#i just allow it to make me sad when it has to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kenntolog · 2 days

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sukuna realizing your sad because a classmate was flirting with him and ur just all upset because you thought he dont want u anymore. IM SORR I NEED SOME FLUFF

𝝑𝝔 an: hope u enjoy thisssss!!! read more ab cool bf sukuna x loser reader here!!

you’ve been avoiding sukuna and he knows it.

it’s not that hard to see when you’re walking around with a sad face, getting to the lecture hall later than him so he doesn’t find a way to sit by your side, not answering his messages properly, not going to his practice games with lame excuses. and honestly, sukuna is kind of hurt because you refuse to acknowledge that he cares and tell him what is bothering you.

but sukuna isn’t dumb. and it was fairly easy to realise that you were upset with him because you were jealous of yorozu from his group literally throwing herself at him at every chance she got. it wasn’t anything new since she has been bothering him from the first year of university, when they were introduced as classmates.

it seemed like yorozu’s sense of obsession with him got stronger with upcoming spring. she was not leaving his side in the hallways, trying to tag along with whatever he was doing even while he didn’t spare her a glance, she was calling him the nickname he only allowed you to use which pissed him off further and she clung to him like a vice, her grip not wavering even when her dumb friends called out to her.

and in these moments, while sukuna’s mind was filled with questions like ‘how to get away with murder’, your insecurities got the best of you, seeing how sukuna, though visibly annoyed, didn’t seem to push her away completely. so you stopped walking up to him in the hallways after classes to plant his favourite types of kisses on his cheeks and you avoided catching his eyes because it hurt.

yorozu is beautiful, her beauty is carnal and almost every guy in the university drools over her so it shouldn’t come off as a surprise that maybe… maybe you aren’t the best choice for sukuna?

it goes on like this for a couple of excruciating days; jin and yuuji don’t risk asking about why sukuna seemingly only busies himself with practice and why he dons a deep scowl. they suspect that it’s something related to you, but don’t interfere and sukuna is happy they don’t. his mind is constantly focused on trying to get to you and as much as he wants to go to your place and talk things out… he’s scared. and he gives you space, thinking that the situation won’t escalate further.

but it does, when he catches you in the empty hallway, trying to get to your class with the saddest expression he’s ever seen you have. sukuna calls out to you, speeding up his steps and you stop, something hopeful burning in your eyes as you wait for him patiently.

yet, of course, yorozu appears out of nowhere with her wide smile and catches up to him quickly. sukuna sees the hope in your eyes quickly switch to betrayal, your bottom lip trembling and eyes glistening with tears as you turn away and run towards the bathroom. something cracks inside of him. but this time he’s not going to let damned yorozu stop him.

he rips his arm away from her grip, stepping back instantly while she looks up at him as if nothing is happening, “piss off or i will get violent.”

“‘kunaa~ why you gotta be so rude?” she leans her head against his shoulder insistently, batting her eyelashes at him. his eyes only see red when he hears the nickname again and he decides that he’s gonna use a different method this time.

he slowly guides his hand up her arm, feeling her relax under his touch, and weaves his fingers through her hair gently before his grip tightens and he tugs her head back roughly.

finally her face displays something other than satisfaction and that ugly smirk, and he shakes her in his hold while his other hand covers her mouth to stop her from making any sounds.

“don’t ever fuckin’ call me that,” he leans closer to her face. “and if you come up to me anytime again i won’t stop at this.”

she whimpers and nods shakily, trying to pull away before he harshly lets go of her hair, causing her to fall down.

he runs to the bathroom quickly, entering without any care and looks under the cabins to see where you are, but you seem to have found another place to hide while he was busy with yorozu. sukuna runs around looking through empty classes until he finally finds you in the art class, sitting in the corner farthest from the door and sniffling quietly.

“baby?” you jolt in your spot and cover your face with your hands, hurriedly wiping away your tears. he approaches you slowly, his hands itching to touch you, but he understands that you might not want that. “you cryin’?”

“no?” you croak out, sobbing a little more and sukuna feels like getting punched in the face repeatedly. you finally look at him, and sukuna steps closer to stand between your legs.

“‘m sorry.”

“you don’t have to apologise, y’know? ‘s okay if you like her.”

now, that’s crazy. “the fuck? i hate that bitch.”

you give him an unsure look and he sinks onto his knees before you, tugging your hands down from your face before he cups your jaw like he loves to do. you pout at him, still sniffling and trying to avoid his gaze, but he doesn’t let you, gently shaking your head to make you focus on him.

“look at me, baby.”

“‘m looking, ‘kuna.”

