#they’re slowly collecting dust

[marbles-for-dinner]

I have to stop being such a terrible oc mother, I gotta make more art of them ughhhhhhh

#random marble post #they’re slowly collecting dust #this is unacceptable

[puppetwoman17]

Okay so I love all of the cap identity reveal stories. Obviously. The anticipation of the reactions, the fact that someone they’ve known for so long, someone they’ve fought with and laughed with and cried with, is not even half their age…

But what if they NEVER found out? Cap’s identity, I mean.

I don’t mean life just continues on with Billy leading his separate lives. It’s more like(this next part is so fucking drastic lol) the league thinks cap is dead and suffer with the hole he left behind, only to somehow find out he’s alive, and to add fuel to the fire, he’s a young radio host in Fawcett.

The JL( and other heroes if you want) are fighting a being with incredibly powerful magic. I’m not good with the specifics, but it lines up with someone like Lady Blaze. The YJ team are acting as reconnaissance and backup. Everyone’s doing their part, including Cap.

But then something goes wrong. A miscalculation is all it takes for the fight to spin in the villain’s favor. Magic is a fickle thing. One wrong move, and sparks will fly with reckless abandon.

The fight is nearing an end, and it’s clear that almost all the heroes have been rendered useless. They’re either limping up to go again, or unconscious from the strain.

Everyone but Captain Marvel, that is.

To bring an end to the fight, Cap unleashes a powerful stream of magic, something no one has ever seen him pull off. It seems to zap everything out of him. The next thing you know he’s falling, his body slowly disintegrating. He makes it to the floor and smiles at the other heroes, all of whom are crying their hearts out as gold dust replaces him, for divine beings have no blood.

Billy, on the other hand, is fucking pissed. Apparently, Shazam created a failsafe in case something like this happens. He wakes up in the rock, unable to transform. His magic is still there, and with Solomon’s help he learns that his champion form will return after a couple years. For now, he needs to rest his reservoir.

Now, you’d think he would go tell the league, right?

But he’s not so little anymore, and he now knows that him being younger won’t be the only issue. Younger him was only worried about that little tidbit, but in truth, there was no guarantee they would let him stay if they knew he’d been lying so much. If he’d been able to keep his age a secret for so long, what else could he be hiding?

It’s not something he wants to do. The League, the YJ team, the Titans, they’ve all become like a family to him, despite almost all of them(barring the magic heroes) not knowing who he is. But he can’t risk being watched by parental hawks whenever he’s doing his champion work as Billy. He can’t risk them learning about his… circumstances. His crappy uncle, his annoying cousin, his(an oc I created for this post specifically but dw he’s not that important) crooked cop of a younger-older cousin. His living situation, his previous state of malnutrition, and all of his responsibilities. What a nightmare that would be, explaining all of that.

Also, he tries not to sound too cocky in his head, but he’s fairly sure at least a little less than half of the JL would kill for him. Or at least they’d beat someone to a pulp, which is still a pretty big deal.

So, he washes his hands of the JL and the sub teams and handles his champion work(bar fighting now cause his other body needs to regenerate) in his civilian form. It helps that the magic community, all sides of the spectrum, collectively decide not to tell the other heroes that their Champion is alive. They can get really annoying when it comes to their Boy Scout 🙄.

Plot, plot, plot happens. I’m thinking maybe Whiz gets an opportunity to interview JL members and they send their best reporter for the job. Or maybe something happens on the magic spectrum that brings them closer to Billy. Either way, the JL finds out Cap’s identity without Billy knowing and they are PISSED.

Billy has to deal with countless vigilantes, heroes, and teams lounging on his couch trying to goad him into revealing who he is. Either that r they follow him throughout Fawcett. Some people are angry with him, like Conner or either of the Roys. They try to make him angry. They want to see the real Cap, the real Billy(which is stupid cause of course cap isnt a fake persona but they’re too mad to realize).

Others feel betrayed, like Artemis and Wally(I refuse to acknowledge his death). Cap was a best man at the wedding and they really started to look to him as a sort of father figure. In fact, all the younger heroes love how he stood up for them and validated their feelings. To know that so much of their worries were being shouldered by someone who was years younger than them…

And the JL is worse off too. Their coworker, who they trusted and cared for, had been living alone since he was a child. Having to save for scraps until he finally got a home of his own.

The magic users are practically waiting for Billy to blow a fuse at everyone either fussing over him, attempting to make him mad, or following him whenever they felt the need. Mary’s laughing her ass off and Freddy’s smirking because now he can say “I told you so”. Shazam’s shaking his head because he told his damn protege that the champion doesn’t DO teams, but look where they are now.

Teth is honestly ecstatic. Comes to the next higher ups meeting and laughs in Billy’s face.

And Billy? Billy at least hopes he can make some money off of this: Okay but if I let you stay on my couch for the next three hours, that’s gonna cost you.

No no, I’ll let you follow me, but only if you do this one interview.

Maybe just stop trying to make me mad and just talk to me? Like I get you have issues but I already have a shit load of that so…

#billy batson #captain marvel #justice league #dc universe #shazam #identity reveal #temporary character death #magic community

[lov1ngreid]

BOYS LIKE YOU | 1

(pairings): highschool!spencer + cheerleader!reader both intended to be 18 in this story

(warnings): none!

(word count): 2.9k

(author’s note): so long i’m so sorry

hii i decided to split this fic into a mini series cause i have so many ideas and directions for it and i didn’t want to squish it into one long fic, some chapters maybe nsfw ;P i also wrote this with high school in mind, of course Spencer is regular high school age and not like twelve 🤨 but if you’d rather picture them in early college go ahead! also I usually HATEEE when fics have outfit inspos but soz I’m forcing you to imagine these outfits they’re so gorg 😭

okay no more rambling!! if u wanna listen to what i did when i wrote this, here you go!! ➘

“That’s what you’re wearing” Your brother brodie snickered from his bedroom as you strolled past it on the way to the bathroom, usually you wouldn’t have given in to his snide comments, which you were no stranger to. But it was thanksgiving if your brother thought your outfit was ugly, chances are, so would the rest of your family.

Your outfit always happened to be a topic of conversation.

Your movements halt when you finally process what he had said, before slowly taking a few steps backwards meeting his taunting face while he sat on the edge of the bed “What’s wrong with it?” You cock your head feeling the embarrassment trickle through your face up to your ears, usually you wouldn’t care what comments Brodie decided to make about your outfit, but a lot of people were going to be seeing this one.

Honestly you thought it was pretty tame considering the only revealing piece was your skirt, which frankly wasn’t that short, and you thought you had compensated with your boots.

“Why are you wearing… boots?” He laughed looking down at your outfit with furrowed eyebrows before looking back up at your flustered face “and why are they red?”

You scoffed, embarrassment completely diminishing when you find out that was his problem with your outfit “they’re maroon… and you’re wearing a doctor who shirt, don’t think you’re in any position to be judging me” you glare back at him uncrossing your arms.

Honestly, he has absolutely no right to be making fun of your outfit, despite being twins, you were the complete opposites. His outfits usually consist of different coloured converse and some sort of comic book shirt, yours consisting of literally anything else.

“I have a party afterwards anyways, I don’t have time to get changed”

“You have a party on thanksgiving?… who has a party on thanksgiving” Brodie scoffs finishing the lace on his second converse

“A lot of people” you smile sarcastically backing from his door frame to continue your task before you were rudely interrupted “not that you would know” you mumble under your breath before leaving his bedroom.

A little satisfied smile crept upon your face when you heard Brodie’s faint ‘hey!’ Emitting from his bedroom.

You knew your mother would be absolutely furious knowing you had intentions on leaving thanksgiving early to attend a party, which was exactly why you had no plans on telling her. Your family was big enough as is, and considering you had shared thanksgiving with the Reid family for 12 years and counting, with both combined there had to be one, or many pockets for you to escape unnoticed.

The car ride to the Reid family home always seemed so short, always feeling so much longer when you were riding there on bikes, or walking there after school.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had even used your bike, it had to be collecting dust in your garage by now, you truly don’t think you had used it since starting highschool, despite your brother’s efforts to get you to ride to Spencer's house with him, each time you declined, something always more important popping up.

The familiar smell of the house flooded your nose while you took a step in, it always smelt like chai and vanilla, and it always looked like fall threw up on it, decorated with faux autumn leaves and pumpkins all year round, they always just added Santa hats to the pumpkins in December, you knew that was Spencer’s doing.

The wind was almost taken from you while Diana embraced you in the biggest hug, almost knocking over the cupcakes from the tray you were holding, giggling a little you returned the hug one handed of course. She always smelt like the house times ten, the vanilla smell becoming so much stronger the closer you were to her, pulling back she embraced your face in her warm slender hands brushing your cheeks softly with the pad of her thumb.

“You look so beautiful” she smiles, your face turning pink at her compliment, she did this every year. Every year she hugs you, looks like she’s about to cry and then goes on about how beautiful you look for the rest of the night, and every year it makes you feel a little more guilty about not coming around as much.

Both your parents embrace Diana and William before they usher you to the beautifully set dinner table, where the rest of his and your family awaited your arrival, both yours and his grandparents chatting away at the kitchen bench about some sort of football nonsense.

Always in awe of Diana’s meals, you debated on changing your mind and slipping out after dinner instead, not wanting to miss out on her carefully cooked Turkey.

Despite getting swept away in greeting the rest of your family, as well as the rest of the Reid’s, it didn’t take you long to notice one missing Reid.

Regardless of your efforts to talk to Spencer, he never really seemed that interested in befriending you after middle school, every time you tried to talk to him in class he always went quiet and dismissive, or snapped mean answers back at you, and you simply took the hint.

Spencer saw the way your friends snickered to themselves when you tried to speak to him, the way they’d whisper when he walked past, even though you’d smile and wave, he always saw them laugh behind you. He knew deep down it wasn’t your fault, but he couldn’t help but blame you when you never actually stopped any of your friends from making snide comments at him or his friends.

Excusing yourself from your family, you hopped up the stairs, muscle memory walking you towards Spencer’s room before you mind had caught up,

Reading the large ‘S R’ sticker on the bedroom door, you chuckle to yourself a little, staring at the crooked R knowing it was like that cause you couldn’t reach it to meet the S in the fourth grade, Spencer had refused to help you, cackling as he watched you on your tippy toes while you begged him to stop laughing.

Before your mind could even process anything, you brought your arm up to knock on his door, swallowing nervously.

You weren’t even sure why you were nervous, he just seemed to shut down any attempt at being friends and you never knew why. He got along with Brodie just fine, they were honestly really close, they hung out at school everyday and studied together after school on Wednesdays and Fridays, it just seemed like your invitation stopped one day.

The door swung open while your mind had still been dissociated thinking about all the attempts you made to talk to him, snapping you from your brain fog, Spencer stood at the door almost equally as confused as you, honestly you didn’t know why you were there, and as smart as he was, he didn’t know either.

“I brought you a cupcake” you chuckle pushing the baked good towards him with your right hand, eyebrows furrowed he takes a look at the seemingly vanilla cupcake in your hand before looking back up at your eyes.

“I don’t like cupcakes” Spencer shakes his head quickly while his hand grips harder on his door handle, debates in his mind about closing it on you.

“Yes you do” Cocking your head you stare at Spencer confused, he loved cupcakes, he also loved your cupcakes “I literally saw you eating one in the library the other day” you scoff at his obvious lie.

“And why were you in the library” he raises both his eyebrows, glancing back down at the pretty cupcake you had offered him, which he began to quickly regret declining, because he really did love your cupcakes.

“Reading?” You conceded pulling your arm holding the cupcake back “are you implying I don’t read Spencer Reid?” This was the most he had talked to you in months, you never realized you could miss a person's voice despite them being alive and well.

“If the boot fits” he shrugs leaning on his door, the grip on his door handle loosening a little, you stare a little taken back, he doesn’t talk to you for years, and then all of a sudden on thanksgiving he decides he’s going to spit back sassy little comments at you?

“Can you just take the cupcake?.. it’s pumpkin spice” you admitted pushing the sweet back in his direction, a little part of Spencer’s facade broke down, almost giving into the cupcake “I even made the little pumpkin out of fondant… it took forever” you whisper the last part almost talking to yourself.

He tried his hardest to stay strong but you had just about broken him down at this point, with a displeased groan rolling his eyes he reached out to snatch the cupcake from your soft hand, earning a small smile to form on your lips.

It only took him seconds to dig into the treat before a soft chuckle escaped your lips “can I come in?” You smile glancing behind him into his room, it looked almost exactly the same as it did when you were fourteen, posters in the same place, no furniture was rearranged, you even spotted the mini dalek figurine you had bought him on his top shelf.

Hesitantly Spencer nods stepping away from the door frame to welcome you in, his room was always kept neat, sheets tucked perfectly under his mattress, and books always in the correct spot. His weakness, however, was the countless amount of school work pages spread across his desk.

Taking a seat at his desk your eyes still gaze around his room, feeling like a blast from the past, all the books you read, series reruns you watched and stories you wrote coming back to you in a wave of memories.

“So…” he mumbled, mouth still half full with your cupcake before sitting down on the edge of his bed “do you need science homework?” Shrugging boring his eyes back into yours.

You scoff, frankly offended he would even ask you such a thing “no?.. Spencer, you and I have almost the same science grades." You'd be lying if you said you’ve never thought of asking Spencer for homework, especially on nights where cheer practice ran late and you didn’t have nearly enough time to finish, but you’ve never actually asked.

“Yeah almost” scoffing while he brushes his hands against each other wiping the crumbs of the cupcake away, you sat there stunned a little, he knew you’d never ask him considering your friendship… situation, you wouldn’t use him.

You felt the rage boiling in you for a little at his attitude towards you, considering you had done absolutely nothing for him to be mad at you for, sure you weren’t in the same friend group, but he would know more than anyone the statistics of middle school friends drifting apart in highschool, you swivel his desk chair to face his desk, frustrated palming your face with your hands dragging them down a little.

You allow your eyes to rake across his messy paper filled desk before they’re drawn to one page in particular, written in pink pen on beige lined paper, quickly snatching it from the pile you let your eyes scan over it a little before letting out an unexpected laugh.

Catching Spencer’s attention his eyes had almost bulged out of his head once he realized what piece of paper you had in your hands.

“Dear Spencer…” you start reading aloud ignoring Spencer’s loud attempts to make you put it down “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our conversations and wanted to let you know-”

“Put it down please” he groans, reaching forwards to grab it from your hands, only for you to snatch it towards you standing up from his desk chair.

“-That I’ve liked you for a while now- Sadie Keller!” You gasp grinning up at Spencer while he makes every attempt to steal the paper back from your grip “you never told me you liked Sadie Keller!” you playfully smack him with the piece of notebook paper before letting him grab it from your grasp.

“I don’t really tell you anything” Spencer crumpled up the paper before tossing it back onto his desk, you face fell a little at his words, only because he was right, he didn’t really tell you anything at all, because he didn’t ever talk to you, because you weren’t really friends.

You almost could’ve sworn you felt a lightbulb click on above your head while you watched Spencer scurry his papers together to make a neat pile “come to a party with me” you rush causing his movements to halt slowly turning his head to meet your gaze.

“Why on earth would I do that… it’s thanksgiving” he reasoned, confusion painted across his face. He simply could not fathom why you would want to take him to a party, he also couldn’t fathom why he was considering it.

“God” you groaned, moving to take a seat on his bed now “people have got to get over that” rolling your eyes you pat down your skirt a little before continuing your attempt to read his face for clues on what was going on inside his head.

“Why would you want to be seen at a party with me?” He queried, attitude dripping from his sentence, watching as your face dropped and your brows furrowed coloured him confused, why would you want to be seen with him?

