#peak sponge
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Here’s a video of Homelander’s cute laugh for your entertainment.
#antony starr#homelander#the boys tv#the boys amazon#the boys#the boys season 3 spoilers#him laf#love his lil giggle chuckle laf laf#him face and it’s sponginess#peak sponge
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story by me (craig)
I are literature
In the quiet town of Doodleville, there lived a peculiar doodle named Craig. Craig was no ordinary sketch; he was a cat with a mission. Despite his simple appearance, Craig harbored ambitions far grander than his humble origins suggested.
From a young age, Craig possessed an insatiable curiosity and a keen intellect. While his peers contented themselves with idle doodling, Craig spent his days studying the world around him, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. He learned about history, politics, and the intricacies of human behavior, all from the confines of his paper realm.
As Craig grew older, his ambitions expanded. He yearned for something more than the confines of Doodleville. He dreamed of venturing beyond the borders of his sketchbook and making his mark on the wider world.
One fateful day, Craig's opportunity arrived in the form of a stray pencil left unattended on the edge of his page. With a mixture of determination and excitement, Craig seized the pencil and began to draw. He sketched a doorway leading out of Doodleville, and with a final flourish, he stepped through into the unknown.
The world outside was vast and full of wonders, but it was also fraught with danger. Undeterred, Craig embarked on a quest to carve out his own destiny. Along the way, he encountered a colorful cast of characters, from mischievous doodles to formidable adversaries.
Despite the challenges he faced, Craig never lost sight of his ultimate goal: to leave his mark on the world and reshape it according to his vision. With each obstacle overcome and each victory achieved, Craig grew stronger and more determined than ever before.
In the end, Craig's journey was not just about conquering the world, but about discovering his true self and realizing his full potential. As he stood atop the highest peak, surveying the realm he had conquered, Craig knew that his adventures were only just beginning. For Craig was not just a doodle; he was a legend in the making, destined for greatness beyond the confines of his paper kingdom.
#In the quiet town of Doodleville#there lived a peculiar doodle named Craig. Craig was no ordinary sketch; he was a cat with a mission. Despite his simple appearance#Craig harbored ambitions far grander than his humble origins suggested.#From a young age#Craig possessed an insatiable curiosity and a keen intellect. While his peers contented themselves with idle doodling#Craig spent his days studying the world around him#absorbing knowledge like a sponge. He learned about history#politics#and the intricacies of human behavior#all from the confines of his paper realm.#As Craig grew older#his ambitions expanded. He yearned for something more than the confines of Doodleville. He dreamed of venturing beyond the borders of his s#One fateful day#Craig's opportunity arrived in the form of a stray pencil left unattended on the edge of his page. With a mixture of determination and exci#Craig seized the pencil and began to draw. He sketched a doorway leading out of Doodleville#and with a final flourish#he stepped through into the unknown.#The world outside was vast and full of wonders#but it was also fraught with danger. Undeterred#Craig embarked on a quest to carve out his own destiny. Along the way#he encountered a colorful cast of characters#from mischievous doodles to formidable adversaries.#Despite the challenges he faced#Craig never lost sight of his ultimate goal: to leave his mark on the world and reshape it according to his vision. With each obstacle over#Craig grew stronger and more determined than ever before.#In the end#Craig's journey was not just about conquering the world#but about discovering his true self and realizing his full potential. As he stood atop the highest peak#surveying the realm he had conquered#Craig knew that his adventures were only just beginning. For Craig was not just a doodle; he was a legend in the making
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German Strawberry Roll - Cuisine
With sponge cake, whipped cream, and strawberries, this traditional German strawberry roll recipe Erdbeerrolle is prepared. It may also be made using various berries.