“no, do it properly.”

you take a few deep breaths, wiping your nose with your sleeve messily. and lock gazes with him. sukuna leans down, slotting his lips against yours, his free hand resting on top of your head. the weight of it is familiar to you, making you relax into him, your hands wrapping around his arm.

he pulls away, stroking your hair as he looks down at you with a gentle look in his eyes.

“i don’t want her. i only want you and i want you to engrave it into your thick skull or i will do it myself.”

you give him an unsure smile, eyes a little bit brighter now.

“i’m sorry for makin’ you feel like this.”

“i’m sorry for not talking to you about it.”

sukuna nods at you, hugging you close to his chest and kissing the top of your head lovingly, before he tightens his hold on you so much you start punching his back.

“but if you ever decide to run from me again i will kill you.”

“‘kuna, can’t breathe—”

#— miya writes!#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #ryomen x reader #sukuna #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader

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animequeen4 · 2 days

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okay y’all hear me out… alastor, Lucifer, and Adam and their s/o meeting their fandom personas

alastor x reader x cursed cat alastor

Yn: “Al look at what I found! Isn’t he the cutest 😍”

alastor: “what is the world is that? 😃”

is genuinely confused on what and where it came from all he knows is that it hates him and everyone else except yn

Yn once putted a bow tie on him and looked like he loved it by this smile seeming genuinely yet when his bow tie was coming undone he would hiss and scratch at anyone who tried to fix it and only allowed yn to fix it

had a tendency to bring gifts for yn like nice and one time a ENTIRE deer carcass but after seeing she would throw it away he started to bring started bringing stuff like Freshly pulled out of the ground flowers, sometimes jewelry, and one time a cute hat

as for alastor he does not like the thing

he hates how the thing will always try to get in the way when he tries to do anything with yn like when it’s early in the morning and he wants to enjoy the peaceful moment with you he will just show up somehow in the room cuddling you, when he tries to give you a kiss on the cheek the will but bring your attention to him instead, and onetime he tried locking the door to get some quality time alone together and keep him out, THE CAT NEARLY BROKE DOWN THE WHOLE DOOR!!! The only time they got along was when they were protecting yn and when they both showed dislike for Susan

then one day a cat version of yn showed up also out of no where and immediately Cat Alastor stopped beefing with regular alastor because now both have their own yn

although yn was sad cat alastor wasn’t hanging out with her as much anymore she was happy and hopefully she can finally enjoy some peace of mind knowing they were not fighting anymore

lets just say a few months later there would be some kittens and they become permanent residents because cat alastor would bite who every tried to touch the kittens and his yn 😅

Lucifer x reader x cursed cat Lucifer

Out of all three he is the one who is actually loving meeting their fandom persona

“OMG HE IS AS CUTE AS KIKI! 🥹”

Lucifer gets even more excited see he too has a appreciation for ducks

let’s kitty Lucifer sleep with any of his ducks (except the Lilith one which he hides)

Kitty Lucifer loves yn almost as much as regular version of him

Like cat alastor he lives little gifts for yn except they usually come some with ducks mostly rubber ducks

however it is a bit of a hassle sometimes with him having wings where as when it’s time for a bath we will try to fly away but will get in the bath willing it there are some rubber ducks

when a yn cat showed up Lucifer was excited but not as much as his feline counterpart who acted like they were husband and wife and he missed his wife dearly

Kitty Lucifer was latter found being groomed by cat yn who was licking him clean and the too we’re sharing kitten kisses with kitty Lucifer having a completely smitten look 🥰

Adam x reader x squished/tiny Adam

Adam: “THIS LITTLE SHIT STOLE AND ATE ONE OF MY RIBS?!?! We need to get rid of it!”

yn: “oh come how Adam he is like you so he too likes ribs”

tiny Adam will often ask for cuddles and I imagine he is about as the same size as the cats so when cuddling he is pressed against yns boobs so tiny Adam will smirk at Adam making him jealous and flip regular Adam off while yn Isn’t looking

will often try to steal things like food, phones, jewelry to try and make him look cooler, and one time he has been caught stealing yns bra but was stopped easily due to how small he is

Will basically always come between the two of you when you tried to do anything romantic

not sure if he is wearing a mask like Adam or if that is his actual face due to always fighting anyone who tried to check

once Adam realized how he is able to get away with stuff they suddenly become good friends and caused a lot of mischief

I don’t know why but I imagine tiny Adam would also try to sing songs like hell is forever but it ends up sounding a lot cutter due to how high his voice is or he ends up squeaking instead

one day a tiny yn showed up and Adam finally understand why yn loved tiny Adam so much. ITS LIKE HAVING A TINY VERSION OF HER HE CAN TAKE AROUND WITH HIM WHEREVER HE GOES!! ITS SO FREAKING CUTE!! 🥹

tiny Adam then started started liking tiny yn and to regular Adam and yn it was like watching how they fell in love

ps these are not my art please don’t get after me I am just using these for illustrations on what they look like I am not claiming ownership and I hope you enjoyed 😁

#adam x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #cat lucifer #cursed cat alastor #squished adam

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undercoverpena · 1 day

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12. stormy sky

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

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

wordcount: 3.6k chapter warnings: anxious!reader. allusions to bad mental health day/sadness. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is dedicated to all those who sometimes just need a day, a hug and a love. i see you, and i love you (notes at the bottom).