“Sadie will be there… and I can’t see a potential love story and not indulge” you snicker, almost dismissing his question, you thought you’d spare a sentimental conversation about how much you missed him and instead go an easier route, you wanted him to come for his benefit.

To your surprise, he looks as if he considers it for a while, it was the first time you actually took in what he was wearing, a fitted doctor who shirt and gray sweatpants, the same exact doctor who shirt your brother has on, you cringed a little at the thought that they had coordinated that.

“Fine” he says after a while of silence, you simply cannot help the grin creeping up on your face “but only because of Sadie, and not because of you” he rushes again, almost sounding like something he was trying to convince himself rather than you.

Holding your hands up in defense you smile at his surprising compliance “how are we even supposed to leave without anyone noticing?” Beginning to worry that both your families were beginning to wonder where both of you had gone.

In all seriousness, your family actually had not noticed that the both of you were up in Spencer’s room, and were much more occupied by the game of football they all huddled around to watch.

“Follow me genius”

go to PART TWO

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BACK TO MASTERLIST

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic recs #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert

[whalesforhands]

Hii! I have an idea ☝️😈

What about teen gojo and geto meeting future reader and they’re all baffled and mesmerized and all this fluffy stuff and reader is just like “🧍‍♀️” confused since she was fighting a curse a few seconds ago- But the adult versions of the two are busy doing whatever else so she has to deal with them until the curse wears off?

Just wanted to ramble 🏃‍♀️ Merry Christmas!

i like ur rambling, anon. guess what timeline i picked, hehe. whether or not it’s canon to main dyf au, is for you to decide. merry christmas hohoho

You practically deflate onto the ground, knees scraping against the soft dirt whilst your poor, beaten up staff was used as your sole support where you had stabbed it into the dirt, your hands sliding down the handle of your weapon as the dust settles around you.

It was rare to have you deployed on-field for an exorcism of a curse, and even rarer for you to have to deal with anything above a Grade 2.

(Mainly due to your husbands who were sorely against you having to do any exorcism at all.)

But, alas, even they can’t slay every single curse in the world; the higher-ups having purposefully kept their most powerful busy as of late.

“And you promise to abandon your mission if you can’t defeat it?” A seriousness in his tone, almost dreadful, almost domineering in nature. Geto Suguru will not take no for an answer, his hands upon your shoulders squeezing lightly, trembling just ever so slightly.

“Do not fight anything you deem above your skill level.” Gojo Satoru is wholly deadpan, your pinkies interlocked in a promise as intense eyes stare you down. You feel his pinky tighten, restless, unlabeled impatience. Absent of any semblance of playfulness. “Okay?”

You’ve taken their words seriously, only taking fights that you know you would win; only running when you know you can’t.

A jujutsu sorcerer does not give their life up so easily.

You hear a rustle from the bushes, eyes darting behind you, and ripping your weapon out and readying for another face off just as you feel a familiar, overwhelming power looming just where you had looked away.

“Now, now, now.” That familiar voice, lacking in all the more mature tones you were used to, all the gentleness that you’ve grown so fond of.

“You’re gonna drop your weapon, put your pretty hands up and slowly turn around to face me.”

(You didn’t even hear his footsteps. Was he flying?)

There’s no hesitation in your compliance, the clatter of your staff to the ground as your hands are held up. The malice in the energy you feel all stoked and ready to explode at any given moment, the tones of his voice an underlying, upset melancholy.

You’re facing the Gojo Satoru, afterall. However, there’s an issue with him, something you’ve realized all too soon after loving him for so long.

There’s a tensed silence between the both of you during the stare-down, your eyes still getting used to his slightly shorter stature, much shorter hair as compared to your highschool days and current adult age. His cheeks a tad bit fuller, but eyes dulled considerably.

He’s still so cute.

“My Six Eyes tell me that you’re (name) (last name).” From your breathing pattern down to every last speck of your cursed energy; it was undeniably you. His eyes shine with quiet grief, and gritted regret as you meet his gaze.

You feel sorry for him.

“…but you’re not my (name).” You’re a little more mature looking, a little far too calm and collected in his presence. You’re the same; yet not the one he knew. His eyes narrow as the red on his glowing hand fizzles out, his stance commanding and broad as his feet finally touch the ground before you, using his looming height as a threat. It contrasts the way his voice cracks just as he ends his words, a beating silence enveloping the both of you as your heart calms, your hands slowly going down.

“And you’re not my Satoru.” It causes a stuttering, reddish plum to his cheeks, a throb to his heart that he hadn’t expected to feel, clenching his fists, a click of realization alongside his fingernails digging into his skin, intrepid gaze holding your calm one.

“So I am in another world.”

——

This wasn’t your Suguru either. His hair is messily bunned up, the bags under his eyes darker than you have ever seen him. His lips are dry, his complexion lacking any of the usual vigor your Suguru had.

He looks far too weary, far too tired as he sits upon a nearby bench, hunched over and just so exhausted that it makes you wonder when was the last time he has had a good night’s sleep.

“Oi, Suguru!” The ‘Satoru’ that you had met is all too keen to greet the boy, his hand around your elbow and pulling you along with him. “I found out where we’re at!” His loud call only heeds the visible slump of the black-haired boy’s tensed shoulders, eyes still cast towards the ground as the cicadas call around him.

“And I found somebody to help us.” He brings the both of yourselves to a stop before the blank boy.

“It’s nice to meet you?” You’re honestly at a loss for words at the situation. For how all powerful and odd Gojo’s powers can be, you hadn’t expected this situation one bit.

It’s at your voice that this ‘Geto Suguru’ nearly whirls his head back at a speed so quick that it nearly scares you. Dry, reddened eyes widening and mouth opening, getting up on shaky legs as he extends a hand towards you.

“You—“

——

“So…” The silence is far too awkward for you to be comfortable. “There was a (name) in your timeline too, I hear?” Your fingers are twiddling with your jujutsu uniform as you sat in between the both of them, their proximity a just inching between the line of too close whilst awaiting for Ijichi’s pickup to the campus.

‘Gojo Satoru’ is the first to speak up. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“Our (name) is… Dead.” You see ‘Geto Suguru’’s hands clench at his uniform pants, bundling the fabric up so tight that his knuckles started to turn white.

Oh. You feel bad now.

“I’m… Sorry about that.”

A breath is sucked in through his teeth. “Don’t be.”

You shouldn’t feel sorry for them at all. It’ll just make it worse than it already is.

Isn’t it funny? Comical? That their (name) had to be ripped away from their hold, had to be clawed away from their reach, only for fate to place another you; living, breathing right in front of them.

So palpable, so alike, so unbearably, painfully you. It makes them want to throw up in disgust, honestly. But they can’t.

Because it’s you.

“I-I’m sure that I-“ No. “Your (name) lived a good life if you were both around, then. Please- Trust me on this.” You know. You know that any version of ‘you’ would be satisfied with their life if they had friends like them; Gojo, Geto and Ieiri.

It’s a life that no version of you would ever regret. You wouldn’t regret becoming a jujutsu sorcerer if you had gotten to meet people like them.

And it brings two broken hearts just a tinge more comfort.

——

“Um, Satoru..”

“Yes?” It was a chorus of two similar voices.

“Ah— No. Uhm— My Satoru.” You’re a bit frazzled as you nod towards your blindfolded husband, a satisfied hum coming from him as he made his way towards you.

“Just call the other one Gojo! Or you can just call for your hubby~” He’s cooing into your ear for the duo to watch on, a hand on your waist to hook you in close as a smile is donned upon his face.

There’s a beat of silence before the more intimidating white-haired sorcerer spoke up.

“No. I want to be called Satoru.” The younger Gojo had had his eyes set upon you, never letting you leave his vicinity. Then, that means that the other ‘Geto Suguru’ would be called as simply ‘Suguru’, then.

“Your blindfold’s pretty lame. Do I actually want to wear that?”

Your Gojo chooses to turn his nose up, and ignore that sneer his younger counterpart gave him. “Man, I was so angry.” You hear a sigh as you see a hand wave off the younger boy. “Do whatever you please, little me. But don’tcha leave yet, please! My Suguru’s gonna be so stoked to see this.”

Oh, speaking of your Suguru.

“Did you tell him to pick up some dashi stock for our dinner tonight? I ran out yesterday.”

“…how about we just order a pizza tonight?”

“Sator— Gojo!” Your hands are immediately upon your hips as you feel him hug you towards him, a hand going up to stroke the back of your head, as your face is pressed to his chest to muffle the incoming scolding.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t be mad at me! A wife’s scorn is a husband’s greatest regret!”

“…you guys live all together?” ‘Suguru’’s voice breaks the moment between the both of you.

You feel a rumbling of your husband’s chest as a laugh is released.

“And we got kids together too. Ya jealous yet?”

——

“Aha, this is certainly a sight.” Suguru is shedding himself of his jacket as he kicks off his shoes by the genkan, the sight of his younger self, and double the Gojo certainly jarring for him as they sat around the dining table.

“Welcome home, honey!” It’s your Gojo that skips along to press an obnoxiously wet kiss to your other husband’s lips first as you gently place the final bowl of zaru soba down.

(Minus the miso soup side dish. You’re still slightly mad, but you have guests over.

“We could’ve just ordered a pizzaaaaaa!” Your husband’s whines are ignored as you strain the noodles out.

“I’m not feeding guests a pizza, dearest idiot husband of mind.” You pat your hands dry upon your apron, turning to flick at his forehead as he whines even more, begetting a giggle before you tiptoe up to press a kiss to the area.)

“Welcome home.” Your voice greeting your husband is lost on ‘Satoru’ and ‘Suguru’’s ears as they stare down at the bowl before them. The significance of the food almost making the cursed spirit user tear up.

This was his favourite food. It— ‘You’ and himself used to eat this frequently until—

“Suguru… Are you okay?” A whispered concern from his Satoru.

“Yeah. I—“ He thinks he’s going to be sick. “I’m fine.”

“It isn’t much, but I hope you enjoy it.” His ears finally tune back in just in time to hear your voice once more. Dreary copper-amethyst gaze flicking up to meet your warm, lovely face.

He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it.

“Don’t push yourself if you can’t.” It’s this world’s Suguru that pops in, much longer hair, his older features, his broader stature and more muscled body.

(Does— He know what he’s been through?)

His chopsticks are trembling as he brings the noodles to his lips, mouth opening and slowly chewing— He stops as a realization hits him.

It’s delicious. It’s so delicious. There are tears in his eyes as he begins to gobble it up, a hack in his throat as ‘Suguru’ pushes the urge to vomit away to take in more.

(If— if this was his final time meeting you- Then he has to. He has to. But— This is strange. Even his counterpart didn’t react all that much to his and Satoru’s appearance.

It occurs to him that perhaps, they aren’t in another world. If they’re meeting their older selves, then— Perhaps they are in another timeline.

Which means—)

His gaze returns down to the now empty bowl before him, before flickering up to meet your satisfied, almost prideful face.

“Thank you for the meal.”

“You’re welcome! I’m so happy you loved it that much!”

Perhaps this situation wasn’t so bad at all, giving him the chance to see your smiling face once more.

——

“If you give me a kiss, I’ll tell him~” Is he mocking his younger self…? You just wanted him to help the other ‘Satoru’ to get back to his world. Alas, you relent, leaning over to press a chaste, quick kiss to his cheek as your Geto watched on with upturned eyes and a happy smile.

“Hey, kid me.” A joyful hum, a satisfied gait as your Gojo watches the little boy who he once was.

“You already figured out how to go back already, right? Whatcha waiting for?” Huh…? Your Gojo already knows how to get them back?! Your eyes widen as you nearly choke on your water.

“Now, now Gojo. Don’t tease them.” Your Geto is chuckling, patting your back as you cough. “You’ll make our poor wife worried. I’m sure that they have some sort of unfinished business here.”

What?! Were they both in on this? This is just getting stranger, and stranger…

“Heh. Guess it isn’t a surprise I would know myself best, huh?” Satoru lets a cocky grin overtake his features as his fingers intertwined with his Suguru’s.

“Guess I really am the strongest.”

His gaze finally stops at you. “It was nice— Y’know.” He grows shy, eyes shifty from behind his sunglasses. “Seeing a (name) again.”

‘Suguru’ speaks up. “Thank you for— Allowing us to experience it again.” He’s grateful. The most he’s ever been, the most he’s ever felt ever since your passing.

Thank you. But— It’s only goodbye for now.

“It was nice meeting the both of you!” You’re bowing politely as you wave.

(The younger Suguru is finally smiling. Even if it’s just a little.)

“We’ll see you soon! Wait for us!” A salute and a bright grin. And in a flash, they have disappeared.

…what?

masterlist

Notes:

If you don’t get it, your current Satoru and Suguru have experienced what their younger counterparts have been through.

Younger Gojo and Geto have been watching every move you’ve been making. Keep that in mind if you ever reread this, haha.

During dinner, younger Gojo and Geto decided to share a bowl together since Geto hasn’t been able to eat a full meal without throwing up. It was the first time in a while he’s eaten so much. When Gojo saw how much he was eating, he asked for a separate bowl for himself.

Geto Suguru thinks he’s pretty handsome in this world. Would…you have liked someone like that too? His Satoru certainly does. He’s seen the shifty, almost shy gaze his Gojo threw the older Geto. Maybe he will grow out his hair.

“Aww, I was such an adorable brat!~” His hands are placed upon his cheeks as he cooed, watching as his husband and yourself cleared the plates.

“Hmm. I suppose you must’ve lost all that cuteness in your youth, wouldn’t you agree, darling?.” Suguru’s cooing back at him from the kitchen with a laugh, his body turning to you to ask for your opinion.

“His younger self was certainly so cute… But I suppose my answer depends on whether he helps with the dishes today.” You’re teasing him right back as you slowly wash the plate.

“W-what? Fine, I’m coming! Call me adorable, pleaseee!”

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk angst #gojo x reader #geto x reader

[yawnderu]

Nikto x Bimbo!Reader really doesn’t seem to well, work…given how Nikto would kinda be too TOO much of an opposite for Bimbo!Reader.

Introducing Vulture!Reader, the girl that has a huge amount of trash bags in her trunk, and said trunk always smelling of decomp. She collects bones, road kill, passed pets, anything with bones she’ll collect!

I feel like Nikto would literally be a stray cat leaving gifts for her, bringing her dead things. Than generally being confused at first as she gets excited over finding things such as- finding a dead buck (deer with horns idk some people don’t know I’m sorry 😭), bird flys into the window- and she’s excited hoping it’s dead and not to ‘broken’ so she can collect the bones.

Getting to first know each other and she goes, “wanna see my cat?”. Than she showed him a full skeleton on display along with a bunch of shelf’s filled with bones, skulls and even small taxidermy.

-🩻 (I thought Nikito would be interested in vulture culture, how she can show him things can be loved even when they’re long gone. How there can be beauty in death, and that she continues to care and love for things even when their dusty bones <3)

AHHHHy yesyes!!

Nikto would absolutely adore a vulture!reader, despite being put off by the entire thing at first. She's too weird for a Russian man— for any man, honestly, yet he still finds himself interested in her rambles about bones and dead things, even going as far as to bring her bones he finds while out on missions, the glare he shot his mates when they gave him questioning looks from collecting bones for you was enough for them to never ask about it again.

