up as it is, I don’t wanna cry anymore!”

God, is this really testing his emotional resilience. But that’s not what you need right now. “I know, I know you don’t, baby. But look at it like this,” he scoots closer, fingers intertwining with yours. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, it means we’re still human, it makes us feel….complete sometimes. And I know you’re trying hard to hold everything in, I see it. But please, just let everything out, don’t worry about the mess. Because I’m here.”

Your hands tremble, no longer fighting back your tears as you hesitantly reach for the outstretched journal and read, tears wetting the page. He holds you close.

You challenge me, in the best way. You push me to be more rational, logical, to be more punctual and caring. You push me to be the best me, you encourage my beliefs and ideas, and you’re there for me when something doesn’t fall through.

Without you, I can’t be who I am today. Without you, I’m not me.

You’ve made me the best me, by just being yourself. 

Next week, you’re saying bye to your forever home. Being forced to spend your last days in an uncomfortable hospital with a scent that you hate. This is the last time you’ll walk these halls, use that stove, watch that TV, sleep in that bed.

You cling to him like a lifeline, sometimes you wish he was. 

Soft cries fill the otherwise dim and quiet room, his arms wrapped around your body. Your arms are around his neck, legs opened wide enough so he can fully accommodate his body between them. The way he deliciously slides in and out, in the slowest and gentlest manner, all for your sake. Small moans and grunts fall from your guys’ lips.

The last time he’ll ever make love to you.

“Reason #8: the way you love me.” 

You almost break down even more at the sound of his cracking voice, noticing the shaky inhale he does as he looks down at you, hips moving in a steady motion. 

“You love me so fully, so unconditionally.” he starts off, grunting quietly as your walls squeeze around him. “It’s not about perfection with you. It’s about the way you choose me. Every day, even when we’re not at our best. I know I’m loved because you show it, every moment, in a thousand little ways.”

His lips kiss and gently suck on your pulse point, tongue darting out to lick and savor your sweaty skin. The tip of his cock hits your g-spot in a rhythm that has you whimpering out, nails digging into his shoulders. Your head tilts back slightly, he guides it back with one free hand and kisses you passionately. 

He swallows your moans and tastes your tears. His tears fall onto your cheeks, mixing in with everything. 

This isn’t just about sex, but it’s about being one with each other. It’s about savoring each other like it’s your last breath, melting into each other’s bodies, and loving you in the most intimate way.

He commits this to memory. 

Satoru stays by your side every day and every night. He doesn’t leave, even when he’s prompted by you to eat and sleep. But he can’t, not when this could be the last time he’ll ever talk to you. 

You look so fragile, so out of place in the hospital bed. The gown one size too big and he just wanted to take you in his arms and into a far-away place. Away from the hospital, away from this heart condition, and just with him. 

You can barely even keep your eyes fully open, multiple wires running through your body to keep you conscious. But you still hold onto his hand, tightly, as if you never want to let go.

And you don’t. Neither does Satoru,

Pale skin and dry lips. Everything about you screams illness. No matter that, you force yourself to stay coherent while he reads. 

“Reason #:9”, he looks at you, “the way you feel like home.”

Satoru forces his voice to remain steady, smiling at you. “Being with you is a safe place, a shelter from this cruel and dirty world. No matter where I am, where you are, where we are, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. You make me feel seen, understood, loved. Nothing else matters but us. Your touch, your voice, your presence, that’s all home to me, and I’m so happy I finally found my home.”

Warm tears slowly trickle down your cheeks, your smile feeling like it’s too hard to handle. “You’re my home too, Satoru. I….I don’t wanna leave home.”

A shaky breath. “You won’t.” His hand squeezes you tighter, planting a chaste kiss on your cracked lips. “I’ll always be here, I’ll always follow you. Just keep holding onto me, okay?”

“O-okay.” You croak out, sniffling. 

That night, he falls asleep with you. Holding you like he always does. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear, thumb tracing lazy circles on your knuckles. Your warmth keeps him going, but it also makes him sleepy.

It’s only then does he realizes something. 

He’s happy. He’s so, so happy. He’s with you, you’re with him, and everything else fades away. Because it’s just you two. As much as it hurts, he wants you to go peacefully, and with him.

So, as the hours pass and when he opens his eyes. He’s met with a cold body, an unmoving form in his arms. And tears mixing in with your hair as he hugs you tight one last time.

“Reason #10.”

He sets the bouquet of white roses down on the cold stone, kneeling down before it. Your name stares back at him. 

“The best one, in my opinion. You know….I really hate how I couldn’t tell you this last one in person. But you’re still listening, aren’t you?” He places his hand above your name and a small gust of wind replies back. He smiles. 

“The way you taught me to live.”

“You taught me to how to live, not just in ‘big moments’, but in the small ones too. The moments that matter. The times we spent together, the quiet talks, the laughter, the shared silences. You’ve shown me that life isn’t about counting days—it’s about making days count.”

After leaving, he can’t help but cry. Fingers twitching by his sides, ears ringing. He blocks out the world. Until there’s a small rustling in the bushes beside him. He stops and looks.

He laughs.

“Guess you’re still keeping an eye on me, huh?”

Staring back, a cute little gray bunny. Its ears twitch, as if acknowledging him.

He takes a step closer, then kneels down, his voice softening. "Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I promise."

He looks at the bunny one last time before standing up and walking away, feeling an inexplicable sense of comfort. 

[warlocksoup]

on the way ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ k. sakusa

masterlist

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, grief, awkwardness/tension, family member death, funeral, mentions of a dysfunctional family

a/n: me stop writing abt dead brothers challenge failed. sorry im coping still.

word count: 1.6k

07:00AM

His alarm goes off. It’s dreary and gray outside. Her body’s absent from the left side of the bed.

It doesn’t take very long to find her, and Sakusa doesn’t try very hard. He rolls out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and drags his feet into the living room. She’s standing out the window, looking out of it. He’s not surprised. Staring out windows silently, pensively, is a lot of what she’s been doing lately.

Sakusa approaches her from behind. She doesn’t flinch or acknowledge when his arms snake around her middle. “Are you going to get ready soon?”

08:43AM

They’re late. Thirteen minutes late to leaving. Sakusa doesn’t make a thing out of it, like he normally would. He doesn’t say anything at all as she climbs into the passenger seat and unceremoniously throws her back into the backseat. Sakusa figures that’s his cue that he’s the one driving. He doesn’t complain about this, like he normally would.

Once he’s settled in the driver’s seat, he takes a moment to wrap a wide hand around her knee, squeezing slightly, even though they’re running late. She doesn’t react. Sakusa looks at her, lips pursed together like he’s waiting for some kind of reaction from her. He’s been waiting for a reaction since the news broke. “You ready?” he asks.

She turns her head to look at him with her eyes dry and decorated with heavy, purple shadows. “Yeah,” she replies, voice devoid of animation, flat and stale. “Let’s go.”

Her grief makes him uncomfortable. Sakusa can only think of how uncomfortable it makes him as he pulls away from their home. He knows this makes him bad person. Or at least, it’s a bad feeling for him to have. He knows that he should be supportive, whatever that means, and that he should be a partner she can rely on.

Whatever that means. Sakusa hasn’t figured it out yet.

It might be easier if she cried. He would at least know what to do then. He could take her in his arms and tell her it’s okay to cry and he would make her some of her favorite food and do things that loving, doting partners do in times of grief and sorrow. But she hasn’t cried. She hasn’t done anything but stare out the window and become a whittled down, blank version of herself.

He feels like all he can do is stare and wait. Just watching as she slowly dissolves, day-by-day.

The car pulls onto a main road. There’s traffic.

09:32AM

She doesn’t play music. None of her aggressive and headache inducing rock music or bubbly and headache inducing pop music. It’s just silence. The wind that sneaks in through the backseat window that never fully closes, and Sakusa’s breathing.

There’s nothing else.

He keeps looking at her, glancing at her for just a second when the road in front of him is clear. He’s taking stock of her expression, checking for slight changes and variations. But each time he looks, her lips are slightly downturned, eyes half-closed, cheek resting in the palm of her hand.

She’s unmoving, statuesque.