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It wasn’t often you felt the storm coming before it arrived.

At times, it was kind enough to make itself more obviously known than on other occasions. Sometimes, it just happened, almost beyond your control—a feeling that wells up inside, leaving you in a funk for a day or two.

An unexplainable force that commands you to smile outwardly but crumble inwardly.

Then, you rise again the next morning, or in a few, completely anew—like nothing had ever happened.

Occasionally, it rides in on unexplainable sadness that follows you like a rain cloud, spreading out into swelling grief that chokes you from the inside out. Other times, it would be a headache that bloomed behind your eyes into something uncontrollable, unmanageable, that only settled with bedsheets and darkness.

As soon as the email appeared in your inbox, you felt the latter. It throbbing, pulsing—beginning somewhere between your second to final nerve.

Things shifting; a wave forming. One which rose inside of you when you weren’t aligning with the person you were working with. It growing. Swelling. Expanding inside of you to the point you were sure it was going to dislodge bone and deform you forever. The words on the screen slowly blur, barely discernible as sentences and not just another paragraph of failure.

You knew this could happen. From time to time creative visions weren't always going to align. A thing you reminded yourself of regularly, routinely. Telling yourself it in the shower, mirror or as you make your third coffee past midnight.

It never does lessen the sting, though.

Just like now, when your hand can't seem to stop slamming the lid of your laptop shut, or when you find yourself nervously nursing your lower lip between your teeth, a bubbling sensation begins within. Your mind fractures, allowing a flood of negative thoughts to pour forth, corroding, spewing and slathering itself over everything good.

You clutch at your phone, feeling the rubber of your case. Not even thinking; not even checking the time—just calling.

And hoping.

Waiting.

As soon as you hear his sunshine-like voice say your name and 'Are you okay?' (practically spoken as one word), you feel yourself take a breath.

Becoming aware, only then, of how damp your cheeks are, that your hand is shaking as he repeats the question, more gently, less dunked in worry.

Surprisingly, it feels easy to say no. To unravel silently to him as he asks you a question you rarely have been asked: 'Do you want to talk about it or something different?'

It’s small, a simple thing. But your heart swells. Your shoulders unlodge themselves from your ears and your spine softens, making the choice, all with far too much ease. Taking in the sound of his voice as he clears it, you hear him ask lowly and gruffly if you're comfortable before he begins explaining how he has a non-permanent tattoo of a creature on his arm.

Not a dinosaur, Rainy. Not even something born or created from Jurassic Park—and how he was worried that due to its placement, people would think Harold’s had become rougher, more dangerous business.

“Dangerous?”

You swear you hear him shrug. “People might see me, all tattooed up and think the worst of the place.”

Giggling, your fingers massage your head. “Where is it?”

“Guess.”

For a brief moment, like when light shines from behind the clouds, you grin. Guessing, naming body parts you know it couldn’t be, but only to hear his laugh—bathe in the joy that he can only summon, rinse your woes in it in the hope tomorrow you wake lighter.

“Ass.”

“They’d definitely think Harold’s had fucking changed if my ass is out baby.”

Smirking, climbing into bed (his advice, one you happily took). “I think I’d visit more. It’s peachy.”

Peachy he scoffs, but you swear he’s grinning. Adjusting the t-shirt as you lie down—one of his, stolen (with permission) from the drawer you’d made for him, taking in the scent of him, all musk, wood and man as you welded it with the voice as you discover it’s on his cheek.

“How are you going to explain that one?”

His laugh flows down the phone, meeting your ear as you lean against your pillows, trying (with all that you have) to almost convince yourself that he was here—and not streets and streets away.

Morning, guess what doesn’t come off with soap and a scrub? A monster.

Hope you slept okay, baby. Can bring a coffee round on my break. Can even see if I can sweet-talk a larger one for you. Put it in a flask.

Rainy, you awake?

Baby I don’t mean to worry, I bet you’re fine, just busy caught up in doing work, but just let me know you’re okay.

I have the spare key still from that delivery. If you don’t want to see me, tell me.