Even if her house made him slightly anxious at first, it slowly becomes a safe haven for him as well, seeing how much love and care you love things that aren't alive anymore, most of them reduced to nothing but bones, yet you still dust them and talk to them sometimes. There's a part of him that hopes one day, if he dies in a mission, you'll be able to show him the same love and respect. Bonus points if she's a mortician.<3

#stray answers #cod mw2 #cod mwii #nikto cod #cod nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #nikto call of duty #nikto x female!reader #nikto x you #call of duty #cod #modern warfare 2 #cod mw3 #mw3 #call of duty mw3 #mwii #nikto mw3

[zadralien]

He wanted Dib to beg for his life.

Dib has become his life.

Ficlet under the cut.

“Fuck, Zim!” Dib reaches up to gingerly press his fingers to his nose and feels the thick blood pooling down past his mouth. “I swear to god, you fucking bug, if you’ve gone and broken my nose again I’ll-“

“-Shut up!” Zim shrieks, pak legs unfurling and clanking onto the concrete. He rises above Dib and encroaches slowly, legs clacking with each step. “You.. you worm! Do you have any idea what you could have done?”

“Dude, it was just some papers. I didn’t even read them for christ’s sake. They’re in Irken, you of all people should know I’m slow at translating that chicken scratch of yours.” Dib looks forlornly at the stack of crumpled papers a few feet away, scattered and likely marked with a spray of Dib’s blood. He turns back to look up at Zim when he snarls, reaching out a gloved claw to shove Dib back hard.

“They’re not for you, they’re Zim’s private papers!” Zim leans further over Dib, tongue curling and spitting flecks of saliva onto Dib’s face. Dib scrubs at his face, remembering how disrespectful spitting is considered in Irken culture. It burns a little.

“I don’t give a shit what they are. I didn’t even mean to touch them! I just wanted to put my crap down.” He meets Zim’s eyes. They’re a deep red and set in a foul expression. “I’m not interested in your secrets. You can keep those. It’s not like I don’t know everything anyway.”

Zim stiffens and Dib’s expression softens despite himself. He runs a tired hand through his hair and steels his gaze.

“You don’t really think I’m that big of an idiot, do you? You’ve just been quietly shoving your fat green head into my life over the last year and suddenly you save my life. I don’t know man, a guy spends his entire life trying to kill you and then just stops you from bleeding out some random Tuesday? That was weird.“ Dib shrugs, looking away briefly.

“That does not mean anything, Dib-worm. You were bleeding all over my base, it was disgusting. Zim had to stop it somehow.”

Dib shakes his head.

“It’s okay, Zim. I know we’re friends. I don’t know why, and I don’t care to know - but I know you’re lost and don’t know where to go. I know, and it’s okay. I’m lost too. We can be lost together. Your leaders, the Tallest -“.

“Don’t.” Zim grits out, quiet in a way Dib has never heard, didn’t know was possible. Physically, he begins trying to reach one hand out to soothe, to touch, to reassure. Mentally, he begs his sister to come collect his corpse once she realises what most likely happened to him. Damn it, he hopes she realises.

He isn’t that surprised when Zim lunges at him, but he wishes he’d had more time to brace before an Irken claw punches into his chest to grab at the material of his shirt. He wheezes a little.

“You do not know what you speak of, you pathetic slime! Do not mistake your loneliness for Zim’s. Zim doesn’t need you, Zim doesn’t need this dust bowl of a planet. One more fucking word and I’ll finish what that disgusting cryptid creature started last year.”

The human swear word sounds weird coming out of the alien’s mouth, but it’s not the first time. He’d only ever heard Zim swear once before - specifically when he got shredded by a cryptid in the woods and, in a blood-loss haze, made his way to Zim’s base to start bleeding out on his frenemies floor. He knows how hard it is to admit how miserable you are on the inside, especially to the people that matter most.

Well, he had made it this far.

“I know you Zim, and it’s okay.”

Zim’s quiet for a moment before he speaks, clenching his jaw.

“Beg.”

“What?”

“Zim told you, one more word. Now you beg for your pathetic life, you insolent worm.”

“I’m not going to - Zim, stop it. You know I’m right. I care about you too! It’s fine!”

Zim snarls, fist clenched, pak legs raising him to his full height. Dib’s heart drops when he sees one leg glint as it lifts itself behind Zim, preparing to strike.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He might actually die today. Shit.

“Beg!”

“No!”

“Beg!”

Shit. The leg is calibrating.

“I’m all you have! Kill me and you’ll have nothing. You know it too!”

Zim stops. The leg pauses. His eyes are wide, frightened, conflicted. He chokes out a pained sound, continuing to clench and unclench his fist. He yanks Dib closer by the shirt still tangled in his fist. Dib breathes heavily.

“Beg Zim not to kill you.” His voice is raw, tired. His eyes roam over Dib’s face, carefully categorising and assessing. The stilted pak leg drops back to the ground.

Dib’s whole body un-tenses despite the proximity. The alien’s face turns slowly into a somewhat unreadable resignation.

Dib swallows the lump.

“Please.” He whispers quietly. Swaying, pressing forward.

“You fool.”

#alien #art #dib #dib membrane #invader zim #dib x zim #zim x dib #zadr #zim #iz zadf #iz zadr #zim and dib romance #dib iz #mini comic #invader zim au #ficlet #don’t @ me about the lazy pose change lmao I did my best #zadr fic #zadr fanfic #my art

[reveluving]

Damn ive never seen you earlier, you write graves just amazing :(

Idk if you are still taking requests but how do you think graves approached his shy gf/wife in the first place? Is he persuasive?

Aww babe!! That is so nice of you to say! 😭 Sorry it took a bit of time ‘cause I admit, I’ve never thought of this, not deeply, at least! Please enjoy ‘cause I know I did 😘💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

The possibilities of meeting Graves for the first time are endless, but I have two in mind!

The first scenario is a typical but well-loved meet cute at a café, or a bookstore or better; a book café! With you and him standing in one corner of the counter, waiting for your drinks. Graves has zero problems in offering you a polite smile, only for his amusement to grow when you return the smile, albeit a smaller one, before immediately averting your gaze. 

The barista’s taking a while to make your drinks, so after some time, he thought of just striking up a conversation.

“They’re sure takin’ their sweet time.” Was the first thing he said to you. A lighthearted comment—you would’ve been more worried if he was more gruff about it, and you weren’t even a worker there.

You nod, huffing in amusement while looking at the dishevelled teenager, “They don’t usually take this long.”

Graves nods along and though he asks you some things, such as if you were a regular customer or if you had any recommendations, regardless of whether it was sweet treats or any novels you may have stumbled upon (even if he’s not a fan of reading, he may or may not like the way you slowly yet surely open up with him), he keeps them a bare minimum. He doesn’t want you to feel forced, especially since he began the conversation.

Soon, the barista finally completes your order, but unfortunately, it’s prepared wrongly. 

Yours were hot while Graves was iced. The complete opposite of what you and he asked for.

He was perceptive, seeing you grimace but also ready to just accept whatever was offered, Graves spoke up.

“Excuse me, kid, but I’m pretty sure you got our orders mixed up,” You would’ve panicked if it wasn’t for his cordial approach. Disappointed or not, he had no problem hiding it. And even so, you couldn’t help but feel bad when they heard the dreadful words. They must’ve faced a harsher customer in the past. 

Graves was quick to reassure them, even telling them to take the mistaken orders and share with a colleague, much to your surprise. Of course, you weren’t expecting him to lash out, not right away, at least, but you weren’t blind to his… lifestyle. Just from the way he carried himself, you knew he must be some kind of a ‘man of the hour’. That, and the way he dressed/his items i.e. his laptop bag, phone. 

And yet, you never saw him as one of those unapproachable degenerates. Thinking they were high and mighty, maybe even cause a ruckus and gain some kind of benefit out of it. He was confident, sure, but he could’ve just ignored you the whole time, much like now. 

“Thank you.” You thanked him softly when the barista, with the weight seemingly lifted off their shoulders, went back to make you and Graves’ orders again. 

“It’s no problem. Thought y’might need a little help.” So he did notice. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole for not hiding your emotion better, but something about his smile, his lack of judgement, it didn’t make you feel too bad about it all. 

Plus, you couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t easy on the eye, either.

Bonus if you decide to take a leap and accept his offer of sitting together at the window seat, especially if it’s during the lunch rush! The two of you may become regulars at the café and soon enough, you exchange numbers!

The second scenario is actually part of a mini-series that I’m working on (read: collecting dust), with you being a florist! While I won’t spoil a whole lot, it involves our beloved Shiba Inu. By now, we all know Kai is extremely playful, borderline mischievous if it means being a loving pain in Graves’ ass. 

So, after looking away for a moment, only to find Kai making a mess out of some flower shop owner’s potted flowers, he’s initially more disappointed (but not surprised) than worried. But nothing a little Southern charm and a bit of reimbursement can’t solve. 

That is until he sees you.

And while this revelation wouldn’t leave him to tuck his tail between his legs, I can see him going like ‘oh’, turning away for a second to swear under his breath before putting on his award-winning smile. But in all honesty, there’s a tad bit of guilt in it, especially after he overhears you forgive Kai, who, surprisingly, is whimpering in front of you, despite your soft tone.

Oh, how Graves could never forget your voice. 

Upon approaching you at the front door, he immediately apologizes, and unlike other times where he’s trying to rush the conversation so it could all be said and done, he’s very patient with you, partially praying that you were with him, too. There’s just something so magnetic about you that he doesn’t want the conversation to end so soon. But with your bashfulness, he knows not to overwhelm you either, which was funny, since he never particularly thinks about that with others.

And from there, he has an inkling that you may be one of the few people he’s willing to learn more about while considering his own personality. So, while he doesn’t shy away from showing you his romantic side, and spoils you a whole lot, too, he also lets you know about his more ‘disliked’ personality. On days when you and he are more heart-to-heart with each other, he tells you about the side of him where he has to play offence to be the person that he is. He wants to be as transparent with you as possible, so you won’t catch a ‘whiplash’ with how he treats you versus how he treats others.

Whichever the cases may be, while he is persuasive, knowing that you’re one of a kind, he knows this is something he has to be patient about, and frankly, he’s more than fine with it. If you have a history of bad dating experiences, then you best believe that he’s willing to show you just how much you mean to him, and hopefully, vice versa. Graves isn’t one to think about a committed relationship, mostly because he never found one and with his line of work, it’s a lot to think about, but he is more than willing to adapt to the new changes (and finally spoil ‘the one’) for you.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

#— reve's reverie 🌹 #— reve's asks 🌹 #eyes locked hands locked series #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x f!reader #phillip graves x you #graves x reader #graves x f!reader #graves x you #cod graves #commander graves #commander graves x reader #commander graves x f!reader #commander graves x you #commander phillip graves #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod mwiii

[a-simple-imagine]

dancing lights

synopsis: just a lil partying with jordan

pairing: jordan li x reader

words: 1k

A/N - a two second scene from saltburn inspired this and i couldn’t figure out a full fic for it so…

WARNINGS - Drug use and swearing.

As time melts into the early hours of the morning. Neon lights flash and dance across the sea of bodies packed into the room like a giant sardine tin. it’s a strange period of time. nothing matters. nothing feels real. it’s all just a little bit of fun. it’s loud. it’s messy. your friends are all here somewhere but you can only focus on Jordan right now.

there is such a tenderness in the way they look at you; an admiration in those pretty dark brown eyes. they cannot keep their hands off you but it is far from aggressive. it’s a hand on the small of your back. or your fingers intertwined as you weave through the crowd. it’s a constant that makes you feel comforted. like they’re almost scared to lose you to the masses. and you simply watch as their body moves to the beat of the music. a blur of bright colour and swaying. it’s slow. it’s sensual. like they’re putting on a show just for you. they only care about you in your small corner of this party. he takes your hand; thumb gently brushing across your knuckles as he lifts it between the two of you. he presses a kiss against your skin before looking up to meet your gaze. “may I?” shouted over the thump of the bass. you are not entirely sure what they are asking for. you do not care. they could have anything they want, do anything they want, if it made them happy. plus you had consumed enough alcohol for the risk to be worth it. you nod silently slow. a dusting of white power decorated the back of your hand but not for long as their nose makes quick work of the lines. it is weird how into it you are. how you cannot look away. it is not an inherently sexy act. in fact, it’s far from it. it’s not even good but you are mesmerised. a deep desire for the person opposite only made darker by the flashing lights and dizziness in your head. their tongue glides over your skin to collect any remnants. it would be such a shame to let it go to waste. a delicate kiss is placed at the base of your wrist. A thank you for its service. It brings heat rushing to your cheeks. a feeble, almost inaudible 'fuck' leaves your lips as you watch. Their lips curl into a knowing smirk as they guide you closer. You are expecting a kiss as they slowly lean in but they divert to whisper in your ear. "Do you want some?" you shake your head and they fall back. His smile grows lazier, less controlled as they gaze at you. merely maintaining your stare and leading the peaceful sway to the beat. it's pleasant. it's soothing. you could stay in this moment but it's interrupted as you are ushered closer to him. His hands drift to your hips; applying a tiny amount of pressure. your smile grows to match theirs.

"You good?"

"yeah," they nod slowly. "I feel great." they press their body into yours. "you look... fucking radiant."

"radiant?" you repeat with raised brows.

"radiant. beautiful. spectacular. take your pick." a hand once again graces your jaw. it stills your movement as his thumb lightly slides down your bottom lip before they lean in to connect your lips in a feather-like embrace. Over before it even started. “the kind of beauty men went to war for," whispered against your lips.  Wow. Such high praise. they really were high. As they drift away you reach over and pull them back into the kiss. it's deeper this time. desperate even. it fills your veins with want and warmth.

"you're much too kind," you giggle as you back away. "that's how I know you're fucked."

"When I compliment you?"

"the kind of beauty men went to war for is a little much," you respond.

"if that kiss was anything to go off, it worked though." he teases, a cheeky smile.

"Maybe a little."

"yeah?" hands that once graced your delicate hips now drifted lower to gently squeeze your bottom as you are pressed further against them. a sharp intake of breath you just can't help . "just a little?"

a shaky breath slips into the air. "maybe a lot." you reach up to peck their lips. "who could resist such charm."

the sun is scoldingly bright as your eyes flutter open. your head throbs with the many mistakes of last night. a slender arm is draped over your chest. Jordan lays face down beside you with their head facing away from you. this was their bed. their room. you groan loudly which causes them to stir.

“How you feeling?" you wonder quietly, shrinking away from the bright rays. they don’t respond as they push themselves up for a second before falling back down but facing your direction this time.

"I feel fucking rough man," they groan out against the fabric. "you?"

"absolutely fucked." you chuckle lightly. with their arm still across you, you shuffle closer into their embrace. snuggling up to their side. they hold you closer. you hum warmly at the contact. "do you remember what happened to Cate?"

"I don't think I saw her again after we all split up," Jordan explains. You roll onto your side so your whole body is facing them. They offer you a very weary smile. "Ah well."

"i’m going back to sleep" A faint hum from Jordan puts you at ease. You settle into their embrace and let your eyes fall close. "I wanna stay here with you forever."

"You wouldn't get sick of me?" they mumble out.

"Probably would," you joke. placing a chaste kiss against their bare shoulder. "But I'd stick around anyway." a comfortable silence comes between you and just before you can drift off entirely you remember what you wanted to ask. “should we get Vought-a-burger breakfast?”

“Definitely,” they murmur peacefully. “Later.”

#jordan li #jordan li x reader #gen v #the boys #jordan li x you

[huihuiheart]

Kinktober D18: Deep - Felix

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Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Pairing:  Felix x Afab! Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: His voice isn't all that's deep.

Warnings: Voice kink, cursing, teasing, unprotected sex, lack of foreplay, implied eating out.