Sakusa watched when she got the call. He saw in real time as her mind started to shut down. With her phone pressed against her ear, standing in the kitchen with a half-cooked pot of curry, he watched as any traces of joy or excitement slip off face like melting snow plummeting off a roof. “Oh,” is what she said, “thanks for telling me.” That was all Sakusa heard before she hung up and turned to deliver the news back to him.

“My brother’s dead.”

He took hold of her at once. He whispered condolences into her hair, and he felt her shake but he never heard her sob or cry or anything.

She’s looked the same since then. She looks the same now.

He steals another glance at her, hoping for something different. It’s the same.

10:04AM

 She talks. Sakusa feels like it’s the first time she’s talked in days.

“He used to carry me around the neighborhood on his shoulders,” she says, out of nowhere. It makes him jump, slightly, before he steadies the steering wheel. He glances again. She still hasn’t moved. “His friends used to pick on me a lot but he always defended me. One time I caught him smoking cigarettes behind the house, and I pretended like I was going to tell our mom, but I didn’t. When my mom disappeared, he made sure I still went to school. Packed my lunches and everything. And when I was really little, I remember being confused. Because sometimes he felt like my brother, but a lot of the time he really just felt like my dad.”

Sakusa’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. He thought he would have something to say, but he doesn’t. Nothing feels right.

10:36AM

They’re late. Sakusa has a nervous pit in his stomach about this, but everyone else in her family is later than them.

She hugs her mom, looking stiff as she does, and returns to Sakusa’s side as soon as the awkward embrace is over. He holds onto her hand and doesn’t let it go for the rest of the service.

He listens to people talk about him. Sakusa never met her brother, never knew him personally, but it seems like the him that existed to everyone else didn’t exist to her. They get up there and they talk about him and the dark path he was on and how far he had strayed and how he was so untouchable, unsavable.

She’s stiff beside him the entire time. It seems like she’s holding her breath. Sakusa has to lean down and whisper in her ear, “Breathe.”

Her shoulders rise and fall.

11:49AM

She looks smaller in her childhood home, but she moves around it like she’s too big for the space. Sakusa still won’t let go over her hand.

In her brother’s childhood room, she flicks through piles of CDs and old mangas. There’s posters for bands Sakusa’s never heard of on the wall. There’s a half-full jar of foreign coins and trash that still hasn’t been emptied. Sakusa feels that it is all too intimately human.

Her fingers graze along the spine of a book that’s shoved under small television on his dresser. Love is a Dog from Hell. “He never read this,” she comments, lifting her fingers away. The tips of them are coated in dust. “He stole it from me, and then never gave it back.”

Sakusa watches her carefully. Her shoulders are more relaxed in this space, and there is a ghost of a smile on her face. He doesn’t want to make her leave, but he knows she can’t stay here, surrounded by memories and dust. “Do you want to take anything home?” he asks.

This makes her frown, and he doesn’t know why. “I can’t just take it from him,” she tells him, sounding so small.

She doesn’t need to take anything, anyways. Her mother prepared a small box of belongings that she thought her daughter would appreciate it. She shoves it into her arms on the way out, and it finds itself stuffed into Sakusa’s trunk.

12:59PM

She wanted to leave early, so they left early. She wanted to drive home, so Sakusa let her drive home.

She put in a CD for the drive home. It’s sad. If Sakusa felt like he knew better, he’d tell her that maybe they shouldn’t listen to something so depressing. That maybe they should let the radio play or they could talk about something. But Sakusa doesn’t feel like he knows anything.

He doesn’t feel like he even knows her, right now. Not shrouded in grief, not with this black veil pulled over her eyes. He doesn’t know what’s best for her. He doesn’t know how to help her or how to make anything better, even slightly.

He reaches over the center console and lets his hand rest on her thigh. He leaves it there this time. He doesn’t know if she appreciates it or likes the comfort or if she even notices at all. But he leaves his hand there, and hopes it does something.

03:02PM

They get home. She goes inside without grabbing the box. Sakusa gets it for her, and puts it somewhere where she won’t have to see it, if she doesn’t want to.

05:22PM

Sakusa cooks dinner. Her favorite. Definitely not curry. She eats it in small bites, and then takes a shower that lasts too long. He cleans, and listens for the sounds of her.

07:54PM

She’s in bed already. Funerals take a lot out of you, he figures. He joins her, if for no other reason that he doesn’t want her to be alone. She’s on the let side. He’s on the right.

His arms snake around her middle. He pulls her closer and kisses the side of her face. “I love you,” he tells her, because it’s true, and he wants her to know it. Even if he’s useless. Even if all he can do is watch.

He can almost feel it cracking in her chest. The way it boils over. She inhales sharply, and says, “Kiyoomi,” in a pitch or two higher than she normally speaks, like she’s out of breath. “I really miss him. I miss my brother.”

Sakusa tightens her arms around her as the sobs let loose. It rocks through her violently, and he holds her through it all. “I know,” he whispers back. “I know.”

[xoluvx]

en la pichi interlude; b.eilish y me digas to' lo mucho que you miss me

The sight of your face on the little screen was daunting. There was a pang in her chest as she stared at the phone. The face familiar yet haunting. Lingering since the day you left. Since the day you both exploded, the spark too strong for either of you to handle anymore.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she clicked on your profile. She'd been completely erased from your life and your feed. The only photo that showed she'd ever existed was the one with the dark grey hoodie. She sighed and locked the phone staring off into space. Her icy blue eyes glazed over as she pushed her body back on the couch, crossing her arms in a pensive state.

"Can I borrow this?" you asked walking into the living room. You hadn't waited for her answer, the hoodie already clung to your body as you cozied your hands into the sleeves, smiling. She opened her arms inviting you to fall into them. Into her. You did so happily. Nuzzling your face into her neck, inhaling her scent. Completely drowning in it.

"He's the worst," you scoffed flailing your red vine at the tv screen with a disgusted face. You were practically laying on her. Her legs outstretched on the ottoman, your head on her chest feeling the soft rise and fall of her beating heart. She simply laughed cupping your jaw turning your face so you were looking at her.

Her eyes traced the curve of your nose. The way your lips were slightly turned downward in confusion. Brows furrowed. She was completely enamored by you. Wanting to live in this moment forever. The sound of your voice, the way you looked in her hoodie. She wanted this every day.

She pulled your face closer and you happily obliged leaning in to kiss her. The kiss tender. Lips molding so perfectly. You tasted of candy and love. She melted into your touch when you brought your hand to her cheek, caressing her skin. So soft and gentle until you were straddling her waist and her hands were under the hoodie and you weren't wearing anything underneath.

Your whimpers sunk into her neck, tongue tracing hearts on her skin as you swayed your hips. She moaned when you took off her beanie, fingers lacing in her hair pulling gently until her lips were parted and your noses were brushing. Your eyes watching the way her lids fluttered. You grabbed her hands pulling them up higher. The hoodie coming up with them until she was sliding it off your body.

She held your naked body. Hands cold on your skin as you kissed again. Fingers tracing swirls on your back. You felt the chills coursing through your body; nipples hard and needy longing for her touch. Her hands came around to cup your breasts as you swayed your hips getting off from the friction created by your clothes.

Billie snapped out of it. The same beanie she'd been wearing rested on the coffee table. Her phone next to it. Reaching for it, she put it on then slid the phone in the pocket of her jeans as she got up heading for the door.

The night swallowed her as she pulled out of the driveway. The moonlight offering some comfort as she drove with the music low. She didn't need directions. She had them memorized by heart. The route so familiar, it was like muscle memory when she pulled up to your driveway.

Grabbing her phone, she stared at your picture. So small in the screen that held you captive. She bit her lip contemplating her next move. It was either call you and beg for you to see her or put her car in reverse and pretend none of it had happened.

"Hey, um-" she cleared her throat leaning her elbow on the car down.

"-I'm outside. Are you home?" her voice was shaky as she heard rustling from the other side of the phone. The static in your voice made her insides flutter and she bit her lip listening to your feet shuffle on your wooden floors. She got out of the car, door closing as she heard you curse under your breath tripping over something.