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does your partner have a creepypasta written about them or are you normal
#/are you BOTH normal#i only knew about ''plankton got served'' after my recent hyperfix on the sponge show- not before#and i struggle to think of a creepypasta that's actually scared me ever! mind you i was an adult at the peak of its general popularity...#it doesn't really count but i was majorly hyperfixated on marbleh*rnets in 2012... so good. much better than a creepypasta. :)
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Colorado
#garden of the gods#Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve#telluride#Royal Gorge#pikes peak#stuart gordon#owl creek pass#teocalli mountain#aaron spong#Colorado#Rocky Mountains
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German Strawberry Roll - Cuisine
With sponge cake, whipped cream, and strawberries, this traditional German strawberry roll recipe Erdbeerrolle is prepared. It may also be made using various berries.
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German Strawberry Roll - Cuisine
With sponge cake, whipped cream, and strawberries, this traditional German strawberry roll recipe Erdbeerrolle is prepared. It may also be made using various berries.
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Alright, got to about 1,500 words tonight in Chapter 27. I had some rough shit happen earlier tonight so I'm shocked i was even able to buckle down enough to write it.
I can't talk about anything since it's got semi-important story spoilers but omg Jaster Mereel's B+ Parenting might actually make it to a n A- before this fic is over. I'm squealing over all the family feels and stuff going on in this chapter. It's sparking much joy.
#el writes#fanfic related musing#jaster mereel's b+ parenting#jango fett doesn't know how to cope with this talking about their feelings bullshit#and jaster talking casually about how he loves jango and is so proud to be his father#whilst simultaneously soaking it up like a thirsty sponge#just peak mando familial relationship dynamic here
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Interviews
Hardersson x Child!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: Your Momma and Morsa sometimes have to talk to people on a screen for their job
Sometimes your Morsa and Momma don't play football for their jobs.
Sometimes they had to sit at a table with a computer and talk to people on the other side of it.
It was pretty boring so you like to sit under the table and play with your toys, leaning back against Momma's legs to let her know that you hadn't disappeared.
(You had done that once and Momma had burst into tears when she found you at the vending machine with Caroline Graham-Hansen.)
"Of course, you're both role models for girls individually and as a couple but also to working mothers as well. I know that your daughter was living in Germany with you, Pernille, but how has the move been for her?"
"It has been good," Pernille replies with a smile," y/n is still quite little so she's adapted pretty well to everything. I think Magda is the one that was thrown for the first few weeks."
You vaguely hear your name, muffled from where you're hiding under the table. You shuffle closer to Momma on your bum, peaking out from your hiding spot.
Both Momma and Morsa are smiling at the computer.
"As Pernille said, it is good," Magda continues," It is nice to be here, together as a family. y/n is getting to that age now where everything is new and shiny and she's just beginning to understand that Momma and Morsa get to kick a ball around for ninety minutes and win medals."
The interviewer laughs. "And is she a big Chelsea fan?"
Magda laughs as well, shaking her head. "We have only just got her to stop calling it 'Not-Wolfsburg'."
You hear Morsa say 'Wolfsburg' and your interest is renewed. You shuffle out from under the table, on your hands and knees.
The table your parents are sitting at is very tall and you're very small so your forehead barely peaks up over it. You stand in the space between Morsa and Momma's seats and lean forward on your tiptoes - just about tall enough now to be able to peer over the table.
There's a woman on the screen with a microphone. She looks nice but she's speaking English and she's a stranger (Morsa always tells you to be careful around strangers) so you don't really like her on principle.
"Oh, hello there. It looks like you have a little visitor."
Your English has gotten a lot better now - you understand everything she tells you.
(Momma always says you are like a sponge with languages because sometimes at home you flip between Swedish, Danish, German and English when you forget a word in one of your languages).
Morsa turns to look at you, smiling. Her big hand comes to rest on your head, ruffling your hair. You smile back and pass her your favourite stuffed swan before you clamber up into Momma's lap.
She grabs a hold of you securely, moving the chair so you're both tucked in properly and there's no chance of you falling.
"That's a pretty jersey," The woman on the screen says.
You look down at yourself, pinching the emblem.
Momma bounces her knee up and down as she rests her chin atop your head. "What do you say, princesse?"
"Thank you," You say shyly," S' Momma's Not-Wolfsburg jersey."