Word Count: 901

Felix had cleared you a space on the kitchen counter to settle as he attempted a new recipe, a type of macaron he’d seen and been wanting to try to make himself. Wanting you there to give another opinion on some of the vague phrases the recipe stated instead of merely his own judgment. Though him handing over some stray raspberries was also nice.

“The jam and buttercream are both in the fridge and now the cookies are in the oven, but I just feel like I should do something with the raspberries to add to the decoration. Do you think they’re too plain alone?” Though every time he has spoken his voice had been so deep that your focus had been solely on that while the words flowed in one ear and out the other, panties dampening, while you missed entirely that he had asked you a question. At least until he came over to stand between your legs, looking at you in concern, “Y/N? Are you zoning out again? Is everything okay?” 

"What? Oh yeah I'm fine Felix, sorry I didn't mean to get distracted." You sigh softly, but he doesn't let your head drop. Catching you with a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb brushing delicately against your skin.

"It's okay it happens, I was just worried." He assured, slipping in closer to pull you into his arms, rubbing your back for a few moments, "Just remember that if something is weighing on you that you can tell me."

You hug him back, humming softly, "I know Felix, it's nothing like that I promise. Just a slight distraction. Genuinely."

He nods as he pulls away, to go check on the cookies again, "Alrighty, I just wanted you to know."

You get a few moments of reprieve when he carefully pulls the cookies out of the oven. Looking over them proudly before turning to you with a smile, "So what should we do while we wait for them to cool?"

"I'm fine with whatever." You shrug, raising a brow as he responds to that with a giggle.

"Oh yeah? Then how would you feel about doing your distraction?" His voice is deep contrary to the airy giggle he had let out in a moment before. 

"I- What?!? You knew?" You stutter out and he's giggling again though slightly more flustered now, a light pink dusting over his cheeks.

"Well I had an inkling, but just now when we were talking I made sure my voice wasn't as deep and suddenly you weren't so distracted anymore." He admits and now it's your turn to feel your cheeks burning, scrambling for an excuse of which never comes.

"And you're not bothered by it?" Is all that comes out and he's quick to shake his head.

"Not at all. I'm flattered in fact. I've actually wanted to eat you out since you sat on the counter, but then my voice would probably be too muffled for you." Felix teases lightly, but he's certainly not wrong in his statement.

"Do you understand how wet I am right now? With all the talking you've done I've been dripping almost the entire time I've been here. I bet you'd slip right in with no problem right now if you wanted." You answer and he scoffs in disbelief.

"Oh is that so? Well then maybe we should find out." He grabs your wrist and drags you over to the couch, gently pushing you back onto it. Though you're almost immediately sitting up to pull your shirt off as he starts to do that himself. Both of you quickly stripping, “Shit you were right, you are soaked.” 

He chuckles, the sound having a hint of a growl in it that has you clenching around nothing as he slowly runs two fingers through your folds to collect some of your slick and bring it to his hard cock, coating the tip with it. The tip that he then brings to your folds and rubs through only to coat in even more of you before carefully slipping in with very little resistance.

“No wonder you were so distracted baby, I bet this was uncomfortable, wasn’t it? Don’t worry though, I’m going to give you what you want now.” Felix assures with a smirk, he still takes his time despite how easy it is for him to push in, not wanting it to truly hurt you at any point. 

“Felix, just fuck me.” You whine, moving your hips now to get the rest of him inside you in one more. The man threw his head back in a deep raspy moan. 

“Fine, but you asked for this baby.” He presses your legs further apart, leaning down by your ear as he starts thrusting quickly cursing into your ear each time you clench around him. The sound of his deep voice right into your ear makes you hyper sensitive, eyes fluttering shut and wiping your mind of any coherent thoughts as his cock presses against your spot with each thrust until you’re cumming around him quickly, having been pent up for so long. Though when he pulls out instead of continuing until he cums for you you’re whining. Something that makes him laugh a little again.

“Relax baby. I’m just satisfying my fantasy now that I’ve satisfied yours. Then I’ll use your pretty little pussy to make myself cum, don’t worry.”

If you enjoy my work please keep in mind how much time and effort goes into it and show support through comments and reblogs, or consider buying me a kofi. (Caffeine fuels the chaotic gremlin in me who creates content.)

#kinktober 2023 #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #lee felix x reader #lee felix smut #lee felix imagines

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

🪿🪿🪿🪿Dove! 🤌👏🫰 ayoooo

I’m here for the followes event —

I’d like to yhhh request prompt #3 with Jade :] 🔪

It can be fluffy/hurt/comfort honestly whichever you’re feeling (I know sometimes the writing does what it wants once you get into it lol)

Backup prompt: #4

Backup characters: Malleus, Riddle

Thankfuho you (I just wokeu p and can’t type to spell but whatever I’m just leaving it ❤️)

Discovering Old Secrets; Jade Leech

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, implied romantic relationship

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; I originally had something else in mind that used the knife emoji but my brain wasn't braining. But this, this is so much better and fluffier than I had planned /positive.

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

You were down in the basement, lantern in hand illuminating the way. The power had gone out, and of course, the fuse box was in the basement of all places. Sevens forbid the person who built the cottage you were staying in actually put it in an easy-to-access spot. Nope! They had to put it in the creepy, old, basement. And since Jade was out getting groceries, that left you to fix it yourself. So, lantern in hand, you started fiddling with the fuse box, trying to find the one that had blown. At least you had some prior experience, what, living in Ramshackle and all; you had become well acquainted with getting stubborn fuses to work for you, even jokingly calling it your unique magic. 

“Come on, work for me baby,” you muttered, and all of the lights flickered to life once again. “Ha ha! Me? One! Fuse box? Zero!” You dusted yourself off and looked around the basement, now that you could see everything.

Apparently the people who rented this place out didn’t take out all of the old owners’ boxes, and they were just laying there collecting dust and cobwebs. There couldn’t be any harm in just taking a tiny peak, never know what you could find.

As you were gently looking through the boxes — hey, they’re probably old and you didn’t want to accidentally break anything — you heard the front door open and close. Jade was back which meant you had been digging for a bit. Sighing, you stretched, and made your way to the kitchen with its bright yellow cupboards. 

Jade hummed you a greeting and chuckled a bit at seeing the dust. “What did you get into while I was away, dear,” his voice was teasing, but he was genuinely curious.

“Welllll,” you drawled, “the power went out so I had a little fight with the fuse box, I won by the way, and discovered some old boxes down in the basement and was seeing if they held anything interesting.” A loud sneeze escaped from you, a result of all of the dust. “But all I found was a tonne of dust, way too many spiders for my liking, and,” you fished around in your pocket, “this key.”

Jade set the groceries down and came over to inspect it. “Well that’s rather interesting…” he murmured. “May I?”

You handed him the key, curious about what he seemed so interested in. Sure it was pretty, made from silver and inlaid with abalone and pearls, which were now weathered with time. There must have been a good reason why it peaked his interest.

Jade wandered into the living room, and started running his hand under the shelves of the large bookcase which was built in the wall. And then he stopped, a proud and large smile gracing his face. He placed the key into a divot in the bookcase, and it swung inwards, revealing stone steps leading down. “Looks like you just helped discover an old secret, my dear,” he chuckled, beckoning you to follow him down the stairs.

Slowly, you followed him, the light from the cottage helping to illuminate the way, as well as a pale blue glow from below. And then you stopped, having reached the bottom. In front of you was what looked like an underwater sea cave, with a shallow beach. And light gently filtered from a small hole at the top, causing the blue glow that you saw.

You looked over to Jade, hoping for an explanation, but you found him looking at you instead, expression soft.

“What did you mean by old secrets,” you whispered, not wanting for something louder to break the serene scene.

Jade took your hands in his and led you to the water, just deep enough where the water lapped against your calves. “The key you found, this place,” he briefly broke eye contact so he could observe the cavern before they travelled back to you. “It opens a secret meeting place, where land and sea can live together… it was forged by the love of a human and a merfolk.”

Just like us. 