Then she was standing at the door, phone still pressed to her ear. Free hand tucked into the pocket of her jeans. Eyes fixed on the door that opened abruptly.

The hoodie. You were wearing her hoodie.

Your eyes locked. The spark burning in your irises. Lips curling upward in a small smile as you opened the door a little wider letting her in.

Free to walk back in your heart.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 5 EPISODE 11 || JOURNEYCAKE||

#83daysofoutlander☆

It had taken some experimentation to put the microscope together properly; it wasn’t much like a modern version, particularly when reduced to its component parts for storage in Dr. Rawlings’s handsome box. Still, the lenses were recognizable, and with that as a starting point, I had managed to fit the optical bits into the stand without much trouble. Obtaining sufficient light, though, had been more difficult, and I was thrilled finally to have got it working.

“What are ye doing, Sassenach?” Jamie, with a piece of toast in one hand, paused in the doorway.

“Seeing things,” I said, adjusting the focus.

“Oh, aye? What sorts of things?” He came into the room, smiling. “Not ghosties, I trust. I will have had enough o’ those.”

“Come look,” I said, stepping back from the microscope. Mildly puzzled, he bent and peered through the eyepiece, screwing up his other eye in concentration.

He squinted for a moment, then gave an exclamation of pleased surprise. “I see them! Wee things with tails, swimming all about!” He straightened up, smiling at me with a look of delight, then bent at once to look again. I felt a warm glow of pride in my new toy.

“Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Aye, marvelous,” he said, absorbed. “Look at them. Such busy wee strivers as they are, all pushing and writhing against one another—and such a mass of them!”

He watched for a few moments more, exclaiming under his breath, then straightened up, shaking his head in amazement.

“I’ve never seen such a thing, Sassenach. Ye’d told me about the germs, aye, but I never in life imagined them so! I thought they might have wee teeth, and they don’t—but I never kent they would have such handsome, lashing wee tails, or swim about in such numbers.”

“Well, some microorganisms do,” I said, moving to peer into the eyepiece again myself. “These particular little beasts aren’t germs, though—they’re sperms.” “They’re what?” He looked quite blank. “Sperms,” I said patiently. “Male reproductive cells. You know, what makes babies?” I thought he might just possibly choke. His mouth opened, and a very pretty shade of rose suffused his countenance.

“Ye mean seed?” he croaked. “Spunk?” “Well . . . yes.” Watching him narrowly, I poured steaming tea into a clean beaker and handed it to him as a restorative. He ignored it, though, his eyes fixed on the microscope as though something might spring out of the eyepiece at any moment and go writhing across the floor at our feet. “Sperms,” he muttered to himself. “Sperms.” He shook his head vigorously, then turned to me, a frightful thought having just occurred to him. “Whose are they?” he asked, his tone one of darkest suspicion. “Er . . . well, yours, of course.” I cleared my throat, mildly embarrassed. “Who else’s would they be?” His hand darted reflexively between his legs, and he clutched himself protectively. “How the hell did ye get them?” “How do you think?” I said, rather coldly. “I woke up in custody of them this morning.” His hand relaxed, but a deep blush of mortification stained his cheeks dark crimson. He picked up the beaker of tea and drained it at a gulp, temperature notwithstanding. “I see,” he said, and coughed. There was a moment of deep silence. “I . . . um . . . didna ken they could stay alive,” he said at last. “Errrrm . . . outside, I mean.” “Well, if you leave them in a splotch on the sheet to dry out, they don’t,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Keep them from drying out, though”—I gestured at the small, covered beaker, with its small puddle of whitish fluid—“and they’ll do for a few hours. In their proper habitat, though, they can live for up to a week after . . . er . . . release.” “Proper habitat,” he repeated, looking pensive. He darted a quick glance at me. “Ye do mean—” “I do,” I said, with some asperity. “Mmphm.” At this point, he recalled the piece of toast he still held, and took a bite, chewing meditatively. “Do folk know about this? Now, I mean?” “Know what? What sperm look like? Almost certainly. Microscopes have been around for well over a hundred years, and the first thing anyone with a working microscope does is to look at everything within reach. Given that the inventor of the microscope was a man, I should certainly think that . . . Don’t you?” He gave me a look, and took another bite of toast, chewing in a marked manner. “I shouldna quite like to refer to it as ‘within reach,’ Sassenach,” he said, through a mouthful of crumbs, and swallowed. “But I do take your meaning.”

As though compelled by some irresistible force, he drifted toward the microscope, bending to peer into it once more. “They seem verra fierce,” he ventured, after a few moments’ inspection. “Well, they do need to be,” I said, suppressing a smile at his faintly abashed air of pride in his gametes’ prowess. “It’s a long slog, after all, and a terrific fight at the end of it. Only one gets the honor, you know.” He looked up, blank-faced. It dawned on me that he didn’t know. He’d studied languages, mathematics, and Greek and Latin philosophy in Paris, not medicine. And even if natural scientists of the time were aware of sperm as separate entities, rather than a homogenous substance, it occurred to me that they probably didn’t have any idea what sperm actually did. “Wherever did you think babies came from?” I demanded, after a certain amount of enlightenment regarding eggs, sperms, zygotes, and the like, which left Jamie distinctly squiggle-eyed. He gave me a rather cold look. “And me a farmer all my life? I ken precisely where they come from,” he informed me. “I just didna ken that . . . er . . . that all of this daffery was going on. I thought . . . well, I thought a man plants his seed into a woman’s belly, and it . . . well . . . grows.” He waved vaguely in the direction of my stomach. “You know—like . . . seed. Neeps, corn, melons, and the like. I didna ken they swim about like tadpoles.” “I see.” I rubbed a finger beneath my nose, trying not to laugh. “Hence the agricultural designation of women as being either fertile or barren!” “Mmphm.” Dismissing this with a wave of his hand, he frowned thoughtfully at the teeming slide. “A week, ye said. So it’s possible that the wee lad really is the Thrush’s get?” Early in the day as it was, it took half a second or so for me to make the leap from theory to practical application. “Oh—Jemmy, you mean? Yes, it’s quite possible that he’s Roger’s child.” Roger and Bonnet had lain with Brianna within two days of each other. “I told you—and Bree—so.” He nodded, looking abstracted, then remembered the toast and pushed the rest of it into his mouth. Chewing, he bent for another look through the eyepiece. “Are they different, then? One man’s from another, I mean?” “Er . . . not to look at, no.” I picked up my cup of tea and had a sip, enjoying the delicate flavor. “They are different, of course—they carry the characteristics a man passes to his offspring. . . .” That was about as far as I thought it prudent to go; he was sufficiently staggered by my description of fertilization; an explanation of genes and chromosomes might be rather excessive at the moment. “But you can’t see the differences, even with a microscope.”

He grunted at that, swallowed the mouthful of toast, and straightened up. “Why are ye looking, then?” “Just curiosity.” I gestured at the collection of bottles and beakers on the countertop. “I wanted to see how fine the resolution of the microscope was, what sorts of things I might be able to see.” “Oh, aye? And what then? What’s the purpose of it, I mean?” “Well, to help me diagnose things. If I can take a sample of a person’s stool, for instance, and see that he has internal parasites, then I’d know better what medicine to give him.” Jamie looked as though he would have preferred not to hear about such things right after breakfast, but nodded. He drained his beaker and set it down on the counter. “Aye, that’s sensible. I’ll leave ye to get on with it, then.”

He bent and kissed me briefly, then headed for the door. Just short of it, though, he turned back.

“The, um, sperms . . .” he said, a little awkwardly. “Yes?”

“Can ye not take them out and give them decent burial or something?” I hid a smile in my teacup.

“I’ll take good care of them,” I promised. “I always do, don’t I?”

36 WORLDS UNSEEN ~THE FIERY CROSS

[deans-baby-momma]

Chapter 2

Summary: When Jensen admits to going home with someone else, will his and Y/N's marriage survive?

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, smut, language

Jensen walks into their room with tears flowing down his face. He is devastated. 

Y/N - his wife, his best friend, his everything - is kicking him out. And deep down, he knows she has every right but he couldn't consider that for the pain he felt.