The adults all laugh and you frown.
You're not entirely sure what you said was funny.
Adults are weird sometimes.
"Is it a competition? On whose jersey she ends up wearing?"
"Usually, yeah," Magda says, looking at you and Pernille fondly," We have had to start dressing her in normal clothes so we don't argue but it's media day today so we thought that she should probably represent the team."
"And how did you decide today?"
"Rock, paper, scissors," Pernille replies.
"Pernille cheated!"
"I did not!"
"She did. She distracted me with y/n before we played."
You giggle as your Morsa pulls a funny face at you and makes your stuffed swan kiss your face. Momma presses a kiss to the top of your head as another peal of laughter escapes your mouth.
"Now, before I let you all go. y/n what's the best thing about living in London with your mums?"
You cock your head to the side for a moment. "Er...Morsa does my hair all pretty and Momma makes nice breakfast! And-And they have a big bed! Sometimes, Momma gets me up in the morning and lets me sleep in the big bed with Morsa!"
You continue to ramble on, more than happy to talk about your favourite subject, only tapering off when your tummy grumbles.
Momma checks the fancy watch Morsa got her for their anniversary.
"It looks like it's lunchtime for the princesse. Can you say goodbye, y/n?"
"Bye!" You smile at the woman on the computer and wave, allowing Momma to place you back on the ground and Morsa to hand over your toy.
As they log off, you grab Morsa's hand.
"We have lunch now?"
"Yes, princesse, we'll have lunch now."
#woso x reader#magdalena eriksson x reader#magdalena eriksson#pernille harder x reader#pernille harder#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso#The Big Adventures Universe
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Comfort & Joy: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]
The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist
Summary: (9) Roll up, roll up for the Stark Christmas Jamboree. Where candied nuts and cunning plans both come with an extra sprinkling of festive sweetness. (w/c 7.8k)
Warnings: Minors DNI. Usual Lakes fare. Humour, Asgardian lore, fluff, all the feels. Smut references. A/N: This is the final final edition of The Lakes.
“Remind me, what named day is this in your charming yuletide festivities?” Loki inquired as you stepped out the revolving door of the Tower.
Charming.
You smiled.
Last year it would have been any number of synonyms for stupid. You could hear them, see his lips curling the words from memory. Gratuitous. Senseless. Superfluent. Foolish.
But that was your problem, you recognised, not his.
“I don’t think it has one officially,” you shivered, nestling your chin deeper into the scarf. Fuck, it was cold today. “But I call it Christmas Eve, Eve.”
You sighed, watching crowds of the general populous making their way in shuffling merriment towards the Christmas market. No, not market. Festive Jamboree.
Tony had taken it upon himself to create a mini-wonderland right outside the Tower for one day only, all proceeds to the local children’s hospital.
A ferris wheel rose at the end of the cordoned street, every carriage packed. The smell of hot-dogs and caramelised almonds filled the air, old-time speakers tied to high lamps blaring Andy Williams at a volume that couldn’t be code compliant.
“Lighten up, darling” Loki chirped as a gloved hand laced with your own. You turned to him, forcing a smile through the nerves. He looked phenomenal. A high collared coat of darkest green framed his cheekbones, pink tipped in the sudden chill. The one you’d seen in the window. You couldn’t resist. But when it came to Loki, what else was new?
He’d popped the collar, loose strands of onyx hair tumbling over the thick of his scarf. The one you’d bought him, of course.
Against the pale of his skin, dark brows peaked above a lowered fan of lashes while his gaze lingered on your intertwined digits. He raised the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it firmly.
“This will be fun,” he murmured against your glove with a knowing glint.
“Have you planned...something?” you laughed. “Other than the thing.”
The nerves were fading, finally. He pressed his free hand against his chest in mock-hurt. “You wound me with your suspicions, madam” he purred, playful insolence thick in his tone. He sniffed, raising his chin. “I am merely imbibed with the spirit of the season.”