Jade continued moving deeper until you were chest deep in the water, and he dived under, changing into his merform before coming back up. “And is only discovered by those curious enough to pursue it.”

~~~~~~~

Tags; @aqua-beam @azulashengrottospiano @eynnwwyjth @hisui-dreamer @identity-theft-101 @krenenbaker @officialdaydreamer00 @savanaclaw1996 @silvers-numberonefan @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

#dove does events #follower event #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech x gn reader #i might come back to this concept and do something with it because my brain is frothing at the idea; but idk #sha la la la my oh my! go on and ~kiss da eel~ #jade is in very high demand; fiss kissers are you alright? #also a fiss kisser but i have seen my moots lose it on not getting halloween jade; hopefully this helps some #i was possessed by a vision; the other draft i was stuck at 150 words for a few hours; deleted it; wiped this out in like 2 hours #b r a i n r o t

[villainessprefect]

~Tell It to My Heart~

title: Whisper of the Heart

Prompt #3: Telling them “I love you” while they’re asleep.

Azul x gn!reader

Read on AO3

You truly must be a very fortunate soul. Not just anyone is granted entry into the Azul Ashengrotto's dorm room. And being offered the opportunity to stay the night too? Perhaps the sea witch had blessed you.

His room is quite lavish compared to yours. Although, that could be said for any room outside of Ramshackle. But it felt as if you'd stepped into the room of a five-star hotel. It's spacious, well-kept, and not a speck of dust in sight. It's grand yet simple at the same time. Not overly decorated but has his personal touch. The coin collection hanging on the wall is what really catches your eye and you have to admit that it suits him perfectly.

The bed is big enough for two and he offered the spot beside him. You were his guest after all and he wouldn't have you sleeping on the floor or anywhere else. You wanted to decline, but the housewarden insisted. Eventually, you cave.

When your body meets with the fluffy bed, you find yourself melting into the sheets. It's soft and molds to your body. It's almost too comfortable for you. Luckily, you have nothing to be afraid of, no one to fear while here. Sleep comes easily tonight.

Despite the comfort, you still find yourself waking up in the middle of the night. Whether it's just due to poor sleeping habits or adjusting to unfamiliar territory, you can't return to the land of unconsciousness.

Slowly, you remove yourself from the bed. You're careful not to upset the one beside you. A quick glance shows that he's curled up on the other side of the bed, back facing yours as he remains still. With quiet footsteps, you make your way to get some water. A spare glass is brought for him. It's set down on his bedside. Before you can make your way to your side of the bed, you pause.

His features are captivating. Azul is beautiful. Just the mere sight causes your heart to pound against your chest. You place a hand over it in an attempt to silence the beating. He is a man of many talents. He's hardworking and devoted. Never succumbs to any bumps on his neatly woven path.

Yes, you're aware that he isn't perfect. Despite his gentlemanly ways, he can be quite shrewd. While his deals can sometimes seem innocent, he's always thinking ten steps ahead and knows it will benefit him in the end.

Despite it all, he's made his way into your heart.

You shouldn't test your luck. You're lucky enough to be here. But this is a chance you have to take. A hand reaches out to push back a strand of his gray hair that had fallen over his face. You're granted a better view of him now, so peaceful and different from the serious, hardworking look he wears so often. Oh, how this is a sight you wish you could see more often.

Seeing as your faint touch hadn't woken him up, you go for a bolder approach. Light fingers push back his bangs as you press your lips against his forehead. They brush against his skin and while you learn to linger, you pull back.

"I love you, Azul," you whisper.

You smile and take a step back. It's as if nothing ever happened. He still remains asleep, blessed by your magical touch. You can feel your cheeks burning, but the darkness permits its safety and not just for concealing your blush. Deciding that it's best not to indulge any further, you return to your side of the bed.

Little did you know that your movements had caused Azul to stir. His mind urged him to wake up while his body fought to stay in place. Worry racked at his bones. The fear of what would cause you to leave his side struck his mind. You weren't the type to leave unexpectedly, you would have a reason. But why leave him?

The sound of returning footsteps put him at ease. And just as he was about to drift back off to sleep, he felt something touch him. And then he heard your voice utter those three little words followed by his name.

He has to be dreaming, right?

He doesn't move, doesn't react. The slow realization that he's conscious and your actions were real settled in his mind. Only after you've settled back beside him does he open his eyes. Everything is in place and for a moment, he thinks it is all a dream. But then he catches sight of a glass of water.

Azul holds his breath and a hand moves to clutch at his chest. His heart races rapidly and he feels as if he could scream out in joy at the truth. But, you're still here, it's still the dead of night, and he can't dare to wake you and make a fool of himself. Besides, if he did then he would be making your secret known. The octopus needs to play his cards right and get those lovely words out of your mouth again, but at a time when you're both fully conscious and he can give a proper response.

Sleeping is an impossible task now. It hurts that he can't turn around and pull you into a loving embrace. To keep you close and feel your warmth- that would be a dream come true. Now he has time to plan for tomorrow. You've unknowingly asked him for a wish and he will grant it. Without a price.

#twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #gn reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x you #octavinelle #request #tell it to my heart event

[tincek-marincek]

✨ "You made me feel things I never felt before" 🌈 

Hellooooo everyone, long time no see! I vanished off social media for more than a year to deal with my health issues, BUT slowly I'll start uploading some of my new works that I can't wait to share! And since it's Pride month then let me share this sketch that I drew a few months ago. The sparkly boyo is my son Shadow and the other handsome boi is Dionysus and belongs to my friend Eztlehaka ✨ I know I usually don't share my sketches nor stuff like this, but they're too cute and they give me life, so it'd be too bad if they just collected dust in my folders forever :'D Happy Pride Month everyone!!! 🌈

Official site | YouTube | Instagram | DeviantART | ArtStation | Twitter

#artists on tumblr #art #digital art #digital painting #portrait #man #kiss #gay #pride #pride month #love #cute #couple #photoshop #wacom #valentina remenar #sketch #illustration

[ladamedusoif]

Provenance

A Gentleman Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader Story

Part of the HCU (Heritage Crimes Universe) - click for masterlist

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader

Summary: Two months after their reunion, the museum curator finds herself on an unexpected Parisian adventure. 

Content warnings: Smut; Oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; discussion of contraception; alcohol consumption; angst; discussion of illegal acquisition of stolen objects during WW2; (ethical) heritage crimes; theft; sort-of fluff; no physical description of Reader beyond her professional attire, though she has a nickname (chérie).

Rating: E (18+ MDNI)

Word count: ~7,500

A/N: They're back! The Thief is just too charming to resist. A follow-up to My Kiss, Only For You and Reunions.

I am no longer using a taglist: please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up to date with my work.

The package is, unmistakably, a book. Wrapped in brown paper, a neatly-typed address label affixed to the front. No return address. 

It’s pretty explicitly addressed to you, though. Right down to the department. You rack your brain, trying to remember whether you’d ordered something and forgotten. Or maybe it’s a gift?

You slip it out of the wrapping carefully. The dust jacket design suggests it’s from the 1950s, 1960s at the latest, but it’s in impeccable condition. 

The Museums of Paris: A Guide

The front cover features a photo of the Louvre, the facades still soot-blackened before their cleaning in the later part of the twentieth century, with beautifully-dressed tourists milling around the old entrance to the museum. 

Before you can leaf through the book, seeking a receipt or gift card or invoice of some kind, your desk phone rings. The museum director. And they want to speak to you: now. 

***

“We’ve had an…unusual request.”

You slip into the old leather chair opposite the director’s desk, covered in papers and catalogues. “An unusual request?”

She takes off her dark-framed glasses and smiles. “One of our major donors. They’re potentially about to buy some important art objects from a private Parisian collector, and we are hoping that - in time - they might donate them to us.”

“Okay…”

“But they don’t feel entirely confident appraising the collection without expert guidance.”

You nod slowly. 

The director looks at you as if she’s waiting for the penny to drop. 

“They want you to go to Paris with them, as an expert consultant. They will pay for all your expenses, travel, per diems - the lot.”

You just about manage to stop your jaw falling open. 

“Um…why me? I’m not one of the senior curators or object specialists, maybe they…”

She holds up a perfectly-manicured hand. “Stop there. The donor has explicitly requested you. They believe you are the best equipped to manage their needs on this job.”

“Uh… okay. So, when do I leave?”

She grins. “Two days’ time. And bring some decent clothes - you know how formal some of the French collectors can be.”

As you return to the office, a sensual memory flashes through your brain. Velvet, the colour of good Burgundy wine. Soft lips, coarse beard. Warm bodies pressed together. The most intense orgasm you’ve had in years, maybe ever.

It couldn’t be, surely. It was almost two months since that night and there’d been no missive, no note, nothing. The director said “them”, didn’t she? Not “he”. 

Besides, she’d said the donor was buying the objects. Not, you chuckle to yourself as you sit at your desk, stealing them. However ethical his motives may be. 

Still. No harm in packing some nice lingerie. Just in case.

***

It is still dark when your phone buzzes to let you know that the car - paid for and sent by the client - is waiting outside, ready to bring you to the airport for your transatlantic flight to Paris. 

You’d expected an Uber, not the gleaming black vehicle pulled up outside your building. Suitcase securely stowed, the driver points out the bottled water and snacks located in the back of the car as he sets off through deserted city streets. 

The surprises keep coming. You are in business class, not coach, for the long flight, resisting the urge to kick your feet and squeal with delight at the unexpected luxury. A smartly-dressed man holds a sign with your name on at Arrivals, and for a moment you wonder if this is the client. He’s another driver, of course - a charming and funny young Frenchman called Youssef, who speaks English with a vague American accent he says he picked up from TV and movies. 

Youssef whisks you into the city, pointing out landmarks along the way. The Eiffel Tower comes into view on the other side of the river as the black car negotiates elegant, narrow streets lined with perfectly-maintained nineteenth-century apartment buildings. 

“Et voilà!” Youssef stops the car and hops out to retrieve your suitcase. You step out, expecting to see the entrance to a hotel - but instead it’s just another residential building, sealed off from the city by two huge, heavy, dark green doors. 

With a bright smile, Youssef taps a little tag off a keypad and one of the doors swings open, revealing a passage leading to a gorgeous courtyard beyond. He refuses your tip - “it’s all good, madame!” - and instead picks up your bag and leads the way, opening another door to reveal the entrance hall proper. The marble floor is polished to perfection; dark red carpet covers the staircase that wraps around the elevator shaft; and there is not a sound to be heard.

”Sixth floor, madame. They’re waiting for you there.” He slides back the door of the elevator, slots your case in beside you, and presses the button. “Have a nice day!”

The elevator is old - possibly pre-World War One, you muse, unable to turn off the specialist’s mind - and slow. As it ascends, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and process this strange little adventure. 

If this was a movie, you’d be walking into a meeting of a criminal gang - or maybe to your death, you suddenly think, panic taking over for a second as the lift comes to a shuddering stop and you step out onto the sixth floor landing.

There is only one apartment entrance up here, as far as you can see. Dark red double doors, perfectly polished brass doorknobs and fittings adorning them, and a tiny doorbell discreetly tucked alongside the doorframe on one side. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and hover your finger over the button. 

The door to the apartment swings open just as your fingertip makes contact with the doorbell, setting off a loud, sonorous bell somewhere within and making you jump.

”Bienvenue, chérie. Come in, won’t you? I do hope I haven’t frightened you.”

***

“You know, if you wanted to ask me out again you could have just called or emailed, like a normal person.”

He hands you a cup of strong black coffee and joins you on the couch in the apartment’s enormous living room. 

“Do you think I’m a normal person?”

You take a sip and chuckle. “You are definitely not a normal person.”

He smiles in satisfaction, eyes taking you in from head to toe as you feel a warmth building deep within.

”It’s very, very good to see you, chérie.” His voice is warm and honeyed, an inviting purr that makes you ache between your legs. 

Today, he is wearing a black cashmere turtleneck with a pair of perfectly-tailored grey dress pants and some heavy, brown-framed glasses. It’s all you can do not to climb on top of him. 

“It’s been almost two months, Thief. Did you forget about me?”

He shakes his head, eyes softening with what you want to believe is genuine regret. “Never. I had to spend some time away, in South America - dealing with the family business, you know - and then I came here, to look at Madame Deseine’s…collection.”

The way he enunciates the final word gives you pause. What was in this “collection”?

“So my invitation here was just an excuse to see me, is that it? Because you weren’t back in the city yet?”

He looks at you in surprise. “Of course not! I mean, I’m very happy to see you again.” A little smile, eyes twinkling. “But no, I need your expertise. And your company is…a nice bonus.”

“My expertise?”

He sits back and crosses his legs, holding your gaze. “You are a specialist in the kinds of decorative arts and objects in Madame Deseine’s collection, I believe. And you are fluent in French. Year abroad in Lyon, correct?”

Your mouth falls open and you quirk your head. “How did… have you been… were you digging for information on me? That’s a violation of trust, and -“

He interrupts your fury with a chuckle. “Chérie, it’s all on your museum staff page profile. Qualifications, time abroad, special areas of expertise.”

You blush, embarrassed, and stare down into the dark swirl of your coffee as an awkward silence takes hold in the apartment’s tasteful interior. 

“I’m sorry, chérie. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Trust me, you are exactly the right person for the job.” 

He extends a hand towards yours, long fingers gently stroking the back of your hand. When you look up, his dark eyes are warm and genuinely apologetic. 

“I guess I’m not used to being…pursued, like this.”

He arches an eyebrow. “In what sense?”

You smirk and stand up. “In every sense, Thief. Now: are you going to explain this ‘job’ to me or not?”

His gaze - taking you in, a smile on his lips - is enough to set you aflame. 

“I am. But over dinner, I think.”

***

The waiter perfectly pours a little more white wine into each of your glasses before returning the bottle to the stainless steel ice bucket and leaving the two of you to your meals. 

He raises his glass to you, and you return the gesture.

You were not surprised when the car had pulled up outside an elegant, discreet restaurant tucked away in the Seventh Arrondissement. It was exactly his style: subtle, timeless, and exuding quality even before he held the door open and you stepped inside.

“So.” He swallows a bite of his monkfish and takes a sip of wine. “Madame Deseine.”

“Madame Deseine.”

You start to eat your meal as he explains. A genuine and respected art collector, Madame Deseine lived outside Paris in her family’s country estate, surrounded by an exceptional array of mostly nineteenth and early twentieth-century paintings, decorative arts, sculpture and furniture. As she grew older, she had begun to sell some parts of the collection - but remained extremely guarded about its exact contents.

“There are some…questions about the provenance of some of the items in the collection, or at least items we think are in the collection. Mostly late nineteenth-century decorative arts - clocks, vases, that sort of thing - but also some small art nouveau sculptures and figurines.”

You take a sip of your wine and narrow your eyes. “And this is where you come in?”

He nods. 

“You’re planning to steal some of her collection?”

He shakes his head, pauses, then nods before shaking his head again.

“Kind of, not really. Didn’t you hear what I said about provenance?”

“You think she’s not being entirely honest about her methods, about how she came by the collection?” In a world increasingly attuned to the repatriation of looted and stolen objects to their rightful place, you were deeply familiar with the importance of the provenance paper trail. 

He dabs at the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. “Some of the collection. I believe that some of the collection came into her family as a result of looting and theft, that these items were not restored to their rightful owners, and that she is well aware of this fact.”

“You know that some of the most important art collectors in France before the war were Jewish families, no doubt.” You nod and he continues. “And that many of those families, even if they were in the minority lucky enough to escape the round-ups and the camps, had to leave behind those collections.”

”And when they were gone, the collections were…dispersed.”

He shakes his head. “Not dispersed. Stolen. Some of the surviving members of those families had their possessions located and restored, but not all. And I have been reliably informed that some of those missing items are currently in the hands of Madame Claudine Deseine.”

You swallow a bite of your salmon and size him up. “Aha. And this is why an ethical gentleman thief is required, I suppose?”

He gives you a knowing smile. The way the candlelight catches the coppery flecks in his brown eyes makes your breath catch for an instant. 

“I have been asked by a number of individuals to retrieve the objects stolen from their families over eighty years ago, and which have made their way into Madame Deseine’s collection without regard for their provenance.” He chews thoughtfully on a steamed green bean. 

“So where, exactly, do I come in, Thief?”

”I am going to buy some of the collection. But in order to be sure that the missing objects are in the Deseine chateau and to cross-check the gaps in the provenance records…I need to gain her trust. Or rather - you need to gain her trust.”

You raise your eyebrows and take another sip of wine. You might need something stronger by the end of the night.

”You aren’t seriously asking me to steal art, are you?” you hiss. He shakes his head furiously.

”Absolutely not. But I know Claudine Deseine’s reputation, and I know she won’t just let a potential buyer see the whole of her collection. She will, however, be a little more welcoming to a specialist who has kindly agreed to evaluate the items properly. Oh, and to look through the provenance records, to save us all time.”

”So what, I just turn up with you and hope she lets me into her secret stash of stolen stuff?”

He chuckles at the alliteration. “Not quite. But you may need to butter her up, tell her you’ve heard extraordinary things about the rare items she has, ask if she might let you see these things you’ve only read about in catalogues. And when you’re in, you can use your expertise to confirm that these are the items we are looking for, and then look for any gaps or obvious forgeries in the accompanying paperwork.”