You’re not sure of the time—drifting on wood out at the sea of your own making. Having done so for a while.

Distantly aware of the passing of time. That it was no longer 3 am, which had been the last time you'd last checked the time. The sun is far too bright through your curtains; desperate to claw its fingers in and yank you from your sheets.

It doesn't, can't.

Instead, you're floating; lost somewhere between awake and asleep—only being disturbed, rocked from it, at the sound of your front door opening. The stiffness of the door, the squeak of a floorboard. All things which should fill you with alarm, but barely make your head move.

Because it's thumping.

Pounding.

Too much stuffed in there to do anything but lie there. Split at the seams, the rest of you shaken like a snow globe.

It crosses your mind—briefly—that if they were here to rob you, they’d find very little to take. If they were here for you, they were most definitely mistaken. Your eyes struggle to stay open, even if your ears are tuning, trying to twist to each noise, only relaxing when you hear the intruder mutter fuck.

Because you know that fuck. Know the exact voice as though it lives in your head with the one that wouldn't quiet at 3 am.

For the most part, you have to admit Frankie is quiet. A skill he likely gained from his former life, the one where it was a necessity. He just didn’t know your home. You only being able to tell he’s here from the little things, like that he’s not completely aware your front door gets a little stuck when it’s really warm and that some floorboards are looser than others.

In the same way, he doesn’t know that if you open your partially shut bedroom door slowly, it groans like it’s being personally offended—

“Mierda.”

You’re sure you croak a Hi Frankie.

You think it anyway; wanting to give an invitation to come closer, to move further in as your eyes try to focus on the money tree named Moana. With each blink, the leaves slowly come into focus as you begin to adapt to the brightness cast in by, what you now assume must be the afternoon. Blinking when you see him crouch down, all soft curls and silky brown eyes.

“You worried me.”

Swallowing, struggling to shove the dryness back, you clear your throat. “Headache.”

He’s gentle, slowly placing his palm on the side of your head, thumb brushing over the skin above your brow as he shifts in his crouched position. “Worse than that time you told me about?”

“About the same.”

It’s quiet, the way he answers with okay. Thumb doing a final swipe before you hear a pop of his knee as he stands, a mumble of Be right back, baby before the floorboards creek and you can hear him opening and closing cupboards in your kitchen. With a sigh, you close your eyes briefly, being roused by a gentle breeze caressing your cheek to find he'd returned, a glass of water in one hand and a crinkling packet in the other.

“Do you want to get in?”

“Sure,” he says, in the familiar deep voice—as you shuffle with ease.

Not daring to lift your head, to move too quickly or violently. The mattress dips as the bed groans when he throws his feet up, sliding into the warmth you’ve been creating for hours, finding his eyes—how that worry is still there. It swirling, likely mixing with the gold flecks and deep browns you admire every chance you can get.

You worry you've spoiled them, tainted them. Made them swirl with sadness caused by worry. And the thought makes your insides hum, as though someone has plucked all your strings. The twang of it trying to mix with the other emotions you don't feel equipped to unpiece.

“I’m s—”

“Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, firmly. Not accompanied by any smile.

A thing you know he means when he asks you, voice wrapped in satin, if you can take a sip for him. His arm slides around you, trying to pull you close as you do more than that, but rather consume, drain, and finish the glass.

When you hand it back, you think about the fact that a you with your head not coming apart might have teased him, might even throw your leg over his and asked him if he thinks sex gets rid of migraines like it does headaches. But, the words catch, stick and clag to the roof of your mouth.

Something rising, the emotions you’d shoved down trying to weave up. Climb. Stick their spikes into your oesophagus and crawl out your mouth. That is, until his palm spreads out, the width of his fingers sliding further up and along your spine. The act aiding you, guiding you to take a measured breath. One that stammers, hammers. One that floods inside of your chest, rising and rising like it wishes to crash against a beach and take everything to shore—

But, then it eases, calms.

All being gobbled back up, calmer waves lapping as you shift, seeing him lit by muffled, golden yellow. Listening to his heart, the breaths he takes as you try to follow them—even the scratching of his beard as he tucks himself closer and asks nothing, except silently, to be here.

Eventually, when you stop counting seconds, the quiet is broken—not rudely, or unnecessarily, but just with: “What can I do?”

“You’ve done it.”

Turning to see him—to find the gaze you know will already be on you. To look at the face you think of and have truthfully only wanted to see, there. You begin to explain, letting it all unravel, it unspooling from your tongue. Maybe sharing too much, like that no one you’ve dated has shown up like this before, and that you don’t ever expect him to do it again.