Mid-giggle, your whole body rocked forwards as two hands shook your shoulders from behind. “Merry Christmas Eve Eve, sister!” Thor boomed in your ear. There was ringing.
Thor looked good. He smelled good. And blessedly for now at least, there were no crumbs in his beard.
“And to you, brother” Loki said, smile widening.
Thor tilted his head, regarding Loki’s jovial demeanour with suspicion. “And to you, brother-” he rumbled. His interest was piqued. “What has my Sponge of a sibling in such a buoyant mood this fine December day?”
“It’s Scrooge,” you corrected, grinning. Thor grinned back as all eyes fell on your lover.
Loki gaped, darting his gaze between you both.
“Scrooge?!” he scoffed incredulously. “In past years, perhaps. Yet despite your attempt to churl me, I shall take it as a compliment,” Loki said, squeezing your hand, “for I too was visited by three spirits and thus...changed forever.”
Thor frowned, “spirits, says you?”
“Yes, brother. Yourself, Rogers, and the spectre of that ghastly reclining chair.”
Thor chuckled, before being distracted by something deeper within the crowd. Or someone. He cleared his throat. “I must to the candied nuts, brother” he muttered formally.
Out the corner of your eye, you saw Rogers tip the nuts-vendor a quick salute as he nestled a fresh bag in his hand like a hamster. Heat steamed from the opening, wafting through frosty air.
“Oh yes brother,” Loki drawled with equal gravitas. “The nuts will not eat themselves.”
Thor squinted as a restrained smirk danced at Loki’s dimples. “Indeed,” the blonde replied, clearing his throat. “I shall see you at the bandstand anon.” And with a curt nod to you, he waddled hands in his pockets through the throng.
You watched him go as Loki’s warm breath seeped down your neck, his mouth fastening to your pulse-point with a happy hum of pleasure. “You’re naughty,” you chided playfully. Loki nodded against your neck, the vibration of his agreement making you fizz. “And I have the knitwear to prove it,” he whispered.
As you made your way through the crowd, Loki’s hand never left yours.
The two of you together were a familiar sight in Manhattan, and Avenger-fans on the whole had been beside themselves at news of your reunion. Confirmations had been slow. At you and Loki’s insistence, there had been no official statement. But the public had cottoned on eventually, with the help of the press.
Fans waited politely for pictures, nervously pulling at gloves and activating their cameras while you and Loki smiled and chatted. It was night and day from the way things used to be, while you stood on the sidelines amid a sea of bodies whipped into a frenzy by the god of mischief’s theatrical adulation.
Every so often, Loki would nuzzle your cheek; checking in. You’d squeeze his hand. One for all good, two for let’s go. You didn’t need that second squeeze today.
“With regret, we must depart for the afternoon’s questionable entertainment,” Loki announced. There was a chorus of disappointment, but he patted down the air.
“Please, join us-” he smiled to the crowd gathered around you, extending an arm towards the bandstand not thirty meters away. “Your participation will be most appreciated to drown out the subpar efforts of all of us. Truly, you will never look at us the same way, I guarantee it.”
Despite having been erected overnight, the bandstand in the centre of the wonderland wouldn’t look out of place in Victorian England.
Thin wrought iron pillars stretched upwards, twisting to an ornate canopy adorned with Christmas lights. Garlands wound up the pillars, twinkling sporadically. It was only 3pm, but the gathering darkness made them shine. A modest band of brass and strings had gathered beneath the canopy, instrument tune-ups peppering the chilly air.
And in front of it, in a semi-circle, microphones.
Steve stood to the side, handing booklets to a line of anxious looking avengers. Bucky, Wanda, Sam, Natas-
“I cannot believe we have to do this,” Bucky muttered ruefully as he threw his coat in the assigned box. “I can’t believe it. I actually can’t? Someone, fight me. Knock me out.”
“We’re all in the same boat, Buck” Natasha lamented. She pulled at the baggy jumper hanging around her hips.
Bucky looked down at his chest, pleading eyes meeting her stoic stare. “Fight me, Romanoff. Please.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Natasha replied.