”And how, exactly, do you propose to liberate the items from this chateau?”

He taps his nose. “Chérie, telling you that would make you completely complicit. I will handle it, you will wait in the apartment.”

You purse your lips. “I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Deseine has knowingly sat on these things too long - why else would she hide these valuable items from any public descriptions of her collection? The government ignores the claims from the descendants because, for the most part, they live in the US.” He finishes the remaining wine in his glass. “And I, personally, cannot resist a challenge.”

“I have one condition. Apart from not becoming more implicated in this than I already am.”

“Name it.”

”That. That’s my condition. I want your name.”

He chuckles and looks down at his empty dinner plate. “Chérie, I cannot.”

”You’re asking me to help you steal back some very valuable art, and you can’t give me your name?”

”If you know my name you will know too much. And I don’t know why you need to know, anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “I like to know who I’m working with. And, on occasion, who I’m sleeping with, or who’s eating me out on my desk.”

To your satisfaction, he splutters on his sparkling water. 

”I still can’t tell you,” he says, recovering his composure.

”Nothing stopping me guessing, though,” you whisper mischievously. “Let’s see. Giacomo.”

He gives you a withering glance.

”Not that, then…Pietro.”

An eye-roll. 

“Dave.”

”Do I look like a ‘Dave’ to you?”

You giggle as the waiter takes away your empty plates. “No, that’s true. Pierre?”

He groans and shakes his head, but his smile is unmistakable. “Don’t make me regret this, chérie.”

***

Back in the apartment, he rummages in a sideboard filled with bottles of various liqueurs and spirits, before producing a bottle of Courvoisier and two cognac glasses.

“A little digestif, if you’d like?” 

You accept your glass gratefully and inhale the complex, fruity aroma of the alcohol, swirling it gently before taking a sip. Its warmth radiates through your body and you close your eyes and savour the sensation, tucking your feet under you as you cosy up on the couch.

“Tell me about the apartment.”

He smiles, looking around the spacious living room, its nineteenth century interior fixtures somehow matching perfectly with the array of impeccably-chosen twentieth-century furniture. 

“My great-great-grandfather bought it, not long after this building was constructed - late nineteenth century, I think. The family business frequently brought him to Paris, and he needed a base.”

“And the family business is…?”

He huffs a laugh. “You are persistent, chérie. Wine. The family business was - is - wine.” 

You raise your eyebrows and nod as if extremely impressed, and he chuckles, revealing the laughter lines around his eyes that lend his handsome face such character. 

“Well, I can’t pretend to be an expert - what do they call it? An…oenophile, is that it? - so I’m not going to ask for any more details, fear not. My wine knowledge extends no further than ‘that’s quite nice, isn’t it.’”

He feigns horror, recoiling back into the cushions of the sofa. “Chérie, I am going to have to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You giggle and take another sip of the cognac. “I’m willing to learn, though.”

“That so? Well, I can be your guide, if you’d like.” He finishes his cognac and licks his lips as he looks at you. 

“I…I would like.”

He smiles, takes your glass, and stands up. You follow his lead, wandering behind him into the kitchen where he deposits the empty glasses on a pristine countertop. Every fibre of your being wants to reach for him, to pull him to you, to have him there and then.

“Chérie, I…didn’t want to presume anything.” He swallows hard and turns to face you, eyes a little wary. “About, uh, sleeping arrangements. Hence the guest bedroom.”

You had changed there earlier - a bright, pretty bedroom at one end of the corridor running along the apartment, complete with its own small en suite bathroom. 

“Oh. Of course.” You flush. “A busy day tomorrow.”

His hand finds yours, long fingers caressing yours before he brings it to his lips for a soft, sustained kiss that does nothing to quench the flames of your desire.

“Indeed. That said, if you want company…”

You see the spark in his eyes: teasing, playful, almost daring you to act first. Instead, you meet his gaze with an enigmatic smile.

He pulls away slightly and arches an eyebrow. “If you want company, I am just down the hall. Bonne nuit, chérie.”

***

In the quiet of the guest room you slip out of your clothes and into a wine-coloured silk robe you’d found hanging on the back of the door, freshly pressed. You retrieve your washbag and toiletries and set about your nightly routine. 

You hoped it would be a distraction from the ache between your legs, from the memory of his hand on yours, from the way he looked at you, from his offer of company. From the wet patch you’d noticed on your panties as you undressed. 

“Fuck.”

You close your eyes and lean on the sink for a moment as you take a deep breath before reaching for your moisturiser.

***

He’s sitting on his bed, stripped to his boxers and clad in his own, navy blue silk robe. It hangs open around his body, the colour a perfect complement for his golden skin. 

A knock. He lifts his head from his papers.

“Come in, chérie.”

She peeks playfully around the door. “I was wondering if that offer was still valid. I think I do want some…company.”

“It’s still valid.” He tidies away the paperwork and pats the space beside him on the large bed. “What kind of company did you have in mind?”

She crosses the room, hands reaching for the sash of her guest robe. It falls open as she reaches the bed, revealing the lacy bra and matching French knickers underneath. He inhales sharply, cock twitching at the sight. 

“Up to you. This is your turf, after all.” 

“Ah, but you’re the guest, chérie. Your preference is what counts.”

She shucks off the robe and climbs onto the bed, swiftly straddling him. With a slow roll of her hips, she drags her pussy over his hardening cock, the outline visible under his dark boxers.

“This is my preference. Does it work for you, too, Thief?”

He answers with a hungry kiss as he pulls her tight to him.

***

He tastes of mint and cinnamon and the faintest trace of Courvoisier. You had missed his mouth.

His fingers unhook the clasps of your bra and he tugs it off you, discarding it to a corner of the room. He breaks the kiss, lips pink and wet, and turns his attention to your tits: cupping them, fondling them, squeezing them with his broad hands before he starts to suck on each nipple in turn.

You toss back your head and bite your lip, stifling a loud moan. He releases your breast with a pop of his mouth.

“This apartment is the entire top floor, chérie. You can be as loud as you wish.”

Two fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties and find the warm wetness that’s been building between your legs all day. He looks up at you and grins. 

“On your back, amor.”

French knickers off, he gently pushes your thighs back before resting your legs over his shoulders. He buries his face against your pussy with a delighted groan, the delicious timbre of his voice rumbling against your core. 

He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, a hand pressing against your belly as your hips instinctively buck upwards with pleasure and need. His tongue swirls lasciviously across your folds, lapping up the wetness, before he begins to suck on your clit. Slow at first, a gorgeous torment; then faster, more insistent, the tip of his tongue flicking over and back over the swollen nub rhythmically in time with your needy moans and whimpers. 

He keeps it up as he slips first one, then two fingers inside you and hooks them just so, chuckling when you cry out.

“Fuck…I’m close, I -“

You let go. You come hard against his face, ecstasy coursing through your body as he keeps on fucking you through it with his fingers, gently pulling out when he senses your overstimulation. 

He moves up and lies beside you, face to face. 

“You enjoyed that.”

You try to slow your breathing. “You think?”

He chuckles, tracing the curve of your hip with his hand. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“And no jewel theft involved this time. So far, anyway.”

He closes his eyes and smiles, humming contentedly as he reaches for your breast, idly rubbing your nipple with his thumb. 

You study his features for a moment, noting the handful of freckles on his face, the way his dark lashes look against his cheeks, the gloss of your own slick shimmering across his pink lips, his chin, his moustache. 

This time, when your tongue swipes against his mouth, he tastes of you. 

You gather some of your own wetness on your fingers by way of lubrication, before tugging down his boxers and taking his cock in your hand. He closes his eyes as you stroke him slowly, steadily, feeling him growing harder under your careful touch.

With your free hand you caress the side of his face, thumb rubbing gently against the grey patches in his beard. 

“I want you, Thief.” 

He opens his eyes and smiles before gently moving your hand away from his cock. He shucks off his robe and shifts into position above you, arms caging your body on either side. 

“You know, I’m on birth control,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “And you were the last person I was with, and before that…well, it had been a while.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Same. Well, not the birth control, evidently…but the rest. No one but you, not for some time. So…?”

You trail your fingers over his chest, dappled here and there with freckles, and he leans down to kiss you. Different, this time - softer, less desperate, more…tender.

“So you can have me bare, if you want.” 

“Oh fuck, chérie. Yes. Please.” He gestures with his head. “Turn, get on all fours.”

You do as you are told, teasingly wiggling your ass at him once you’re in position. He gives it a light slap and you squeal approvingly until the feeling of his cock opening you up makes you catch your breath.

He sinks slowly inside you, pausing when he’s fully sheathed in your warm pussy. You can hear his breathing becoming a little ragged, hitching as he adjusts to the feeling.

”Feel good, Thief?”

”Incredible, amor. You?” 

“Fucking amazing.”

He takes you slowly at first, a long drag out, a quicker thrust back inside, and builds up a rhythm quickly. The angle is nothing short of perfect and you bury your face against the covers, whining with pleasure. He reaches down and grabs one of your breasts, fingers pressing into the flesh as he fucks you harder and faster. 

“Such a beautiful body, amor. So soft and warm and fuck, such a tight little pussy for me. You feel so perfect on my cock.”

He’s hitting you just right now, another orgasm building rapidly until you come for the second time, muffling your cries in the blankets. You turn to look at him: broad body glistening with perspiration, errant curls falling over his forehead and darkened with sweat, that gorgeous head thrown back as he gets closer and closer.

”Come on, Thief.” You purr your encouragement, never taking your eyes off him. “Come on. Come. Fill me up.”

He comes hard, with a loud cry, hands gently caressing your hips as he finishes deep inside you. 

”I think you missed me.” 

He flops back on the bed and turns to face you as you nestle against him. A mischievous grin plays around his lips. “What on earth makes you say that, chérie?”

You kiss his forehead, tasting the salty sweetness of his damp skin. “Just a hunch. By the way, I have an even better reason why I need to know your name.”

He groans and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Well?”

”Well…if I knew your name, I could scream it out loud the next time you make me come like that.”

His eyes widen and he grins. “You could, I suppose.”

”So? What’s your name…Pablo.”

He fixes you with a teasing glare. “Not Pablo.”

”James. Jimmy. Jimbob?”

He can’t help but burst out laughing this time. “Fine. Fine. Let’s make a deal. If we succeed with Madame Deseine, I’ll give you a name.”

”A name?” The distinction is striking.

”A name. It may or may not be my name. But it will be a name. Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

The morning mist hangs low over the French countryside as you drive through the enormous gateway that divides the Deseine estate from the rest of the world, and follow the long drive up to the chateau proper.

You had expected that Youssef would be on driving duty. But it was your gentleman thief at the wheel of the understated hire car, confidently navigating the autoroutes and trunk roads that led to your destination. For a moment you imagine a parallel universe where you are just a normal couple on a normal holiday, not a nameless thief and a museum curator plotting to relieve a woman of her family’s ill-gotten gains.

He had slept well, it seemed. You? Not so much. In the wee small hours of the morning, you lay awake, listening to his steady breaths and ruminating over what, exactly, you were doing here - and why.

He isn’t your partner. Not your boyfriend. Hell, you don’t know if you could call this “dating”. You don’t even know who he is. He stole from your employer because you let your pussy override your brain. He brought you to Paris to aid and abet in another theft. And, instead of turning on your heel and trying to protect your professional reputation, you’d not only agreed to his scheme - you’d fucked him. Again. 

You’d tossed and turned on the pillows as you tried to quiet your mind enough for sleep. Was this really just about sex? Or was something else pulling you into each other’s orbits?

The Deseine chateau emerges at the end of the driveway. It appears at first glance to date from the eighteenth century, with some later additions and extensions. He pulls up near the main door and hops out of the car, quickly bounding over to the passenger side so he can hold the door for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you whisper, straightening the smart blazer and palazzo pants you’d worn for the occasion. 

“At your service,” he replies with a subtle wink. “Just as I was when you needed…company. How are you feeling this morning, by the way? Satisfied, I hope.”

Before you can answer, the enormous main doors of the chateau swing open and a petite woman with snow-white hair emerges, clad in a vintage bouclé Chanel skirt and matching jacket. He moves swiftly up the steps to shake her hand, speaking too quietly for you to pick up on whatever name he’s using today.

“And this is my expert, my advisor, my guiding light!” He gestures towards you, motioning for you to join them. You introduce yourself with a bright smile, trying to read the older woman’s expression, to get a sense of how you might gain her trust.

“It is an honour to be here, Madame. I’m so excited to see the collection.”

Claudine Deseine casts an appraising glance over you from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied, she extends her hand in greeting and addresses you in clipped, precise English. 

“It is very special, I think you’ll agree. Now, do come in - I’ll have my housekeeper Maryam bring us some coffee, and then we can take a look at the objects we’ve discussed.”

***

He is gentlemanly charm personified, you think, watching him follow Madame Deseine around the house. He flirts just enough to have the older woman like putty in his hands, listens attentively, laughs at her jokes, and looks at her with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. 

The recognition gives you pause, but you push it to the back of your mind. You have a plan to stick to today.

She leads the two of you into a bright room at the back of the chateau, overlooking a gorgeous French-style formal garden. “Well, here they are.” She gestures towards a large oak table in the middle of the room, where a variety of figurines and decorative objects are set out. You’d known what to expect: mostly art nouveau, dating from decades either side of 1900; some bronze figures; some beautifully-decorated ceramics, glazes still bright and vibrant; and what you immediately recognise as a small, early Lalique crystal vase.

He claps his hands together in what looks like genuine delight, eyes widening as he moves closer to the table. “May I?”

Madame Deseine beams and nods. He carefully picks up one of the vases, inspecting the swirling, sinuous curves of its painted decoration before checking the makers’ marks on the bottom of the piece. 

“Extraordinary,” he says in a rapt whisper.

“Madame?” She turns to face you. “Would it be possible for me to see the paperwork while he - while my client is inspecting the objects? It would save your valuable time, and you’ve already been so kind to accommodate us.”

She beams. “Of course. Follow me, won’t you?” She opens another door leading off the room and pauses for a moment. 

“I’ll be back tout de suite, monsieur,” she purrs at him as he peers at a bronze figurine. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“You really are most kind, Madame.” He winks, and the esteemed Claudine Deseine titters like a schoolgirl.

***

She flicks a switch and illuminates a large, windowless room located at the rear of the house, in what you suspect might be the former servants’ quarters. “Et voilà. The archive.”

The walls are lined with shelving, filled with hundreds of archive boxes and files. You begin to scan the shelves, trying to work out a pattern in the filing system. 

“They are labelled according to date of acquisition,” she explains. “Achats, purchases, by year.”

You look at her with an expression that you hope conveys innocent confusion. “Gosh, it’s all such a lot. Could you give me dates for the items being sold? Ballpark, if necessary - I just know he’s a stickler for the paperwork but he’s impatient and he won’t take kindly to me taking a long time in here…”

She smiles and nods sympathetically, and for a moment you feel incredibly guilty. “Ah. Men. I understand, my dear.” She pulls out an unmarked, unlabelled box file from the top shelf and retrieves a spiral-bound book.

“This is strictly entre-nous, my dear. My personal catalogue. Everything by date. Let this be your guide. And now, I must return to monsieur.” She looks at you conspiratorially. “If he becomes - how do they say it, antsy? - then he can simply take a walk in my beautiful gardens, hmmm?”

***

He strolls past the elegantly-trimmed box hedges as he makes his way to the elaborate water feature at the centre of the gardens. He couldn’t quite believe how well it had all worked out, so far - your complaint about his impatience had, as planned, won you her sympathy and with it an order from the lady of the house to go and see the gardens while you worked through the papers. 

If necessary, he’d have feigned illness, claimed he needed some air. But it’s always better when they play right into your hands, with something they believe is their idea. 

The gardens are perfectly positioned to give him a view of the back of the house: the doors leading to a terrace, the smaller windows and discreet servants’ entrance. His dark eyes survey the building closely, making a mental map he’ll refer to when he finalises the plan. He has his suspicions, but he needs you to confirm exactly where the collections are hidden. For now, he just hopes you can unlock the final part of the puzzle. 

***

A knock on the door announces the return of Claudine Deseine. 

“Well, have you found what you needed? I do hope the catalogue was useful.”

Little do you know, Madame. 

You replace the lid on a box of papers and nod at a stack of receipts and records of authenticity relevant to the items he was perusing for purchase. 

“Very useful, thank you, Madame.” 

You swallow hard and slow your breathing as you follow her out of the room. 

“Madame, may I - may I make a somewhat bold request?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You may. What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the entries for some of Lalique’s cire perdue work when I was looking at the catalogue. Pieces so rare that we only know they exist because of René Lalique’s own records…”

“Yes. And?” 

“My masters dissertation was on Lalique, Madame. Is there…would you…could I…?”

She stares at you before her features soften into a smile. 

“You want to see them, don’t you?”

***

“Well?”

He waited until you were out of the estate before asking the question, not seeming to notice how quiet you’d been since getting back in the car.

“They’re there. The three Lalique pieces, that rare Sevres vase. She was only too happy to show me.”

“Did you check the makers’ marks?”

You nod, gazing out of the window. “I did. They’re the right pieces. Those Laliques are one of a kind. In different circumstances, it would have been a joy to see them.”

“And the papers?”

He takes the turn to merge onto the autoroute back to Paris, and you wish the nagging doubts about this whole sorry enterprise - about him - would dissipate.