Shifting closer, as you continue talking, eyes closed to not aggravate what is trying to lessen, as you add extra context, sharing what happens, that you’re okay—but that sometimes you’re not. Statements, mainly. Likely broken sentences you somehow mash into paragraphs. Filling in the gaps, from the last weeks to now, to the email and then the call. How it happened—

“Maybe it’s because I’m happy.”

“Hmm?”

Shrugging gently against him, your chest fills with air before you exhale it in one long drag through your nose. “Maybe because I’m happy, my work isn’t that good.”

“Maybe.” His fingers find your chin, turning your eyes to his. “Or maybe he’s got very high expectations and the two of you just aren’t a good fit.”

Chewing your lip, you lower your gaze. “Yeah, maybe.” Unconsciously turning into the palm resting on your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as you dare yourself to find his eyes. “I really hate people sometimes.”

Snorting, you feel his lips press to your forehead. “Let me tell you about this fucking asshole who tried to tell me the white paint he was buying wasn’t white.”

You press yourself closer to him ready to listen, hand sliding across his middle as you grasp more of his shirt, finding the smallest smile trying to crack through.

The next time you wake it’s to the smell of breakfast.

There's humming too, occasional words floating from the kitchen through the open door of your bedroom.

A coy smile already tugging across your cheek, the storm having waned, moved to the distance. But still, you test to see if it's safe as you lift from the pillows—sleep rubbed from your eyes as you spot the crumpled side of the bed. See the empty glass you’d drank before he held you, the jacket he’d been wearing when he’d showed up impromptu folded on the floor near the dresser.

Then, the grossness hits. The awareness that your skin feels claggy and awful, shuffling your feet from the bed, all the way to your bathroom.

His t-shirt peels from you with reluctance. The sadness eventually glides down the drain as the water falls down your skin—stepping out feeling refreshed.

Smiling as you head down the hallway, not forcing a smile as you slide your hands around his waist, fingers moving under the band of his tee, as they stroke over soft, warm skin and the dark hairs that swirl across his middle.

“Thank you,” you say, the words so large you hope they land with the weight you intend them to.

He turns and kisses you, whispering a don't against your minty mouth. Hovering for a moment there, before his mouth finds you again, more hungry, more laced with words as he presses you against the counter. Nowhere to go as he tilts your chin up. “You're worth showing up for, Rainy.”

You swear your heart triples in size as you bury your face in his tee and grin something stupid against him as he continues to sing whatever is playing out loud on his phone.

Do we need to go furniture shopping before or after you put the shelving in?

Probably before in case we need to order things. How’s your mini project coming along?

Well, I followed this tutorial by this very handsome man, and it seems easy to do, but my kitchen shelf isn’t straight.

Did you follow all of the instructions?

Now why would you assume I didn’t?

Because it sounds like you didn’t make sure it was level, baby.

Rude.

But did you?

I may have assumed that my eyesight was good.

How many holes do I need to fill in?

Oh, just the one.

In the wall.

Oh. Eight.

Since the moment he picked you up, you've been buzzing with excitement, just as you have been all week since he told you where he was taking you.

A skip in your step when you locked your door, the sun warming your skin in the short walk to the door he'd opened for you. Remembering how he teased you on the phone last night—you made a Pinterest board of what it could look like?—as you sat cross-legged on the couch, listening to him, shaking your head at the camera.

He handed you the coffee—brewed and made by him—only when you were seated. Another thing you were also sure had added to the swirling excitement in your stomach.

The drive, thankfully, hadn't been long. Undoing your belt when he kills the engine, his palm pressing down on your knee.

“No plants.”

“Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

Leaning across the centre of his vehicle, he pulls your lips to his. “A very polite ask.”

“You don’t fancy your own Benedict or Henry?”

The tip of his nose touching yours, “I really don’t.”

You suggested other names as the two of you walked to the store's entrance, hand slotting inside his. Only silencing from your torment when your footsteps echoed softly against the glossy tile floors—blending with the rumbles of distant, murmured conversations, phone rings and furniture being rearranged.

Suddenly, the two of you were enveloped in the scents of polished wood and fresh upholstery, a scent you’re sure you used to like, but now really freaking loved.

Because this place is nice. The soft glow of overhead lights bathed the showroom in a warm, inviting ambience—casting a gentle spotlight on each carefully curated display. It was a scene straight out of a home decor magazine—every homeowner's dream.

"C'mon, Rainy," he coos, guiding.

Adding a soft this way from the back of his throat, becoming aware of his fingers brushing over the back of your jeans—along the pockets, along the expanse of your ass as you eye him, finding that same shy smirk that could explode into something more devilishly and ridiculously hard to resist.

A thing he already is without trying.