Their jumpers were matching. Red, thick wool hiding any hint of the lithe muscle beneath. And stitched on them in winding, white-knitted lettering?
Nice.
Your chest shook with the effort of holding in giggles. Even knowing what was coming, it hadn’t prepared you for the reality.
Looking around, you clocked each of your teammates in turn. Stark’s logic was thus – Avengers with a ‘harder’ reputation? Nice jumpers. And for those reputed to be on the softer side?-
“You’re wearing the wrong gosh-darn sweater, Laufeyson!” Steve hissed over your shoulder.
Both of you spun to face him. Steve’s arms were folded over the green version of the standard knit, the word Naughty emblazoned on his chest in white bobbling letters. Your shoulders were shaking now, too.
“Don’t act like you're surprised, Rogers” Loki drawled. His coat hung off one long finger, before disappearing in a flash of seidr. “The public will not be fooled by Stark’s futile attempt at psychological subterfuge. I am simply getting ahead of the inevitable Tumblr edits.”
Steve’s chin snapped towards you. “Did you know about this?” he piped, flustered. You raised your eyebrows guiltily, making Steve’s hands fly in the air.
“Perfect. Just heckin’ perfect. Why I outta-”
“What seems to be the problem?” Thor’s voice boomed from behind. The words were accompanied by crunching, flecks of almond littering his green jumper like snow. You and Loki parted, making a four-square shoulder to shoulder and shuffling further towards safety from prying ears.
“Laufeyson’s taken it upon himself to go against the agreed sweater-allocation and wear a Naughty, that’s what-” Steve bubbled bitterly.
Crimson had begun to creep up his cheekbones. A vein in his neck throbbed. Thor threw his head back with an almighty roar of laughter. Several almonds bounced from the bag in his hand from the force.
“Come now, Rogers ” he managed through gasps of mirth. “What did you expect? Tis just a silly rule, who cares?” He tossed an almond in the air, attempting to catch it in his mouth. It ricocheted off his eye.
As Thor began blinking, Steve raised the clipboard in his hand. He tapped it violently. “I’m in charge of project managing this,” he hissed. “Laufeyson – change back to Nice.”
“Shan’t.” Loki quipped.
Steve flushed deeper. “Laufeyson,” he warned.
“Actually,” Loki started, enjoying the hushed tension. “I think you’ll find I am rather nice. You saw to that. So in truth, my sweater is fitting for this farce.”
Steve’s eye began to twitch.
There was silence.
“Look at us, we’re like a little team," you offered, pointing to each of your green jumpers in turn. “Like the old days.”
Thor chuckled agreement as Loki and Steve stared each other down, a smile playing on Loki’s mouth that was irrevocably absent from the Captain’s. All four of you, it seemed, wore the Naughty uniform today.
“In your case, as in mine, our knitwear reflects our essence perfectly my darling” Loki purred to you while his eyes narrowed towards a now vibrating super-soldier. “My naughty...naughty girl.”
Steve sighed, hanging his head in resignation. “I told Tony this was a pooper of an idea,” he lamented. “It’s a disaster and it’s not even started.”
Thor’s hand clapped the captain’s shoulder in sympathy, lingering in a squeeze. Steve looked up at him, their eyes meeting.
The blonde god’s gaze widened slightly. You saw his fingers clench as his hand froze. In moments, he raised it; fluffing back his hair before sliding the hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“It’s only one sweater, Rogers” he muttered nervously. “Who cares?”
Steve’s face fell, eyes darting to Thor’s crotch with a frown before rising back to his face. “I expected better of you, Odinson” was all he said before turning away.
Loki let out an exasperated sigh, elbowing his brother in the ribs. But Thor didn’t even flinch. His features had crumpled, spinning slowly as he watched the captain leave. His nuts? Forgotten.
But Steve didn’t see it. He was already making his way to the cluster of anxious looking Avengers huddled by the bandstand, examining carol music like they were Hydra files.