If only she'd let him explain, but what would he tell her? He is the one who fucked up. It is his fault!

Jensen quickly packs a duffel bag of his belongings before heading back downstairs. 

Y/N is still standing in the destroyed kitchen, her back to him with her arms across her chest.

He takes one last look at her and says, “I love you” before he walks out the door.

Jensen has nowhere to go; he is miles and miles away from his family -in another country- and he doesn't want to go to Jared's.

He can't bear more of the judgmental looks his friend had given him when it all happened. So he heads to his home away from home, away from home. 

Jensen unlocks and opens the trailer before walking up the steps and closing the door.

He sits the bag he had hastily packed on the counter before heading to the fridge to get a bottle of  water.

He is swearing off all alcohol. Booze is the crux of his problems. His willingness to imbibe in a nightcap with his friends is what led him here; staying in his trailer on set and his marriage over.

As he lay in his bed that night, alone and secluded, he let his feelings show. He cries for how his life has turned out, he cries because he hurt Y/N and he cries because he knows there is no fixing it.

The next morning, he showers and is heading out the door when he sees Jared approaching. 

“Dude, you got here early,” the tall man jests.

“Yep,” is all Jensen replies.

Jared falls into pace with Jensen as they head towards set, completely unaware of the turmoil in his friend's life.

“Gen wants to have a cookout the weekend after next, when we go back to Texas. You and Y/N are invited of course.”

Jensen just hums in acknowledgement. He isn't in the mood to tell his coworker that there would be no more him and Y/N.

The minutes turn into hours, hours into days, and days into weeks yet Jensen doesn't try to contact Y/N and he continues to sleep in his trailer on set. 

At first, he was upset. Upset with himself for being so naive and trusting, then upset because Y/N didn't give him a chance to explain. That turned into disgust at himself for allowing himself to even be put in the situation he's in. 

Next came anger. He was mad. If Y/N had just listened and let him tell her that he had quickly come to his senses and realized what a mistake he'd made, maybe she would've been more understanding and they would still be together.

After not hearing from his wife for two weeks, he knew their marriage was over. He expected to receive divorce papers any day. She was done. Done with him, done with the life they'd built. Just done.

One month since that fateful night when he confessed his biggest screw-up and his wife kicked him out, he had come to terms with his new life.

He was miserable though and he knew people were beginning to take notice. 

Jared had caught on pretty quickly that his friend- his brother- was sleeping at the lot and had asked.

Jensen had explained about what happened; from stupidly trusting a fan, to coming clean to Y/N, to the reason he was practically living in his trailer.

Knowing the whole story, Jared had offered to call Y/N and try to smooth it out but Jensen had refused.

He was in the guilt stage at this point. He had wronged her and no one could fix it. 

On set, he morphed into his character of Dean Winchester easily.  Dean had a good hold on the pensive and broody aspect. And acting out as his character helped him take his mind off the turmoil of his life.

So Jensen put all his emotion into his character and gave some of his best performances. Still it didn't help. He still felt tainted.

“Mom. Mom. Mom!” Jensen demands into the phone, halting his mother's speech. “Just leave Y/N alone. It's not her fault. She did nothing wrong. I messed it up okay?”

He rolls his eyes as his Mom continues berating him and begging him to do whatever it took to repair his marriage. 

“If I promise to try, will you and Mack please leave Y/N alone? No more calling to tell her how I'm doing. No more checking in to see if we've talked. Please Mom? I'm begging here,” he pleads again.

He sighs as he hears her reluctantly agree. “Thank you. I love you. Tell dad I love him too. Bye.”

Jensen hangs the phone up and places it on the coffee table as the door opens and Jared walks in with Cliff, their bodyguard/driver/friend. 

The look of apprehension on both of their faces alarmed Jensen. He can tell whatever it is, it isn't good news.

“What?” he inquires, mentally preparing for whatever they're here to tell him.

But no amount of preparedness would suffice as Jared hands him a magazine. Jensen flips it over to see the cover and he feels as if the floor has opened up and his stomach swooped, dipped and dived as if he were on the world’s most deadly roller-coaster. 

‘I'm pregnant with Jensen Ackles’ baby’.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?”

Jensen lifts his head and looks at Y/N despondent.

“I used my key,” he whispers. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don't,” she replies, flippantly. “Go talk to the mother of your unborn child.”

If you would like to be tagged, please interact with me in some way: message, ask, comment.

Tagging my FOREVERS: @spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam   @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @supraveng @@lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @leigh70 @nancymcl @muhahaha303 @justwhisperingfantasies @jackles010378 @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deanna45 @ozwriterchick

[lsunstreakerl]

surprise! SH!Charles POV!! this is just little snapshots of him and max through the years before they get together- I was going to put it in chapter 20 but it didn't flow as well as I would have liked, and I like it too much to just completely cut. also I figured you guys would still want to read it lol :)

2.3k words never say I don't love u all

The Dutch boy is being yelled at again. The sky is grey, overcast and drizzling, and Charles has just had a supremely unsatisfying race.

The weather feels reflective of his mood. Part of him wants to stomp his foot that it isn't fair, the other part of him wants to cry. Jules has been teaching him to channel his emotions in other ways, and Charles is enrolled in piano lessons now. Maybe if he bruises his fingers on the keys hard enough it will feel worth it.

The Dutch boy had gotten first, but Charles can see him and his trainer by the pitwall. His trainer is dry under the awning, shouting so loud the tendons on his neck are straining. Charles thinks the other boy's name might start with an "M", and he's standing in the rain, shoulders pulled tight with his fingers digging into his helmet.

His trainer must be very stupid, to let his athlete stand in the rain like that. Then again, Charles also thinks it's crazy for anyone their age to have a trainer at all- most of them are coached by their parents still.

Charles is still thinking about it in the car, helmet resting on top of his thighs.

"Papa? Would I race better if you yelled?"

His father reaches over to set a hand on his knee, gripping it gently before shaking it.

"You are comparing yourself to the other boys again."

Charles frowns. He's not comparing, he's just... noticing some differences.

"But he wins."

His father sighs, and he looks pensive at the road ahead of them.

"So it is about Max."

Max, that's his name. Charles knew that, but he lets the letters roll around in his head anyways, all sharp sounds and blunt edges.

"Charlot, I would not do that to you. I could not- you are my son. I love you."

"I love you too!"

Charles isn't sure what "not yelling" and "being his son" have to do with each other in this context, because he's only ever seen Max with his trainer before. The idea of him with a dad is weird.

Papa likes to tuck Charles in and play board games after dinner with them. He likes to read stories with funny voices and dance in the kitchen with Maman, he likes to point out the different boats in the harbor and watch terrible sitcoms in the living room.

Charles isn't sure he's ever even seen Max smile.

------

"Putain! Stupid son of a-"

Charles chucks his helmet at the wall, and even the dent it leaves behind isn't enough to cool down his anger. Stupid race. Stupid kart, stupid rules, stupid Max-

He peels out of his racesuit, aggressively yanking on a pair of jeans from the floor and a sweatshirt out of his suitcase.

Stupid fucking Dutchie, thinking the whole track is his, and everyone else should just let him by, here comes the future Formula 1 racer-

Charles won't do that, and he's paid the price for it today with a fucking DNF. A DNF, and it isn't even his fault.

The good news is Charles knows whose fault it actually is. The better news is that Charles has a good idea of where to find him. He slips out of the hotel, and he needs to be quick, because Jules and Papa will want to talk to him, tell him kind reassuring words.

Charles doesn't want kindness, Charles wants to fight.

Sure enough, Max is tucked away near the car park, in an old valets booth that's no longer in use. He's in ratty shoes and an even rattier sweater, logo for a local football team long faded.

He also has a mostly empty bottle of gin between his fingers.

Max lifts his head when Charles gets closer, lips curling into a sneer. His eyes are bright and focused, despite how much he's had to drink, and Charles still wants to punch him in the face.

"What, are you here for driving tips?"

Stupid cocky fuck, Charles hates him. His blood is boiling, and he's still pissed off as he slams his hands down, gets right up into Max's face. His breath smells like gin, and there's a slight swelling around his left eye- he must have knocked it into his helmet somewhere.