A thing which worsens when his arm comes around and keeps your side flush to his as the two of you make the way to the rows and rows of desks.

It makes sense to begin here.

To choose the ‘centrepiece’ of the room—as Frankie had explained on the drive—because everything has to fit around it. A thing you’d teased that you thought he was good at making things fit. To which he’d, playfully, replied that he was good, but he wasn’t fit-a-desk-and-a-dresser-an-armchair-and-shelving-good. A thing you'd promptly argued.

Stepping from his side, fingers brushing over the top of one, you glance over at them all. How they’re all vying for your attention, each with a unique allure. From sleek modern to rustic wood.

Catching Frankie's eye and with a mischievous grin, you take a seat behind one of the desks.

“Frank DIY’s office, how I can hammer you a good time today?” you say into the faux telephone, “Oh, I am sure Mr Morales would be able to… bend over and get himself in—I mean, you in.”

Frankie shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as you get up and sit behind another, typing on the desk as a keyboard, pretending to stare at the unplugged monitor that had no computer with it. Then moving to another, one with a desk mat and no other items than a plant that looks chewed by tiny teeth, before pulling yourself on the wheels behind one with drawers and a keyboard but nil else.

“Oh, hello sir. Your 2 o’clock is here.”

“Is that right?” he asks, folding his arms. “What am I doing for this appointment?”

Smirking, fingers poised over the keys. “They wish to know how to check if a desk is stable. For two people.”

You hear him take in a breath. Lips threatening to spread into a smirk before he clears his throat. “To work at?”

Shaking your head, you grin.

“I’ll have to call my assistant in. She’s a handful, bad with drilling, but, she can help me.”

Laughing, almost hiccuping from it, he stares down at you—palms still very flat against the desk—as it fades and spreads into a smile that hurts your cheeks. “There it is.”

“There’s what?”

“My smile.”

Eyes widening, you snort. “Your smile?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Mine.”

Rolling your lips, standing from the wheely chair, you raise your brows. Moving around the edge, fingers dancing along the wood until you’re standing perfectly in front of him—eyeing him, as always unable to take your eyes from him.

“I think I like this one,” you add, running the tips of your fingers over the smooth surface of the desk. “There’s no price though—or sizing.”

Frankie glances at it, eyes flicking from each of the sides as he likely does math gymnastics. “You’ll have a lot of space for your dresser—the butterscotch one.”

“You just know that do you?”

“Grab a measuring tape and I’ll confirm it,” he grins.

Hand on hip, you arch a brow as Frankie's laughter fills the air, but you can see it in his eyes, the challenge.

“Get it yourself, Morales.”

Pinching your ass, he walks around it. “I’ll remember that.”

Shaking your head, he snaps a photo of the desk—staring at his screen to check it before locking it. His hand offered to you.

“Chairs?”

Leaning close, voice dropping, you—all velvet-like— whisper, “Your face not on offer when I’m working?”

Pink spreads up his neck, tongue clicking against his teeth, he smiles. Grins. His fingers tighten around yours as you’re sure his eyes actually sparkle. “From the way you weren’t able to form sentences last time, not sure you’d get much work done.”

The chairs, for how colourful and varying they were, felt less fun than desk shopping. Most of them were out of reach, high up on shelves—having to assess whether they were as comfortable as they looked or if it was a lie. A game that got less and less fun the more you trailed.

Frankie, likely guessing your joy was wavering, grabbed a basket at some point—allowing you to peruse the mini plant aisles and other decorative things. For your shelves, he said, for the shelves, you replied, grinning, even as you grabbed a particularly wiry cactus you named Cisco.

“You think you’ve got at least one of everything in here?”

Fake laughing, your elbow confidently finds his side—hearing a gruff huff from him. “Almost. I just need—”

Eyes spotting it, body moving all of its own accord as though the required item had been lit under a spotlight and heaven-like noises had begun playing. Fingers gliding over each, brushing over fleece fluff that left marks of your touch, to more knitted, firmer types, too many choices all to be shared at, contemplated.

You feel it before you see it. Pain flaring from your side as your head whips—meeting the disgruntled face of another shopper, the end of their cart still firmly against your side as though somehow, you were the one who was required to move. Even after he’d practically rammed the cart into you.

“Hey man, watch it,” Frankie says, arm sliding around you, pulling you close.

The smallest of gaps made, created, between yourself and the offending cart. The pain throbbing, the embarrassment simmering, as you fight rubbing the impacted sight as it continued to pound, hearing:

And maybe, if you had looked across, you would have seen the man scoff—observed the expression that made Frankie tense even more protectively next to you You would have noticed why his usually soft smile shifted into a thin line as a storm brewed inside of him before you heard:

“She's the one in the way.”