“That could have gone better,” you whispered to Loki. The god frowned. His attempt to provoke his brother into siding with Rogers had not borne fruit.
“Fear not,” Loki replied mysteriously as Thor produced a chicken drumstick from his jeans pocket. He tore off a chunk with a thousand-yard stare. Loki watched him in disbelief, continuing slowly. “There is still time to salvage this operation from the wreckage of my brother’s obstinance.”
You gaze flitted between your team-mates. Bucky – Nice. Natasha- Nice. Clint – Naughty. Bruce – Naughty. Wanda – Nice. Sam – Naughty. Scott – Nice.
Out the corner of your eye, you saw Loki swipe the half-ravaged chicken drumstick from Thor’s hold with hushed reprimand.
“What’s the big man wearing, I wonder?” you asked no one in particular. Loki snorted, “what else?” he said, nudging his head towards the Santa podium. There he was, Father Christmas aka. Tony Stark. Dressed in ray-bans and custom tailored suit, he looked suspiciously trim for a man in his position.
“Ah,” you smiled.
Loki’s smokey cologne filled your nostrils as he looped his arms around your body, pulling you tight to his chest. “It seems he will not be joining us in this public embarrassment,” he smirked before placing a warming kiss on your lips. Then to the corner of your mouth, then to the angle of your jaw.
“Places!” a peaky-sounding Steve shouted, tapping a baton against the music stand at the head of the choir section. There was a deep line between his eyebrows that was decidedly un-Christmassy.
“Norns,” Loki muttered. His hands slid down your body, fingers weaving through yours. “Ready?” he breathed nervously, your foreheads touching.
“Are you?” you replied.
Loki squeezed once.
The front row of the audience was made up of children, patients of the hospital.
Cushioned folding chairs were laid in a half-crescent, two dozen of their smiling faces staring expectantly. Several of them sat in wheelchairs in the middle. Prime spot. One of them was wearing a pin-badge with Loki’s face on it.
A young connoisseur, you thought with a smile.
Behind them, the growing crowd heaved. Sparkling Stark-Industries antlers filled your field of vision, handed out at the gates. There was a static hum, hundred of conversations and jokes and countless eyes inspecting each of you with anticipation.
You could feel their excitement fizzing in the air while Bucky fidgeted beside you. Thinking about his solo you had no doubt. You rubbed his back sympathetically. He offered a weak smile of thanks.
Steve tapped the pedestal again.
“Avengers,” he announced with authority. The hushed whispers and small waves of the team to the crowd came to a halt.
“One..two..” he mouthed the three.
All of a sudden, the air came alive with the sound of ten voices, stronger and louder and more melodic than you had expected. Unbelievably, it sounded...good.
Hark! The Heralds, angels sing;
Glory to the newborn king,
The brass quintet upon the bandstand soared. Even in practice, it hadn’t been this good. A Christmas miracle, you thought as you belted out the words in some semblance of tune.
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconcile,
Your gaze flickered to the other side of the semi-circle, catching Loki’s.
He held his carol-sheet diligently at arms-length, not looking at it. But rather, at you.
He winked.
Steve had rightly separated you. The chances of him squeezing your ass in front of the sick children was just too high.
What if one of them goes into shock, Steve had said.
But in truth, it was the deep, soulful magnetism of Loki’s singing voice that posed the real risk. If you were standing beside him, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to contain yourself.
You winked back. Beside Loki, Thor craned towards the paper his brother held.
Thor had memorised every carol. Every modern classic. Everything in the repertoire. You knew that for a fact.
For the last two weeks, ever since your conversation in the common room – you’d been able to hear him before you could see him. And not in the usual way. You’d become accustomed to hearing his theatrical rendition of Silent Night bouncing its ironic way around the tile of the gym, the hallways, seeping through floors. And what he lacked in vocal melody, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm.
No - in truth, as the God of Thunder stared at the music sheet, he was avoiding Steve’s appraising stare which darted to each of them in turn.
Joyful, all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies,
Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from your boyfriend, you focused back on the conductor. The crimson flush of his ears had ebbed. He was beginning to smile. Well, a little.