"Fuck you, you stupid cunt- what is your problem? Why do you think the whole track belongs to you, seriously, what is your deal? Is it brain damage? Can we fix it? Can we fix you-"

Charles is abruptly cut off as Max grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him down, and suddenly there are chapped lips pressed to his, and Max tastes like nicotine and gin, like a vice, like something Charles shouldn't have. Something Charles knows better than to indulge in.

He's kissing him back anyways.

------

Charles is sixteen, and Max is going to move into Formula 1. Charles hates him. Charles hates him because he's arrogant and rude, and he hates him because he doesn't care about anyone else, and he hates him because he had completely and irrevocably changed Charles' life when they were fourteen, and he was too drunk to remember it.

It's a burden Charles bears alone, and it's a memory he keeps tight to his chest. Not even Pierre knows about it, because despite being fourteen Charles had understood that it would be much, much worse for Max if anyone found out.

Sometimes when he's feeling particularly alone he'll light a cigarette. Won't smoke it- just light it, balance it on the windowsill and look outside. He remembers the way Max had kissed him, chapped lips and liquor and desperation, the way Max kissed like it was another fight. Something else to win.

Charles hadn't even been aware he liked boys.

------

The bass at this party is so loud Charles can't even hear himself think. He's pretty sure the walls are vibrating, and also his bones, and his brain too. He's been trying to find the bathroom for ten minutes, and he's hopelessly lost in the dark. The hallway occasionally strobes with flashing lights, because whoever owns this random house they've ended up at throws parties a lot.

Charles had to sign an NDA before he stepped in.

His phone is in a locker near the entryway.

He passes a bathroom with two girls doing lines, and he spots white tablets scattered across the counter.

He's not going into that one- Charles is in the middle of the race season, and he's not a huge fan of pills in general.

He's ended up in a residential wing now, several closed doors and suspicious noises that are definitely sex.

He spots a cracked door and swings it open further, only to stop dead in his tracks, stunned.

It's Max.

It's Max and some other guy, and Max is miles of pale skin and long lanky limbs in the sheets, head tossed back into the pillows, and Charles needs to leave.

Neither of them even notice he's there when Charles takes a few quick steps back, feet muffled in the carpet as he tries to put the door exactly the way it was.

He feels like a voyeur, but the image is burned into his eyelids, the long line of Max's throat, the way his wrists were pinned above him, and Charles' brain short circuits for a quick second, because he's pretty sure now that he's thinking about it, the other man with the curls and tanned skin-

Okay. Max is hooking up with his teammate. That's a choice.

Charles' nose wrinkles as he thinks about it. There are several other drivers Max could've decided to do that with- drivers in their generation.

Nothing against Daniel, it's just. Max has options. Charles isn't even saying it should've been him, because Max could hook up with Pierre and that would be fine.

He's grinding his teeth.

Charles is a liar. That would not be fine, he would have to kill Pierre, or marry Esteban, or something equally as horrific to get back at him.

It's cool. Max can do whatever he wants as long as it's not beating Charles in a race. It doesn't matter that he was Charles' first kiss, or that they're sixteen days apart, or that Charles feels like he's constantly chasing him, always a few steps behind.

It's just-

Charles has been cradling Max's secrets close to his chest for years. The way he tastes, the dark set of his eyes when he's upset, the way Charles has known him since they were little.

Daniel can fuck him all he wants-

Charles knows he and Max have something deeper. He can be patient, he can prove himself, he can make himself into an opponent that Max can't ignore.

It won't even be a question then; of who deserves him. Charles knows he'll come out on top.

------

"Calamar, why are you not just opening the damn bottle."

Pierre is glaring at him, but Charles can't open it now, because they're hanging out at the rooftop pool. Max is on the other side of the pool with Daniel and Carlos and Hulk, and if he sees that Charles actually can open his own wine, he'll stop doing it for him.

Charles is in too deep to lose that now, even if it means floating in the shallow end, frustratingly sober, waiting for Max to notice and come open it.

Normally this plan works great.

Normally, Max is not distracted by three of the people Charles dislikes most at the moment.

Daniel, because walking in on them has sparked a rivalry Daniel doesn't understand and Charles isn't willing to admit.

Carlos, because Max likes an accent and hair with lots of volume, and Charles can acknowledge that his teammate is hot, even if he thinks he's annoying and slightly stuck up.

Hulk, because once Max starts drinking and getting excited about something he goes full Dutchie, rosy cheeks and gesticulating hands, and Hulk likes to enable that behavior.

Pierre follows Charles' eyes.

"You have got to be- fucks sake, give me that."

He yanks away the bottle, and it's open and back in Charles' hands within seconds.

Pierre is still glaring.

"And yet when I do it, you don't give me bedroom eyes."

Charles rolls his eyes as he takes a long drink.

"You don't want my bedroom eyes. And I don't want to hear it, you're still all hung up on-"

Pierre snatches the bottle back again, and when he raises it to his mouth he keeps drinking.

Charles takes the hint.

------

Apparently, Max has decided he likes Charles now, when they're in their twenties, instead of when they were younger, which is when normal people make friends. He does this by finding Charles after every single race and talking his ear off.

They've been calling it "maxsplaining" in the media and around the paddock, but Charles thinks that's stupid. Anyone who knows Max knows that it isn't a post-race thing specifically- Max just likes to talk.

If he thinks he has a listener, that is.

Charles listens.

Charles always listens.

------

"Red flag, Red flag, return to pits."

"What is it? What happened?"

"Come back to pit Charles."

------

Max looks small in the hospital bed. He's pale, swamped in thick blankets. It's technically not visiting hours anymore, but Charles is well liked enough in Silverstone to get snuck upstairs for a few minutes.

The nurse had said he was asleep, and that he was on pain meds.

Charles hasn't been in a hospital since his father died.

------

"You are staring."

Charles startles as Max breaks off his speech about domestic shorthairs, which is genuinely an achievement, because Max really likes to talk about cats.

"Sorry- I am listening."

Max narrows his eyes.

"Are you?"

Charles carefully sets his drink back down on the bar, leans in just a little bit closer. Max had cut the smoking before he went into Formula 1, but Charles can still smell the gin on his breath, the spot on his lip where he's been biting it during the driver meetings.

Charles wonders if he still kisses the same.

"To you? Always."

------

Max is on the roof, the night sky splattered with stars above them. Charles is careful with his grip on the bottle of red between his fingers as he makes his way over, feet crunching on the gravel before he lowers himself to the ground next to Max.

Max turns his head to look at him, mouth twisted in a frown.

"If you are here to gloat I do not want to hear it."

Charles hums. Their thighs are almost touching, and it would only take the tiniest shift, but-

Not yet.

He holds the bottle to Max.

"I can't get it."

Max's eyebrows raise, and Charles catches himself wondering if Max has been indulging him this entire time- if he's just as aware as Charles is that he doesn't need help with the bottle.

"You live in Monaco. You're French-adjacent, you drive for an Italian team- there is no way you cannot open a wine bottle."

Charles just shrugs.

"If you cannot either then you can just say that."

Max snorts, but he's opening the bottle anyways, passing it back over to Charles.

"Here."

"Merci."

Charles isn't sure how long they sit there passing the bottle between them until he tips it back and hears Max laugh softly next to him.

"It is of course empty, Charles."

Oh.

Charles frowns at the bottle before looking back up at Max.

"I have more in my room, if you would like...?"

Max looks back at him, and there's something complicated in his eyes, something Charles can't quite figure out.

He nods.

Charles pulls him to his feet, and they're both giggling as they clumsily sneak through the hallways, back into Charles' hotel room, Charles' bed, Charles' sheets.

Max is gone when he wakes up.

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 4 - Thigh Riding

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x f!reader

cw: set during top gun: maverick, instructor!mav, established relationship, thigh riding, slight praise

word count: 1734

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

You weren’t expecting him home yet.

He must’ve gotten home while you were in the shower.

Brushing through your freshly conditioned hair, you swing your bedroom door open and catch the sight of him on the couch. You nearly beam with excitement from down the hall until you realize he’s very visibly sulking.