An adult-like response if you've ever heard one. A thing you shake your head at, but reach your hand up to touch Frankie's chest, tapping lightly as you watch him visibly swallow whatever had been about to come out of his mouth. Instead, he mutters a few choice curses under his breath, shooting a silent but determined look to the person as they mumbled the most pathetic apology known.

But, you didn’t, don’t.

Because, if you had, you'd have missed the way it all vanished when his eyes met yours. How it was erased, wiped all clean. Every affliction on his face, from the hardened eyes to the twitch of his nose, slipped away back to its recess.

“You alright, baby?”

Not one blame placed on you; not even a thought to do so, as his knuckles brush your cheek.

“I’m fine, Butterscotch. It's nice to meet protective you, though.” His eyes shifting from you quickly, the deepest of reds flooding his ears, you flatten your hand to his chest. “I appreciate it.”

Meeting your stare, he swallows. “You sure you're okay?”

Biting the inside of your cheek when his palm, warm and spreading heat, begins stroking over the offended area, you nod. Grinning.

Because if anything, you're pretty sure you might be in love with him.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

notes: i've drip fed rainy's difficult client for a few chapters now, as well as her little wobbles with anxiety. i know this isn't everyone's experience, but i think we can all relate to those days when getting out of bed just feels hard. i hope you're all okay, and just know i'm always here. no one is ever alone when the grey clouds are overhead, even if they clouds hope to make us feel that way. ily all, jo.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

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scoonsalicious · 3 days

Text

3.3 Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, brunch, toxic plants.

Word Count: 1.5k

Previously On...: Your coworkers warned you about the history of the Winter Soldier.

A/N: Time for Brunch!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Bucky held the diner door open, allowing Lily to walk in first. It was a sort of tradition of theirs– brunch every other Saturday at Melinda’s, a cute little cafe about a twenty minute drive from the Compound– that they’d been doing for years now.

“I’m so glad to finally be spending some time together,” Lily said as she slid into their usual booth by the window. “I feel like it’s been ages.”

Bucky chuckled as he picked up his menu– not like he didn’t already know exactly what he was going to get: a black coffee, scrambled eggs with sausage and bacon, a plate of home fries, and a short stack of chocolate chip pancakes. “Lil, we hung out last night,” he told her.

“Last night doesn’t count,” she pouted, picking up a sugar packet from the little ceramic container on the table and beginning to play with it.

Bucky put down the menu. “Why not?” he asked.

Before she could answer him, the waitress came to take their order. Bucky liked her– Mya; she was always friendly and put an extra pancake on the pile for him, free of charge.

“Hey there, Buck,” she greeted warmly, “Lily. Good to see you two again.”

“Hey, Mya,” Bucky replied with a dazzling smile. “How are you this morning? How’s Frankie?” Mya was a single mother, working two jobs, so Bucky always made sure to tip well and inquire about her son.

“He’s good, Buck; thanks for asking. He really appreciates the autographed Avengers picture you got for him; brought it to school for Show & Tell and everything.”

Bucky laughed good naturedly. “My pleasure,” he said. “They always make us take those dumb publicity photos; figured something good should come outta them.”

“Well, he’s very grateful, all the same,” she said with a grin. “How are–”

“I’ll take a Cobb salad, no bacon, dressing on the side, and a Diet Sprite. Thank you,” Lily interjected, smile tight.

Mya blinked a few times before replying “Yeah, sure, absolutely,” as if she hadn’t just been interrupted. She turned to Bucky. “The usual for you, Buck?” she asked.

“Yeah, please. Thanks, Mya.” Mya took their menus and, promising their food would be right out, walked away. Bucky followed her with his eyes to make sure she was well out of earshot before he turned back to Lily. “What the hell, Lil?” he asked her.

“What?” she asked, seemingly nonchalantly. “I’m hungry.”

“So, you couldn’t wait five seconds for her to finish speaking?” he asked accusingly.

“Hey, she gets paid to serve, not to flirt,” Lily snapped.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he leaned back. “You always think everyone’s flirting with me. We were just talking about her kid. What is with you today?”

Lily sighed and looked up at him, blue eyes turning sad. “I’m sorry– I’m just tired. I told you, I didn’t sleep well last night, and it’s making me cranky. Don’t be too mad at me, okay, Jamie?” She smiled and reached her hand across the table to grab his. “It’s your fault, after all.” She winked at him.

Bucky smiled and squeezed her hand. “I told you I was sorry,” he said. “And now I’m making it up to you by buying you brunch. Gotta take care of my best girl, right?” Lily beamed at him.