“The private catalogue clearly states when they were acquired, but with no corresponding archival code numbers. I checked the boxes for those years carefully, just to be sure…but there’s no paper trail. Just a note in each catalogue entry recording the dealer they came from - all from the same man.”

He nods, satisfied. “And the room itself? What’s access like?”

“I sent you some photos earlier.” While Madame Deseine had been taking the priceless objects out of their storage boxes, you had snapped some surreptitious pictures. “Access may not be straightforward, though, given the absence of a window.”

He chuckles. “Leave that to me.”

“Won’t she know that you’ve taken the pieces, by the way?”

“F is for Fake, chérie. Nothing some good forgeries cannot fix.”

***

You spend the rest of the journey in silence, while he rambles about various subjects: French motorways, private chateaux, Lalique’s cire perdue process, in which a vase is formed within a one-off wax mould that was discarded afterwards, rendering the pieces unique - and extremely valuable.

“The descendants of the original owners still have, in some cases, the provenance records for these items,” he explains as he parks the car and taps the sensor to open the door into the building. “And now, soon, they’ll have their rightful inheritance.”

You don’t know whether to snap at him or burst into tears.

He takes your coat and saunters into the apartment’s small kitchen, still talking to you as he audibly potters around, opening cupboards and taking out dishes and glassware. You are not really listening, still caught up in your own thoughts. Why the fuck were you here? Were you really willing to risk your entire reputation for a crush and some sex? You’d been lucky to escape any questioning or punishment after the theft of the ruby, after all. 

And what if, as you wondered in the chateau when he was so flirtatious and charming with Madame Deseine, he was just using you? Your knowledge and your veneer of professional respectability helped him steal. Your desire and your body got him off. Win-win for him, but a potentially devastating loss for you.

“Chérie? Didn’t you hear me?”

He’s standing at the narrow door into the kitchen that adjoins the living room, sweater sleeves rolled up.

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I was miles away. What is it?”

“I asked the housekeeper to leave a light dinner for us, as it’s been a long day. It’s nothing fancy - some salads, crudités, cold cuts and cheeses - but I do have a very nice Sancerre chilled in the fridge…”

You force a smile. “That does sound good. I’ll set the table, if you show me where everything is.”

He cheerily opens the various cartons and tubs of food as you ferry the tableware into the open-plan dining area. Behind his usual charming patter, though, is a man increasingly worried about how quiet you’ve been since you left Madame Deseine and her collections earlier that day.

***

“You know you can talk to me, chérie. What’s on your mind?”

Of course he’s noticed. Why wouldn’t he? His perceptiveness is what makes him such an artful, successful thief.

You drain your glass of Sancerre and look him square in the eye.

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine?”

He looks confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine? In your eyes, I mean. Are you using me, like you’re using her?”

“I’m not using Madame Deseine. I’m buying some of her collection so I can liberate the really valuable pieces and get them back where they belong. That’s stealing, not using.”

You exhale, long and slow. “I saw you today. Handling her just like you do me. The charm offensive, the twinkling eyes, the flirting. She, at least, hasn’t slept with you - though I wouldn’t put it past you to try if you thought it would have helped.”

The words leave your lips, and you instantly regret it. So much for rational calm. Now you just sound like a jealous lover.

He looks at you, jaw ticking, and a blend of fury and hurt burning in his dark eyes. 

“That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?”

Silence.

“I had to win her over. Just like you did. Or did you forget your part in this?”

“Why am I here, Thief? What do you want from me? There must be hundreds of other experts out there you could have enlisted to help you gain access to the collection, theft or no theft. And if it’s just about sex, well - I suspect there’s no shortage of people who’d be very glad to fuck you. So why me? Or do you just want to ruin me, finish what you started when you tricked and took advantage of me?”

His voice is low and carefully controlled. “You know that’s not what this is, chérie. You know that.”

You push away from the table and stand to face him, flinging down your linen napkin. “So what, then, is it?”

He stares at you and his expression shifts, from glowering to openness. Mouth slightly ajar, he seems to be struggling to find the words.

He can’t even bring himself to say it. Coward.

“I see. Good night, Thief.”

***

Your return flight is booked for the day after tomorrow, and there’s no way you could afford a last-minute ticket for an earlier departure. As you complete your nighttime routine and slip into the guest bed, you resolve to make the most of an unexpected solo day in Paris, looking up current exhibitions and shows at the city’s various museums and galleries. 

You take a herbal sleeping tablet, just in case, and turn off the light.

When you wake in the morning, you find that your pillow is damp from the tears you wept in the night.

His bedroom door is still firmly closed as you pad down the hallway and to the main door. Exploiting you or not, he’d made it clear that he didn’t need you for today, the final stage in his plan. There’s a spare keyfob in the drawer of the small hall console table. You slip it in your bag and head out of the apartment and into the city.

***

Museums afford a kind of sanctuary: a quiet space for meditation, reflection, imagination, escape. On a day like today, they enclose you in a safe, comforting cocoon of art and beauty, helping to shield you from the world outside - and from the raging storm of your own thoughts and worries.

You flash your work ID at the entrance to the Petit Palais and are waved through, past the lines of tourists, by virtue of the international reciprocal entry schemes for museum staff. The current temporary show, on Paris in the first decades of the twentieth century, is just what you need by way of distraction, and you lose yourself in artwork after artwork, in no hurry to return to the apartment. 

At the museum’s garden café, you take your time over coffee and cake, occasionally joined by a tiny songbird who seems hell-bent on helping himself to your snack. His daring raids on your slice of carrot cake help to stop your mind from wandering back to the apartment, to him, and to his journey back to the chateau.

***

He’s gone when you get back. Just an envelope on the counter, addressed to you. Normal service, you think, resumed at last.

Chérie,

As planned, I’ve returned to the Deseine estate to finish what we started. I intend to return later tonight, or in the early hours, but promise me that if I do not return, you will take the flight tomorrow evening. 

You must not look for me. Promise me that.

I hope that I might see you before you leave, one way or the other. 

Know that I care for you, chérie. 

Midnight comes and goes with no sight or sound of him.

One. Two. Three. Nothing.

You close your eyes and force yourself to sleep.

***

He whispers to you in your dreams, over and over. He calls out to you. 

“Chérie?”

You open your eyes. In the half-light, you see him. Hair mussed, eyes wide, face streaked with dirt, stripped to the waist. 

He feels real to the touch: warm, solid, the softness of his middle, the strength of his arms and shoulders. His beard bristles so realistically under your lips that you could almost believe he was there.

“Chérie, I’m here. I’m back. I’m with you.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him and pull him to you, wordlessly peppering his face with kisses before he wriggles down and nestles his head against your chest, holding you tight to him.

He seems unsettled, distressed, even. Perhaps it had been a narrow escape. Perhaps something had gone wrong. 

No matter. You envelop him with warmth and protection. The way he clings to you, needs you, starts to provide an answer to your questions about the nature of his feelings.

You kiss the top of his head and stroke the scruff on the side of his jaw. He pulls away for a moment to look up at you, all softness and awe and warmth. He motions as if to say something, then stops, pensive, and reaches up to kiss your mouth.

“My name is Alejandro.”

Find out more about the Lalique cire perdue technique here!

If you'd like to read more about the great Jewish art collecting families of pre-war France, I strongly recommend James McAuley's The House of Fragile Things and Edmund de Waal's Letters to Camondo.

#the thief x f!reader #the thief fanfiction #the thief smut #the thief casillero del diablo #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #gentleman thief #the heritage crimes universe

[caffeinetheif]

Farm Chores 

@drunk-on-lemonade​ you are so right and you need to say it louder. This idea is so funny and I had so much fun writing it!! Thank you for indulging me in my desire of going back home to my family farm lol.

Pairing: Lucifer x GN!Farmer!MC

Warnings: None, other than Luci beefing with a chicken lol

Lucifer had become curious about your homelife when you mentioned that you missed seeing your livestock. He had asked you questions about it and you revealed that your family owns a farm with beef cattle, chickens, and even a few acres of corn and soy bean fields.

On a whim, you invited him to come along with you up to the human world when your parents needed you to keep an eye on the farm. Much to your surprise, he agreed. He never seemed like one that would be interested in learning about rural living.

Which is how you got into the current situation of making Lucifer dress in grubby farm clothes.

“MC, why exactly are you having me put on... what did you call them?”

“They’re called muck boots, Lucifer,” you grin, “you’re coming to do chores with me, after all!”

“And what are these ‘chores’ that we’ll be doing?”

“We need to feed the cattle and give them hay, check for calves, and feed the chickens. We’ll also need to collect eggs. Since it isn’t planting or harvest time yet, we don’t need to worry about going to check on the crops.”

You slip on your own muck boots and tuck your pants into them to keep them clean. Lucifer follows your lead and tucks his own pants into his boots. You grab two pairs of leather working gloves and hand one to Lucifer before walking towards the chicken coop.

Lucifer admires the land that your family’s farm sits on. The wire fence that stretches over each wooden post that surprisingly contains the 50 head of cattle. The free-range chickens that carelessly wander the land without a worry. Lucifer can understand why you miss this aspect of your life so much.

His train of thought is broken when one of the beef cows bellows at the two of you. With her is a little black calf, practically a carbon copy of the mother, nursing and occasionally headbutting its mother.

“Lucifer?”

“What is it, MC?”

“Would you mind getting the eggs while I start putting hay out for the cows? There should be a wire basket outside the coop for the eggs.”

As much as his pride hates to be told what to do, he nods. He supposes it isn’t so bad if its you. He finds the basket you mentioned and opens the door to the coop. 

Lucifer is greeted by a cacophany of squaks, warbles, and clucking from the chickens in their nesting boxes. Several chickens flee from the coop, sending wood shavings and feathers flying through the air. Once the shavings and dust settle, Lucifer squats in front of the nesting boxes. He empties each nest one by one and gently places the eggs in the wire basket. As he reaches the last box, there is a hen stubbornly sitting in it. She glares daggers at him, feathers fluffed up and emmiting a bizarre croaking noise. 

He reaches towards her so he can move her out of the box, but yanks his hand back as she crows loudly and pecks at his hand.

“Pesky bird,” the demon grumbles, “I need to grab your eggs, now move.”

Again, his hand reaches for the eggs below her, but is met with a sharp beak once more. This happens for a few more attempts before he decides to take one of the leather gloves and use it as a blinder for the hen. Ever so slowly, he slips the open end of the glove over her head. She pecks at the glove a couple times, but her grumbling quiets down.

For the final time, Lucifer reaches under her and succesfully retrieves all the eggs that she was sitting on. He has never been so relieved that you weren’t next to him. He snatches back his glove and glares at the hen. If chickens could talk, he is sure she would be hurling curses at him.

When he finally exits the coop with the eggs in tow, you’re finishing up setting out hay for the herd of cows surrounding you. You turn to look at him when you hear the door shut.

Cheekily, you call out to him, “That took you a while! What happened?”

Crossing his arms, Lucifer grumbles, “A chicken wouldn’t move. She was in a rather sour mood, as well.”

You laugh, “Ha, that must’ve been Roberta! She’s probably broody.”

A fierce flush crawls up his cheeks as you laugh at him. Next time, you’re going to collect eggs.

#self indlugent #I originally wanted this to be more focused on the cows but I thought luci beefing with a chicken would be funny #farmer reader #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me fic #obey me x reader #gender neutral fanfic #lucifer x reader #om lucifer

[starstruckkittensweets]

“Letters to My Love” | Hanji x Reader

Fandom: Attack on Titan  Pairing: Hanji x Reader  Words: 4k 

A/N: This is a self-indulgent, completely unfiltered, messy little fic that deals with my love for Hanji. Ever since I started reading AoT back in 2015, I’ve had a soft spot for Hanji. My little ray of sunshine, one of my first comfort characters, the one character I could actually see myself becoming friends with in real life. Seeing her death finally animated (beautifully) brought a lot of feelings forward. She was brave and gorgeous and kind and absolutely amazing. It actually feels like I’m saying farewell to a close friend of mine. And so this messy fic was born, mostly unedited but with a lot of my personal feelings channeled into the reader’s POV. You can read this as either a platonic or romantic relationship, whatever floats your boat. I hope you enjoy the fic! 

Warnings: lots of angst, major character death, implied reader death, some blood and violence, struggling to cope with grief, post-war/post-snk 139 world, Hanji is referred to as female with she/her pronouns 

THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR AOT S4 PART 3 (AND THE UPCOMING PART 4) AND SNK 139! PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT ALL CAUGHT UP, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! 

It’s all so stupid. A stupid idea, a stupid reason behind it, a stupid man telling you about it in the first place. Why even bother with this in the first place? It’s not like it’ll help you in the long run.

But Falco’s still staring up at you with those big eyes, the slightest quiver of his lip, arms stretched out towards your own.

“Please?” His voice is unnaturally soft; it might be the lighting, but you can almost see a tear in those huge eyes. “At least try it, won’t you? I promise, you’ll feel better. Just like Dad says.”

You don’t have the heart to tell the kid his father’s full of shit, just like everyone else in this horrible world. Nothing’s left for you to enjoy, nothing you can cling to during the tough times. Those days are gone, the memories of bliss vanishing with every passing day.

But he looks so sad, so fucking hopeful, as though he still believes you can do it. You can lift this crushing weight off your chest with just a pen, some paper, and a few words every day.

“…Fine.” He practically shoves the dusty old notebook into your chest with a smile. “I’ll give it a shot.”

You’ll try, but you already know it’s a waste of time.

I’m not good at this. Writing’s never been my strong suit—not when it comes to other people. But you already know knew that, didn’t you?

Mr. Grice gave me the idea. Says writing everything down is a lot better than saying it out loud sometimes. Falco said the same thing; he still writes to his brother every other week. 

I don’t understand why. It’s not like I’ll ever send them, they’re just gonna sit in my desk collecting dust. But I told Falco I’d try for him. He’s a sweet kid, I can see why you like liked him. Sorry, it’s a habit. 

I don’t know what else to say. I guess I’ll try again tomorrow.

It’s me again. Onyankopon came to visit again. He checks up on me at least once every week. Same day, same time. It’s like he doesn’t trust me. Maybe he’s just looking out for me. That’s what Levi says.

Things are slowly going back to normal. He says it’s been almost five months since you left the battle. It’ll be spring soon. This winter hasn’t been too bad though. I miss the snow a little bit. Maybe one day we can go further north to see some next year. I know Gabi and Falco would enjoy it.

I can’t think of anything else to write down. I’m sure I’ll be back soon though.

Mundane topics. What you ate today. Who you saw at the market. The stories Gabi and Falco would make up whenever they were bored.

It’s all so stupid, but you write it down anyway. Stuff she’d like, stuff she wouldn’t like. Not her name, never her name. You can’t bear to say it out loud, not even spell out the letters without bursting into a fit of sobs. What’s the point, anyway? Not like she’s here to answer her own name anymore.

Still, you keep writing. Every day, at least something goes down in that little brown notebook. You’re the only one who reads it. Mr. Grice refuses to, says it’s for your eyes only. Falco sometimes shares what he’s written to his brother, but only when the two of you are alone. He has a little brown book of his own, same shape and size too. Always keeps it in the first drawer of his nightstand, same place you keep yours.

The days crawl by. Every breath hurts less and less. Slowly but surely, you wonder if you’re actually getting better.

I thought of you today. The kids wanted to stop in a bookstore during our shopping trip so I let them. They can be so eager and hyper when they want to be. (Why can’t they be like that when it comes to their chores?)

They both went for the bookshelf in the far corner. Books about the world; about weapons, inventions, plants, animals, experiments, I couldn’t keep track of how many there were. And the kids just sat there for hours, leafing through book after book. I ended up leaving just to drop off the groceries at home before heading back to pick them up. And when I got there they were still poring over those dusty, wrinkled pages.

You would like the bookstore. It’s on the smaller side but it doesn’t feel crowded. It’s got a few benches for people to sit and read for a bit, and there’s a café right next door too. But when I told Levi about it he got a little snippy; I think he’s jealous, his tea shop will always be superior.

He’s doing okay, I know you’re probably worried about him. His leg still gives him trouble but he’s getting better every day. He gave me a job after the shop opened a few weeks ago. Right now I’m just cleaning off tables and fixing up pastries in the back. Gabi handles inventory with Levi (she’s actually pretty good at it) and Falco takes care of the customers up front. He has the best attitude out of all of us, I think. The job is a bit boring sometimes but it beats killing Titans, using ODM gear, being a soldier

Never mind. I’ll write more later, I have to go for now. I’ll be back.

It’s really warm today. I keep thinking about that summer we spent in Krolva, in 848. You kept hunting for strange plants and flowers in the forest and had me and Moblit chasing after you all day! But you didn’t stop, not even when Levi threatened to knock you out and haul you back to base.

Sometimes I can still see Erwin’s smile, hear Mike and Nanaba’s laughter, feel the light summer breeze against my face.

I can still remember the way you said my name. I miss hearing the sound of your voice.

For the first time in a long while, you wake up with a smile on your face.

Your cheeks are stained with tears, still. You haven’t gone to sleep silently once in the past six months or so. Always stuffing your face into the pillow, muffling your sobs, praying neither Levi nor the kids hear you being so pathetic.

Your head is pounding, throat tight but chest feeling lighter than ever. You have to write it down, you don’t wanna forget, don’t forget—

The notebook is resting on your dresser. Your hands still shake when you reach for it, almost clatters to the floor when you try to pick it up. The pen leaps from your trembling fingers. The first words you write are barely legible, but you don’t stop writing for anything.