Even at the sound of the door opening, and your steps, he doesn’t look up. His sage green bomber lies carelessly beside him, like he’d just removed it and tossed it there. Arms crossed over his plain white tee, his face is pensive, his eyebrows tight. 

“Baby, is everything alright?” you ask in a soft voice, standing where the hallway ends and the living room begins.

You seemingly startle him, and he looks up at you. Then there’s the immediate Maverick-style smile: the kind where his eyes remain downcast, his lips pulled together loosely in a shallow attempt at hiding whatever is bothering him. The kind of smile where he still looks sad. 

You’ve been seeing it a lot lately, ever since your sudden move to North Island. It hadn’t been so bad at first, but the mission was getting closer. He was smiling less, his eyebrows tight on his face. Constantly thinking. You couldn’t do anything about it, either, and it frustrated you a bit. The only option you had was offering comfort, which usually fell short with Pete. Not very keen on comfort and assurance.. Very much on sulking and impulse decisions. 

Still, you believed in him. And you had the utmost amount of trust in his ability to get his pilots through whatever the mission required.

“Why are you home so early?” 

“Fight broke out. Dismissed everybody.” He momentarily shuts his eyes, drags a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, leaning against the wall. 

It’s then that he visibly takes in your appearance, his brow cocking ever so slightly. 

Underwear, oversized shirt and your fluffiest white socks. Cheeks pink from a warm shower.

You watch the intrigue grow on his face.

At your question, he chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head, signaling you over with two fingers. “No. Come here.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. 

When he’s able to reach you, he immediately pulls you to him. You land on his thigh, almost kneeing his crotch. You snicker for a second, but then situate yourself, cupping his face in both hands. In a serious tone,  “Are you sure? How do you feel?”

Mav just shushes you, choosing to place his attention on you instead of on the lingering cloud of stress hanging above him. You gradually sink into him as he leans up to press his lips to your collarbone. Very soft, gentle kisses, the tip of his tongue teasing your skin. Your hand absentmindedly finds the back of his head, fingers in his short, dark hair. His mouth always takes you by surprise, how good he is at making you feel with it.

“What are you doing?” You ask, a small groan escaping you as his tongue connects to his favorite spot on your neck.

“You look good,” he murmurs against you, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you forward, even closer.

His words go straight to the pit of your stomach, igniting your desire; the urge to feel every bit of him under you. “I do?” It’s almost like an immediate itch, and your hips involuntarily roll against him for friction. He looks up from kissing along your neck, tensing his thigh when he feels it. He stares at you, pensive. 

“Is that what you want?” he wonders in a dangerously low voice.

You don’t respond, biting your lip in anticipation instead. Not that he gives you time to respond anyway, immediately deciding what it is he wants to do. 

Mav swipes two fingers on his tongue, the sight alone nearly making you moan and then you have to actually bite one back when they immediately travel under your shirt and into the band of your underwear.

Pleasure buds at your core and you squeal in excitement as the wet pads of his fingers pry at your slit. He touches you roughly, eager to turn you on and have you grinding down on him as soon as he can. The thing is, you’re already turned on—were at the first sight of him, really, with that scowl on his face, knowing that he likes it when you help him relax sometimes. It feels like it’s the opposite right now, though, Mav eliciting a wet warmth over his fingers and onto your underwear. Your body beams in ecstasy; it’s just two of his fingers but it’s enough to have your head rolling back slightly, your hips bucking against his hand, needing more.

The tension in your muscles begins to unravel, and, at the same time, one grows in your lower abdomen. When Maverick decides his fingers are drenched enough, he removes his hand. You whine, low in the back of your throat, at the sudden emptiness. You instinctively roll your hips against his thigh again, but he grabs at your waist, interrupting you.

“Get your clothes off,” he orders, sneaking a finger into the band of your underwear and pulling it so that it snaps against your skin. 

His hand is already under your shirt, and he aids you in removing it and tossing it off to the side, your torso now bare to him. There’s a growing desperation inside you, something he started that you need to finish, and so you barely remove yourself from his thigh to take your underwear off. If there was anything sexy about this, it certainly wasn’t the way you pulled on the stretchy band of your garment, leaning forward against Mav as you wrestled it down your legs. With your tits in his face, it’s Mav’s turn to snicker, grip strong on your ribs as you flop around on his lap in a harder-than-it-should-be attempt at stripping. You just really didn’t wanna have to be off of him for even a second. Not when he’s got you this hot and ready for him.

The material of his Levi’s is slightly rough on your skin, but you don’t mind, seating yourself on the meat of his thigh. With his hands around your torso, you fully expect him to guide you against him until he removes them completely, a very tiny smile on his lips. 

“Mav,” you whine.

Tiny smile aside, Mav’s eyes are dark with perversity. “Work for it, come on, sweetheart,” he urges, tone sweet and entirely condescending.

Your hands grasp at his shoulders for a bit of leverage, your hips immediately rolling against him.

Maverick leans back against the couch and it leans you forward too, your clit roughly dragging along the dampening material. Your noises are whiney, impatient, and they go straight to Mav’s cock, half-hard and trapped in his jeans. Your knee rubbing up against it with each motion certainly isn’t helping, either. You know, though, that no matter how hard Maverick was aching to fuck you, he was always willing to power through if it meant that he got to play with you first. Him and that fucking ego—but God, it feels so good. He’s allowed to play with you as much as he wants, you decide, mid-haze. 

Your fingers bunch up the material of his shirt, nails nearly clawing through at the skin of his shoulders as you buck against him. Maverick just watches patiently, hands at his side, ignoring his hard on. The corner of his mouth is still pulled up slightly, eyes still dark. He fucking loves seeing you like this.

You roll your hips again and again, drunk on the pleasure and on the scent of Mav’s cologne. Through your daze—and frankly, the lack of touch on his part—you find yourself gravitating closer and closer, mouth lingering on his jaw. He doesn’t deny you, but he remains nonchalant, watching you. 

Heat spreads in your cheeks under his tantalizing gaze. He’s unfortunately way too good at intimidating you. A part of you feels small, vulnerable, exposed—how could you not? Sitting here fully bare, grinding down on his clothed thigh, grasping at his shirt for any sort of skin to skin contact like it were your one mission on Earth—but the other part of you doesn’t really care. You’ll play his game. Not just because it always leaves you gasping and whining for more, but because you know how much he likes it. You enchant him just as much as he does you.

Maverick suppresses a tiny groan when your knee brushes his aching cock again, but tries to remain collected as you near your orgasm. He’s not going to touch you until you’re cumming, he’s decided.

His jeans are soaked through when you’re eventually seconds away, which make it a bit easier to rub against, your hips rolling faster and faster as your moans spill near his ear.

“Good girl,” he praises softly, turning his face slightly to press his cheek to yours. “Look at you.”

You practically feel your pulse in your core at the sound of his voice, and it shoots through you like a pinball, settling into the tight knot in your stomach. “Touch me,” you gasp, hands roughly finding the back of his neck and wrapping around the back of his shoulders as the pleasure inside you reaches its peak. “Please.”

Maverick cocks a brow again—he fucking loves giving you that look—but you close your eyes in bliss as it washes over you, the white hot blaze licking you all over. You gasp again and again, and it’s then that Maverick’s arms wrap around you, holding you tight against him as you ride the wave. 

“Just like that, baby,” he whispers, a hand tangling in your hair as you twitch in his grip. 

Your grasp on him is probably stronger, holding onto him like you’re scared you’ll slide right off and melt into the floor.

You don’t, though, gradually sinking into his warm embrace instead. Your head rolls onto his shoulder as you float through your high. There’s a tiny stinging feeling down below where your skin dragged along the rough material, but you feel good. A bit more relaxed, even. You hope, as he smiles at you lovingly, that he does, too.

[blueishspace]

Hero Villain God Bonus 1

(Prev) (Next) (First)

✨Hotguy answers the internet's most asked questions.✨

*The video opens to Hotguy in hero outfit sitting on a chair in a white room, he waves at the camera*

"Hello people! Hotguy here and this is my autocomplete interview!"