“Right,” she agreed with a nod. “Hey, just out of curiosity, where did you end up staying last night? Did you go back to the Tower?” Though Tony Stark had moved the Avengers operation to the Compound Upstate, he still utilized the Tower for Stark Industries, and kept apartments available there for the team to use if they found themselves in the city overnight.

Bucky pulled his hand back from hers and scratched the back of his neck. Lily squinted her eyes at him, and he knew he’d just revealed a sure tell that he’d done something she’d not be pleased with.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” Lily said angrily. “Do not tell me you stayed the night with Nat’s friend.” The way she said ‘friend,’ with her voice getting incredibly shrill at the end, had Bucky inwardly cringing.

“Well, by the time I got her back to her place,” Bucky defended, “it was already pouring. Wouldn’t’ve been safe for me to head back in those conditions.”

Lily seemed to be mulling over his words. “I guess,” she said, after a moment. “So, what? You sleep on the couch?”

For some reason, Bucky couldn’t get the words out to tell his best friend the truth– that, no, he hadn’t slept on Major’s couch. In fact, he’d slept on her bed, but it didn’t really count, because the two of them had hardly done any sleeping at all. Instead, he just brought his coffee cup to his lips, took a long sip, and nodded.

“Good,” said Lily, seeming satisfied with his answer. “I don’t like the idea of you hanging out with her. She was a total bitch.”

Bucky frowned. He realized that the interaction between Major and Lily last night had been… tense, but he fully hadn’t expected that she would call Major a bitch and tell him she didn’t want him to spend time with her. “She was just defending herself, Lil,” he said cautiously. “You were kinda out of line with that anti-girly stuff.”

Lily gave him a wounded look. “I cannot believe you would take the side of a complete stranger over your own best friend,” she said, looking affronted. “She was incredibly rude to me.”

Mya returned then with their meals, and Bucky waited until she had walked away before continuing: “I’m not siding with anyone. I just think you should take into consideration that you were rude to her, first, Lil. She was acting defensive because you put her on the defensive.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Lily crossed her arms, pouting.

“Lil, doesn’t it bother you that you don’t have any female friends?” he asked carefully.

She scoffed. “What do I need female friends for?” she asked. “They just wanna talk about stupid girl shit and it’s dull and boring. Besides, I have you. I don’t need other friends.”

It struck Bucky then how very sad that seemed. Sure, he didn’t have many friends, himself; just Steve, Lily, Sam, and the team, but he was a 100-plus year old, formerly brainwashed, ex-assassin with PTSD and a list of issues a mile long, so it was to be expected. But Lily? Surely a young, vibrant person like her should be hanging with more people than just him?

“This was what Major was talking about,” Bucky said gently, choosing to ignore his observation for the time being. “You can think feminine things are dull, and boring, but it’s not fair of you to consider them stupid just because you don’t enjoy them. And it’s definitely not cool of you to look down on people who do.”

To Bucky’s dismay, Lily’s bottom lip began to tremble, and he feared she was going to start crying. “Why are you mad at me?” she pouted.

Bucky felt his facial features soften as he looked at her. “I’m not mad at you, Lil. I just think that, maybe, you should reconsider your stance on some things, that’s all.”

Lily seemed to consider his words for a moment, before she broke out into a giant grin. “Okay, Jamie,” she said, digging back into her Cobb salad. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll do better.”

Well, Bucky thought, that went better than expected.

They ate companionably for a while after that, sharing small talk and enjoying each other’s company. When it came time to leave, Bucky paid the bill, making sure to leave a little extra for Mya to make up for Lily’s earlier rudeness.

As they were walking out, Lily interlocked her arm with his. “Do you want to do a movie night at my place tonight?” she asked. Since Lily was a member of SHIELD, and not an Avenger proper, she didn’t have an apartment at the Compound. Instead, like most of the other agents who were based there, she had a place of her own in town. Usually, Bucky relished spending time at her place, where it was quiet and far less crowded.

But then Bucky remembered he’d asked Major out to dinner for this evening. “Shit, Lil,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his vibranium hand. “I can’t tonight; I’m sorry.”

“What, you abandoning me for a hot date or something?” The words were phrased as a joke, but there was an edge to her voice that told Bucky she was genuinely afraid that was why he was saying no.

He let out a forced laugh. “Of course not,” he said, immediately wondering why he was lying to her. “I just, uh, promised Sam we’d do a guys’ night. You know how he gets if he thinks people aren’t paying enough attention to him.”

Lily scoffed. “He’s such a fucking drama queen,” she said.

“Heh, yeah.” Bucky sent out a silent apology to both Major and Sam for the lie, and hoped he could get Sam to back him up on it. He had told Bucky he’d be his wingman when it came to Major, after all.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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