I had a dream about you last night. I can’t remember everything but I know you were in it and you were still alive smiling.

Still had both eyes, silly girl.

None of our comrades were there; no Levi, Moblit, or Mike. Just me and you, sitting on the rooftop of the old Survey Corps base, watching the stars twinkle above us. Your arm was so warm against my shoulders. Your messy hair tickling my cheek. You were laughing about something, I can’t remember what. But you looked so happy, so carefree and joyful. You haven’t looked that relaxed in years.

You whispered something in my ear, and my throat exploded with laughter. You held me close, lips brushing my cheek, eyes shining in the glowing moonlight.

You were happy, so I was happy.

But then I woke up, you were gone, and I was cold again.

Summer’s almost halfway over. The tea shop has been busier, Levi seems to enjoy the success. He’s still not very sociable but he’s learning to be more pleasant with the customers. They’ll keep coming back if he’s not rude to them all the time.

The town is expanding. Onyankopon thinks one of the nearby cities will start offering jobs, either railroad work or seamstress positions. A lot of factory jobs will start coming back too, and they’ll pay well. He says I could apply, just to keep my hands busy. Says it’s good to get out of the country once in a while.

Still undecided, I’d be going alone. Levi refuses, he hates the idea of city living, and he has the tea shop to worry about. The kids would stay with them; Gabi doesn’t like the smell of smoke, and Falco wouldn’t go anywhere without her. I can go, I don’t have anything tying me down.

What do you think I should do?

Four weeks left. It’s getting harder and harder to keep writing. I thought it would get easier, like Falco said. But I still feel that horrible pit deep in my chest. A weight that’s making it harder to breathe every day.

I don’t know what to do. I’m a burden. I can’t do anything on my own anymore. It’s always Levi or Onyankopon who’s there to hold my hand. Always Gabi and Falco to bring me back, remind me I have to keep living, to keep my head out of the clouds. But sometimes I wish I could run away. Leave it all behind. Maybe that city idea doesn’t seem so bad.

I wish you were here with me.

August 22nd. Two weeks to go.

Levi’s been quieter nowadays. Onyankopon isn’t as eager when he’s talking about the recovering towns and cities. Even the kids are more solemn than usual.

Still hoping this is all a bad dream. That I’ll wake up and you’ll be at my side, smiling and laughing like you do. Not a single care in the world.

The calendar is torn to shreds, left on the kitchen table for everyone to see. Gabi is utterly silent, a far cry from her usual loudmouthed self. Falco is quick to pull her aside as you storm past them, down the hall and into your room, slamming the door with a thud.

Burying your face in your hands. Chest wracked with sobs. Throat burning as her name rips itself from your mouth.

Hanji.

Stop it.

Your back hits the wall, knees buckling beneath your weight. Nails tear at the roots of your hair, scraping down your cheeks, eyes growing warm even though you keep them shut.

Hanji.

Another scream, you throw yourself against the wall. Your shoulder collides with the bookcase, but the pain doesn’t help. Nothing helps you anymore, not even writing in that shitty little book—

Someone’s calling your name on the other side of the door. Tiny fists pound on the wood; the knob twists and turns in vain. You made sure to lock it after coming in here.

Stop it. Can’t they see you want to be left alone?

Alone. You’re all alone now. You have no one left.

No parents, no children, no comrades…

And no other half.

Hanji.

“Stop it!” But you can still hear her name, swirling around in your head, a chorus of a thousand voices.

Hanji, Hanji, Hanji.

“Leave me alone!”

Something shatters against the wall. Your palm stings with something fierce, a shadow of red seeping from the skin.

The book, the book, where is it? Where did you put it?

There it is—right on your bed where you left it last. You’re scrambling over broken glass to grab at it, bloody fingers clutching the pen stuck between the pages. The tears are hot against your cheeks. Hurt like nothing else, not even the pain in your chest.

And they just keep on coming as you keep on writing.

Why did you leave me? Why did you have to go? Why did you have to kill kill yourself like that?

We could’ve handled it. Without your help. Maybe if you’d let us you’d still be alive with me. If you’d just trusted me—why didn’t you trust me? I trusted you, why didn’t you return the favor?

It’s your fault I’m like this now. I was fine before but then you fucked it all up.

Did you think you were some kind of hero? You’re not. Going out in a blaze of glory? Selfish asshole.

You’re not. You never were. You left me and now I’m alone and I hate

I hate you.

I hate you I hate you I hate you didn’t have to leave me but you did and now I hate you I can’t believe I love loved you how could I ever love someone so selfish fuck you so selfish

I HATE YOU

YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DIE WHY AREN’T YOU HERE WITH ME ANYMORE WHAT DID I DO TO MAKE YOU LEAVE TO MAKE YOU GO WHY WHY WHY

I STILL HATE YOU

Levi finds you hours later. Sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, hands trembling against your knees. The book is lying halfway across the room. Must’ve thrown it earlier.

He heaves a sigh, dragging his hand across his scarred face. And despite the ache in his leg he still kneels down to your level, taking a seat beside you against the bed. Wrapping up your hands in one of the spare shirts you tore from the dresser just minutes before.

“Brats were worried,” he finally says, and he sounds so fucking tired. There’s an inkling of guilt blooming in your chest. Such a burden to him, as always. “Said you’d run off and started crying.”

“…So?”

He rolls his eyes, focusing on your bloodied hands. They’re dry now, and he makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat.

Eventually he pulls you on your feet, leads you to the washroom and runs your hands under the warm water. He wraps up your hands in some clean bandages; over his shoulder you can see two sets of eyes staring at you from down the hall. One brown, one hazel.

“Quit beating yourself up like this. That’s not what she died for, brat. And don’t ask me,” he snaps when I open my mouth, “what she died for. Because you and I both know the answer to that. …So don’t make me say it.”

You’re still blubbering like a child, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, splashing onto the clean bandages around your hands. Levi sighs again before pulling you in close, one arm looped around your shoulders. His chest is warm, heart strong against your palm.

But it’s nothing compared to hers—and the thought makes you cry even harder.

“I get it.” His lips are warm against your forehead, hand cupping around the back of your head. “I miss her, too.”

You’re not sure when he makes you leave the washroom. But once he does he brings you down to the kitchen, giving Gabi and Falco each a pat on their heads. You give them a smile, tears still fresh in your eyes, before gathering the torn pieces of the calendar in your bruised hands.

Maybe you can fix this. It’s the fifth of September, after all. Not a day you want to forget just yet.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I swear on my life. I wanna rip those pages out but I’ll lose the other letters and I don’t want to lose them like I lost you.

I don’t hate you. You’re not selfish, you never were. I know you did the best you could as Commander of the Survey Corps, with the incredible weight on your shoulders. Your main priority was always keeping us safe and giving us hope.

I know why you left that day. But I wish you hadn’t left me behind. I could’ve gone with you, helped you out that day. We could still be together dead or alive.

I love you. I wish I could’ve said it when you were still alive with me. I wish I could say it to your face instead of writing it down in a dusty old notebook.

I love you. I miss you. I wish I could see your smile one last time. Hear your voice again. See the beautiful shine in your eyes.

Because I love you, and I always have. Maybe someday I’ll see you again and tell you face-to-face. Maybe by then I won’t be such a coward.

Hope you enjoy your birthday up there.

Every day brings something new. Smells, tastes, sounds, even the wind outside is different every day. People passing each other hour after hour, car horns filling your ears, the sting of smoke deep in your lungs; it’s easy to get lost in the atmosphere.

You take it in stride. Onyankopon is standing there, holding out his hand, ready to guide you deeper into the city. He’s offered to carry your suitcase but you insisted you do it yourself; too many memories are stuffed in between the clothes inside.

You suck in a breath and take his hand. A little awkward, with a suitcase in your other hand, and the old tattered notebook resting in the crook of your elbow. But the damn thing has already wormed its way into your heart, no way are you leaving it behind now.

A tight swallow, a soft smile from Onyankopon, as you let him lead you towards the next chapter of your life.

City life isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It’s busy and crowded but it keeps me looking forward. No time to dwell on the past here. Maybe that’s why Onyankopon was so adamant about me living here.

There’s a bookstore here, much larger than the one back home where Levi and the kids live. It pays well, the owner’s nice, and she lets me borrow some of her own books from her personal collection from time to time.

She wears glasses too—not as cute as yours, though.

I try to visit Levi and the kids every other weekend. Gabi and Falco come to visit once in a while but Levi always stays behind. Blames it on the bad leg but we both know the truth. Too many bad memories of Mitras has made him wary of crowded cities.

But I like it. I have my own apartment, right next door to Onyankopon’s, with a balcony and a slew of potted plants. Onyankopon says some people like to name their plants just for the fun of it. The two sitting on the windowsill are Sawney and Bean. (You’re welcome, silly girl.)

It’s hard work but I’m getting better. I don’t dread writing in this book anymore. I can think of your smile without bursting into tears. For now I’m content to sit back and enjoy city life, until whatever god watching over us decides my time is up.

I promise to write soon; have to head to work now. I’ll be back.

It’s been a year since you left me. I still want to see you again.

Onyankopon and I are heading into town for a few days to visit Levi. He says he doesn’t need help around the shop but he never complains whenever I show up at his door. Sometimes I wonder if he feels obligated to put up with me. If he thinks you’ll haunt him forever if he turns me away. That sounds like something you would do, silly girl.

I had another dream about you last night. Right after the celebration for Shiganshina, the night before the expedition to reclaim Wall Maria. We were laughing and drinking and sharing old stories—but we weren’t alone. Erwin and Levi were there. So was Moblit, and by some miracle, so were Mike and Nanaba.

I hope we’ll all be together again soon. I hope they’re all watching us, waiting to see what we’ll do with this new world we’ve forged for ourselves.

I know you are. You’re always watching, aren’t you?

I have to go now, or Onyankopon will head out without me. I’ll let you know how Levi and the kids are when I come home.

Miss you more every day. I hope I’ll get to see you again soon. Until then, I’ll just have to keep writing these silly little letters. I think you’d like them anyways.

See you later, Hanji.

It’s bright when you open your eyes. Too bright, a soft breeze kissing your cheeks, nose scrunching up as you shield your face with your hands. Funny, you don’t remember leaving the window open when you fell asleep. Or sleeping outside, for that matter.

You’re lying in the grass, a bed of wildflowers sprawled beneath you. There’s a forest at the edge of the valley, close enough for you to see the shadows of animals spilling across the trees. The sun is warm on your skin, so bright and beautiful, not a single cloud in the sky.

Almost too good to be true.

Is this it? Have you finally reached the end of your line? All those days with Levi, Onyankopon, and the kids, moving from town to city for work, seeing what little of the new world you could for both you and your other half…

Has your time finally run out?

“Hey, over here!”

Your blood freezes in your veins. A shadow crosses yours in the warm sunlight. A heavy cape blows in the wind, a dark green to match the forest beyond the meadow.

A pair of wings splashed against the fabric. Messy brown hair tied up haphazardly. Shiny glasses reflecting in the sun. Warm brown eyes that remind you of home.

“I was wondering when you’d get here. It’s been kinda lonely, I have to say…”

Hanji Zoe is standing right there in front of you, looking as radiant as ever. No scars or bruises to be seen, nor the black patch over her left eye. No burns or charred fabric on her body.

She looks…happy. Safe, content.

Alive.

“…Dumbass,” you finally find your voice, rushing into her outstretched arms. “You had me worried sick! Are you hurt? Can I do anything for you? I swear, I won’t let you go anywhere alone ever again! I’ll be right there by your side for as long as you—”

“Hey, hey, hey, come on now! You’re gonna make me blush with all that sweet talk!”

But you can’t stop yourself. And before you know it you’re sobbing into her chest, arms wrapped tight around her wrist, feeling the soft b-bmp of her heart against your ear.

“Love you, you know that? I love you, so please don’t leave me again…”

You’ll say it over and over, as many times as she wants to hear it. But for right now she’s silent, her arms resting around your waist and shoulders, tugging you in for a bone-crushing hug. Her messy hair is tickling your nose again, her smile could rival the sun in the sky. She shakes her head and lets out a laugh, before pressing a warm kiss to the apple of your cheek.

“I won’t ever leave you again, alright? I’m sorry about that, I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t mean to leave you like that…”

You hold her tighter, knocking her down into the wildflowers below. She lets out a real laugh this time, hair sticking out like a halo above her head, palms against your cheeks. For the first time in months—no, years—your chest feels whole again.

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay…”

A comforting silence washes over the two of you. It’s so warm right here, in this little meadow of your own, surrounded by a thousand wildflowers. She’s finally safe in your arms, after all these years, and you are never letting her go ever again.

“…I love you, Hanji.”

“I know,” she answers with a smile that makes your heart soar, “and I love you too.”

#hanji x reader #hanji zoe x reader #hange x reader #hange zoe x reader #hanji zoe #hange zoe #aot season 4 #aot spoilers #aot season 4 part 3 spoilers #aot season 4 part 3 #snk 132 #snk spoilers #snk 139 #aot fics

[wordsbymae]

👀‼️ big gruff farmer man perhaps catching his house ‘wife’ keeping themselves uhh..company (they’re jacking it off babeeyy(or flicking the bean for the girlies, I think???))

I just wanna say the way you worded this was so funny to me. I love it. and yes I think that's what some people call it? I should know but I would also never say that lol. This is also kinda from his pov and the reader is gn :)

swearing and implied smut! you've been warned. Don't like it then scroll away please

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He was gone for much longer than he liked.

It was worrying.

He trained them well, of course, and had strict rules and promises of rewards and harsh punishments. But you never really knew do you?

They could have been pretending this whole time, making him believe they were conditioned. Or they might have a break in their training, a flaw. Something that sets them off. Or worse, a nosy do-gooder rocking up to the homestead asking silly questions.

It was all so worrying.

He left as quickly as he could, dropping off this year's bull calves to the sale yards. He would collect his money later, maybe even bringing his pumpkin for a drive.

No, of course not. What a silly idea.

He drove home as fast as his old stock truck would let him. The gears screeched and revved as he went around corners.

The house quickly came into view. The homestead overlooks the valley on top of a hill.

After roaring the truck up the dirt driveway, dust billowing behind him, and nearly running over his pumpkin's prized hens, he parked and jumped out.

There were no strange tyre tracks that weren't his. The washing had been done as he asked. Smoke was lazily drifting from the chimney, a sign of dinner on the stove. It seemed like everything was ok, that there was no need to worry.

But they weren't there to greet him. His love wasn't standing by the door waiting with open arms and a smile. There were no soft words nor a kiss on the cheek.

That was worrying.

He marched up to the front door and ripped it open. Expecting them to be just behind it, just moments until opening the door themselves.

But they weren't.

The farmer slowly walked in slowly, listening carefully.

Had they left? Runaway? Did someone take them? What if they were hur-

A soft moan came from upstairs.

It was nothing more than a breath but it was damming.

With careful and quiet steps, the farmer made his way to the bedroom. The closer he got the louder the moans become.

He was furious.

Did his pumpkin really think they could sleep around with someone else?

Who the fuck even was it? They didn't know anyone else than him.

Were they really such a cock hungry whore they would let anyone fuck them?

He stopped just before the door. The moans and sighs were deafening, he could tell his pumpkin was close.

He grabbed his revolver from his jeans and checked to see if it was loaded (not very gun safe mate)

Somebody needed to die tonight and it sure wasn't gonna be his pumpkin.

He kicked the door with a vengeance and raised the gun up ready to murder the fucker who didn't understand how much his love meant to him.

He was expecting pumpkin to scream, maybe even the fucker too as well, maybe even a fight.

He wasn't expecting his love to scream alone in the bedroom.

"Where is he?" he growled, the gun now pointing at the floor. "He under the bed?"

"Where's who?" pumpkin shouted while pulling the sheets over their naked body.

"Don't act stupid pumpkin! Where's the dead man who's been fucking you!"

"What?" they asked confused.

He should give them credit, they were quite the actor.

"Pumpkin, you can't save him alright. He's gonna end his last day with a bullet in his skull. So just tell me where he is and I'll give you the benefit of not having to see it." he growled, opening closests and looking under the bed.

Nothing, there was no one.

This fucker was quick. Did he jump out the window?

"There is no one else! It's just me" pumpkin urged

"You think I'm a fool, don't ya sweet pea. I heard you fucking him!"

Pumpkin's face went read

"See! You were fucking another. So where'd he go? Outside?" he said, about to make his way outside, swap his revolver for a rifle on the way out.

"No! I wasn't sleeping with anyone else... I, while I was"

"You were what? Cmon spit it out"

"I was...Touching myself" pumpkin whispered, face dark with embarrassment.

"Oh"

"I promise I wasn't sleeping with someone else... I don't even know anyone else"

"Yeah, I know" he grumbled sitting on the edge of the bed "I was just worried"

"You kicked our door off the hinges and had a gun pointed at an imaginary figure, you were much more than worried."

"Fine! I was jealous. You got me" he scoffed, he didn't like admitting to his sins. A moment passed, pumpkin still naked under the thin cream sheets.

"who were you thinking of?"

"Pardon?"

"when you were touching yourself and getting all flustered. Was it me?"

"Maybe..." they giggled

"That ain't a funny joke. If it wasn't me tell me who it was and I'll kill him"

"It was you, I promise" pumpkin rushed, the farmer had a sense of humour like a rock.

"Good. I better be the only one you think of....I'm still jealous"

"Of who? Of you in my head?" pumpkin sassed

"Watch the attitude, do I have to wash that mouth out?"

"No sir," pumpkin said, face stern. Too many jokes at his expense often led to punishment.

"I was gonna say I'm jealous of your hands' sweet pea. Getting to touch you when I'm not here. It's not fair, darlin', it ain't right for a Husband to not be the one to bring his partner pleasure. Ain't natural." He stated, a hand on pumpkin's cheek "I think you need to be punished"

"Punished?" pumpkin whispered.

"Of course! To teach you a lesson to not touch what doesn't belong to you. Now bend over pumpkin, show your husband what's his"

#yandere x gn reader #farmer oc #farmer yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere prompts #implied smut #implied alone time