*Intro music*

"I'm dyslexic so I don't know how well reading is going to go"

[What Hotguy]

"What is... Hotguy's real name? Oh I'm sorry but you aren't going to find that on the internet! It's very confidential. I have seen a few interesting theories about it though"

*Hotguy has a pensive expression*

"For example, I heard people say I'm secretly Mayor Ren. It's kind of funny even if completely wrong. Next!"

"What is Hotguy's age? Uh, you guys are really curious about me...hence this whole thing, I'm flattered. You know, there is this site that said that I'm in my late fourties! Can you believe it friends? My fourties! I don't look that old do I?"

*The hand of the cameraman appears to do a so-so motion, Hotguy gasps*

"How dare you! I'll have you know I'm not fourty or worse...fifty"

"What is Hotguy's favorite colour? Orange of course! Next question!"

*Hotguy very dramatically reveals the next one*

"What is Hotguy's net worth?"

..."I don't even know Hotguy's net worth and I'm him"

*Hotguy giggles*

"To be honest, my manager helps me with that kind of stuff. They're totally awesome."

"What shampoo does Hotguy use? Oh you like my hair, do you? Well, I like caramel or oh oh! Maple syrup scented shampoo, really nice sweet smell. It was actually gifted to me first by the number 5 hero Tay and I liked it so much I kept buying it."

"What is Hotguy's personality type? I uh never done a test for that, my manager said it would be dumb so I never done it... Maybe I could do it in the future! What do you civilians think?"

[Did Hotguy?]

"Oh no, what did I do? I'm getting worried"

*He anxiously reveals the first one*

"Did Hotguy... Fire his pr team? Who is asking this? No! I did not do anything of the sort, I'll have you know that my pr team is having a great time... What's with that face mr. Camera man?"

*Cut to the next question*

"Did Hotguy kiss... Really? ... Did Hotguy kiss Mother Spore? I very much did not, she almost killed me in fact. I don't know where you guys got the idea that I'm in a relationship with her...moving on-"

"Did Hotguy go to school? Well, I did of course, got a degree too! It was around that time that the Hero association first scouted me actually. It's also when my manager actually became...well, my manager, it was a really busy time for me!"

[When Hotguy]

"Let's see, when did Hotguy appear? Oh! You mean my first public appearance? That must have been a while ago actually, 7 or maybe 8 years ago now? I'm not quite sure to be honest!"

*He puts his hand on his chin in thought before smiling*

"These last few years have been great haven't they? And now with my new sidekick entering the scene the next few are going to be even better!"

"When Hotguy merch? Oh, you can expect new merch coming soon! I have so much I want to say about it but I don't want to spoil the surprise! Just know that it's going to be amazing!"

*Wink*

*There is some noise from behind the camera*

"Oh right! Onto the next question!"

"When did Hotguy fight Poultryman? ... That guy sure is an headache, he's following me even here, never going be free of him I swear. It was around a month ago that I fought him for the first time, of course one failure wasn't enough to stop me! I'm still onto him!"

*He stands up as he says it before remembering where he is and sitting down*

[Who Hotguy]

"Who is Hotguy? Just the top hero in the country of course! I guess people outside of Hermmittopia might not know me as much as they do those who live here... "

"Who was Hotguy's first villain? Oh that I do remember, I think it was Midas... It was Midas right? ... Yeah. A really nasty guy with the power of turning things to gold. Of course I catched him and is now somewhere where he can't hurt anyone. Catching him was hard but I manget- ...managed, sorry, to assault his back-"

*❌ Sound*

"I managed to take him from behind -"

*❌ Sound*

"I managed to... Surprise attack him?"

*✅ Sound*

"Who is Hotguy's PR team... Again? You know what, I'm not answering this one again"

"Who is Hotguy's manager? Oh! I can't reveal their name but they're great, probably the smartest person I know! They're a scientist though, so I guess it makes sense that they would know so much!"

[Is Hotguy?]

"Is Hotguy hot? Sure am, It's in the name for a reason friends! Look at these muscles!"

*Hotguy flexes in front of the camera*

"Using a bow as much as I do will do that for you, requires a lot more strenght then people think."

"Is Hotguy... single? I am, saving the city is a lot of work so I don't really have time to date anyone... I know, so many fans must be heartbroken but don't be sad! If you are interested in love then I'm sure you'll find someone ... Or someones perfect for you!"

"Is Hotguy gay?"

...

"I'm pansexual, It's a very different thing. Moving on!"

[Where Hotguy?]

"Where was Hotguy born? Here in Hermmittopia actually, born and raised here! I know it may sound unbeliavable but it's true"

"Last but not least... Where does Hotguy live? I'm uh I really can't say my adress friend! Especially somewhere a villain might be able to see! Sorry!"

[xo-cod]

angst w simon where he's worried about his civilian gf after an accident caused by her recklessness😢💔

hope you enjoy, it's rushed and probably ooc but i hope you like it :") <33

"how many goddamn times do i have to tell you to watch out for your surroundings y/n??" ghost was seething, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist while the other unlocked the front door.

"how many times do i explain i didn't even see the guy there" you glare but it is quickly replaced by a hiss of pain when you accidentally knock your leg against the wall. he holds you in his arms, taking you to the living room where he is better able to examine your injuries.

under different circumstances, you'd be smitten by his adoration for you that never seems to cease. however right now, the air could've been sliced by the blade strapped to his leg while his eyebrows crease further. his balaclava was thrown on the back of the sofa as his jaw was clenched tightly by your state

"that's the issue. you don't think, you just do. you strut to an unknown area, not once thinking about the dangers that lay right around the bloody corner. what, you think you're immortal or somethin??" his teeth are gritted, gently peeling apart your jeans to see a horrible cut that was bleeding freely down your skin and soaking into the fabric. cutting a bit of fabric, he does his best to wrap it tight to ensure no more blood while making a mental note to take you to the hospital

"alright simon, enough. you've made your displeasure more than clear tonight" you hold your tongue as best as you can but his eyes bore into yours, his normal dark brown irises have now darkened with anger. he stands to his full height, his face pensive as he glances down at you.

"no, don't turn your words on me. you made a mistake tonight, you were the one that recklessly walked into the trap, you're not a damn soldier armed to the brim with weapons! i won't always be there to protect you-" he begins but you cut him off, a light thumping taking place around your temples. all this pain and adrenaline made you want to crawl into bed and sleep for years.

"believe me, i'm paying the price for it. is that what you want to hear?? me to say that i was in the wrong?" you hissed, moving your leg away from his hands. he frowns, tilting his head in that disapproving glance that you're used to seeing him show to the recruits and occasionally his team members. it felt strange seeing it directed to you.

"can you just let it go already, what's happened has happened" you speak coldly and he bites his tongue, throwing the rag he cleaned the remainh blood with on the floor in a rage.

"i can't, fucks sake!" his voice becomes louder but you're not afraid, matching his tone of voice as you ask the next question.

"why not??" "because i love you, damn it! i fuckin love you and seeing you like that... it makes me so angry because i realise that i can't protect you as well as i thought!" his hands clenched tightly around the desk so much so you're sure it's about to break under his grasp, his tone sharp as it rang through your ears

"si..." your voice has dropped significantly, any anger dissipated into concern and worry. but he doesn't listen, instead taking several deep breaths. you can see from the shaking of his hands that he's overworked and scared, worried sick of his mind about this accident.

"don't wait up for me" he brushes past you, quickly wiping his face with the back of his hand while he grabs his balaclava from the couch again. his form is stiff as the skull mask goes over his face, ghost

you hear the door close behind him, the faint smell of his cologne in the air as you sigh softly with your mind overrun by thoughts. you're not used to simon being so worried, this accident rattled his cage and now he was out seeking vengeance for you. you walk lean back against the couch, looking at the time while the seconds ticked slowly. only hoping that he's safe and he comes back soon

[soulofapatrick]

Under the Mistletoe - Peter Hale x Femae Reader

Summary: Peter has to step outside during christmas celebrations and you follow him

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: None, just some pure Christmas fluff

Y/N’s POV 

The Stilinski living room is an embodiment of cozy chaos—warmly lit by twinkling lights and filled with laughter that bounces off the walls. We're all gathered, the whole pack, tightly nestled onto every available surface. Couches are claimed by some, while others opt for the floor, sharing pillows and throws in a haphazard but comfortable manner. It's crowded, but the festive cheer keeps us close, shoulders brushing and smiles exchanged.

From the doorway, Dad, Melissa and Peter stand, observing the scene with amused expressions. Dad’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he leans against the doorframe, a mug of something warm in his hand, as Erica and Liam bicker over who the gift in Malia’s hand is for. Melissa exchanges a fond glance with him, her lips curving into a soft smile, while Peter’s gaze holds a mixture of amusement and something else—a tinge of sadness. 

Peter’s eyes meet mine across the room, a brief but charged connection that sends an unexpected warmth cascading through me. Caught in the intensity of his gaze, I can’t help but feel my cheeks flush, and I quickly avert my eyes, focusing instead on the gift being launched my way by Scott. 

As I peel away the layers of wrapping paper, a soft chuckle escapes me when I uncover a hoodie. But not just any hoodie—its a simple yet heartwarming statement piece. In bold letters, it reads “Best Pack Mom Ever!” 

The room erupts into laughter and cheers, a chorus of voices expressing their approval and amusement at the gift. I can’t help but grin, feeling a warm rush of gratitude and affection for this pack that feels more and more like family with each passing day. Without a thought I pull it over my head and melt with love as it’s so fluffy and warm and oversized. 

Glancing up again, I catch Peter’s eyes once again, this time softened with a gentle smile that reaches them. There’s a subtle depth in his gaze, a silent understanding that tugs at my heartstrings. His subtle nod and the ghost of a reassuring smile sends a flutter of warmth through me, easing any lingering nervousness. 

Despite the festive cheer enveloping the room, a lingering sense of melancholy in Peter’s eyes doesn’t escape my notice. His smile, though warm, carries a weight that speaks volumes, and I can’t shake the feeling of a hidden sorrow behind it. As the laughter and chatter of the pack fills the air once more, I see Peter swallow hard, a visible lump forming in his throat. Without a word, he turns and quietly slips away, his departure unnoticed amidst the joyful chaos. 

Squashed between Derek and Jordan, I feel a nudge of worry from the latter as I shift to get up. Patting Jordan’s knee with a reassuring smile, I offer a quick “I’ll be right back Jor.” Before making my way out onto the small front porch, where Peter stands, cloaked in shadows. 

The night air is crisp, filled with a serene quiet that contrasts sharply with the festive buzz indoors. Outside, the world feels different—quieter, more contemplative—and it seems to match Peter’s pensive demeanour. 

“Peter?” I call softly, stepping closer, the faint glow of the porch light casting a gentle illumination around us. He turns slightly at the sound of my voice, the moonlight painting his features in soft contrasts. There’s a vulnerability in the way he holds himself, a rawness that I’ve seldom seen, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” I offer, feeling a pang of uncertainty about stepping into his private moment.

His age meets mine a mixture of surprise and something akin to gratitude flickering in those intense blue eyes, “You didn’t,” he assures, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation. 

Feeling the unspoken weight between us, I cautiously move closer until I’m standing at his side. Peter remains still, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his forearms resting against the edge of the porch. Without a word, I lean in, resting my head gently against his shoulder, a silent offering of comfort. 

There’s a momentary pause, a heartbeat of anticipation, before Peter slowly turns his head, his breath brushing against my hair. Without a word, he leans in, burying his face in the soft strands, a subtle but profound gesture of seeking solace in the simple closeness. The wolves of the pack seem to do it a lot, as if they’re memorising my scent. I don’t mind it at this point, quite used to it and just wanting to make Peter smile again. 

His strong arms, once unmoving, now wraps around me, pulling me closer into a gentle embrace. I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reassurance admits the silent turmoil within him. 

Gently pulling back after a moment, just enough to meet his gaze, I sense a shift in peter’s demeanour. The shadow of sadness is still present, lingering in the depths of his bright blue eyes, but it’s fading, giving way to something else—something that sends my heart racing and my usually eloquent words scattering like autumn leaves. 

His features, usually etched with an air of intensity and determination, soften in this moment of vulnerability. There’s a depth to his gaze that draws me in, an unspoken understanding that feels like a whispered secret shared between us. 

I find myself entranced by the subtle play of moonlight on his angular features—the chiseled jawline, the faint scars, and those piercing eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies within them. It’s a sight I’ve admired from afar, a magnetic pull that has stirred a quiet longing within me for longer than I can remember. 

My throat feels dry as I wet my sudden parched lips, nerves fluttering like a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. Being this close to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and seeing the vulnerability in his expression, stirs emotions I’ve kept carefully hidden—a rush of affection and an undeniable attraction that refuses to be ignored. 

As the moment lingers, I feel the shift in Peter—a subtle but distinct change in his demeanour. His suave facade seems to resurface, a shield to conceal the vulnerability he had briefly allowed me to see. 

His hand lifts, cupping my cheek in a gesture that sends shivers down my spine. The rough pad of his thumb grazes over my bottom lip, a barely-there touch that ignites a flurry of sensations. I catch the flicker in his bright eyes, the way they linger on my lips before meeting my gaze once more. There’s a hesitation in his expression, a hint of conflict that dances in those intense blue eyes. "I should stop," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a mix of uncertainty and restraint, a self-imposed barrier he seems hesitant to breach.

The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken desires and emotions. My heart races, caught between the yearning to lean into his touch and the fear of misunderstanding his intentions. 

Caught in the charged atmosphere between us, my heart pounds louder in my ears, an erratic rhythm matching the intensity of the moment. With a surge of boldness fuelled by emotions I can no longer suppress, I act on impulse.

Without a second thought, I rise onto my tiptoes, closing the distance between us. My hands find their place on his shoulders, seeking support and anchoring myself as our lips finally meet. There’s a tender urgency in the kiss, a mingling of hesitance and longing, a culmination of unspoken emotions and desires. 

Peter’s arms, strong and reassuring, wrap around me in response—one securely around my waist, drawing me closer, while the other cradles my head, holding me gently but firmly. 

The touch of our lips sparks an electric current that courses through me, sending tingles down my spine and causing my entire being to tremble. His lips are soft against mine, a perfect harmony of warmth and reassurance, igniting a fire that spreads through every fibre of my being.

In that moment, there's a convergence of emotions—a sense of familiarity mingled with the exhilaration of something new and exhilarating. The kiss feels like coming home, yet exploring uncharted territory, a blend of comfort and passion that leaves me breathless. 

I feel the tension in Peter's embrace ease, a silent affirmation of reciprocation. His kiss holds a tenderness that speaks volumes, a silent confession of emotions that words fail to express. It's a moment suspended in time, a revelation of desires and an acknowledgment of a connection that had silently thrived between us.

With a gentle breath against my lips, Peter murmurs, his voice barely audible yet carrying a weight of amusement, "There's mistletoe above us.”

A soft chuckle escapes me, muffled against the warmth of our lingering kiss. It's a rare sight, seeing a genuine smile grace Peter's lips, a fleeting but captivating moment that feels like a precious gift. 

Breaking the kiss, we share a brief, lighthearted glance upward, confirming the small sprig of mistletoe hanging just overhead. It's an almost serendipitous detail, adding a whimsical touch to this unexpected but undeniably cherished moment. Our gazes meet again, and the air between us crackles with a newfound energy, a playful warmth contrasting the depth of emotions we've just shared. There's a silent understanding, an unspoken agreement to cherish this rare moment of vulnerability and connection.

Peter's thumb brushes over my cheek, a tender gesture that holds a promise of more unspoken conversations yet to come. His gaze lingers on mine, a silent reassurance in those intense blue eyes.

"I didn't expect this," he admits softly, a trace of vulnerability coloruing his tone, a rare glimpse of the man behind the walls he usually upholds, “I didn’t expect you to want me back, to feel the same way with our age gap.” 

“I don’t care about that Creeperwolf,” I reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips, feeling the weight of the unspoken but shared sentiment between us, “Now come back inside and celebrate with me.” 

“The others…” 

“Peter Angus Hale, when have you cared what others think of you?” 

“Alright Love, lead the way.” 

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023