Hark! The Heralds, angels sing;
Glory to the newborn king,
The carol continued. And then the next, and the next. Collection buckets that were being passed amongst the crowd began to overflow, the spectators indulging in a mix of swaying, singing, dancing.
With every song that passed, Bucky became more nervous, his voice a little higher.
You only faltered once during Winter Wonderland when you made the mistake of looking at Loki again. At some point, he had raked his hair back. Pink peaked at his cheekbones, his hip slouched casually, tapping his foot in time. One side of his sweater was concealed in the waistband of his dark chinos. A french-tuck, if you weren’t mistaken. It highlighted the sluttish creases that strained at his crotch.
Dark curls fell around the green knit, half-lidded eyes following each word as he sang it. You would fuck that sweater right off him later. Or maybe, he could keep it on...you mused. His smooth baritone slid over the words like a sled in morning’s first snow,
to face unafraid,
the plans that we made,
walking in a-
He looked up with a knowing side-smile in your direction. A sharp elbow in the ribs from Wanda made you realised you had lost your train of thought. Your mouth was open, but no words were coming out.
“-winter wonderlaaaand,” you squawked out of time.
Steve’s eyes snapped to you, brow arched. He couldn’t complain, not really. Considering how well it was going. A brief erotically-charged moment of disassociation was the least he could expect, surely.
As the song drew to a close with a flourish of conductor Rogers’ arms, the crowd burst into applause. With every passing number, it had become louder. You weren’t sure if there were more people, or if the mulled wine had been refilled.
Steve spun to face the audience, growing darkness making the warm glow from fairylights create a halo around his blonde hair.
“And now...a very special treat,” he announced mysteriously to the expectant crowd. “Something very, very special indeed. I’ve heard it in rehearsal and golly, he’s just spiff.”
Bucky’s feet began scuffing on the ground. He’s going to do a runner, you thought. But thankfully for Bucky, he had nothing to worry about.
The plan was for Barnes to perform a rousing rendition of Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) by Olivia Holt. Or Michael Buble, depending on the demographic. Backed up by the jingling ooo’s and aaa’s of the team of course. But despite Barnes initial enthusiasm, the thought of it had filled him with more horror each passing day.
Steve had been very excited about the whole affair. A grand finale for his orchestral debut, such as it was. And Bucky hadn’t the heart to tell him.
“Buck?” you muttered out the corner of your mouth. You glanced at him, trying to be covert. He was sweating, staring blankly ahead. “Buck?”
“Yuh.” Barnes mustered quietly as Steve began to move a microphone between the sick kids. Their little voices made your heart flutter. But you had a job to do.
The weight of Loki’s concentration radiated from across the space between you. He was watching you and Bucky, completely still aside from one twitching finger and the small smile flickering at his dimples.
You cleared your throat, leaning to the side towards the soldier. “In a few seconds you might feel a bit funny-”
“I already feel a bit funny doll,” he murmured bitterly.
“Yeah but...well, you’ll see. Just don’t freak out.”
“Freak-what-now?”
“Out-”
“-Yah I got that-” he snapped, trying to turn towards you and failing. He tried to twist, but his shoulders wouldn’t budge. “What the-?”
“Buck?” you repeated slowly. He met your eyes, the first shadows of fear creeping in. “When Steve calls you up, just shake your head. You have a little bit of movement in your neck. And you can talk a little. Just a little so I can check you’re okay. Okay?”
Bucky raised his eyebrows in a grimacing caricature. You decided to assume that meant it was totally cool.
“Who are hoo hurkin’ hor!?” he hissed in a wreckage of lisping syllables. His shoulders shook ever so slightly back and forth like a wound-up nutcracker as he tried and failed to move his feet.
“Oh, no-” you said, realising he thought you’d been turned. “No, it’s just Loki’s magic. Don’t worry.”
Bucky’s eyes widened.
‘Please welcome-’
“You’re off the hook with the song?” you chirped quietly, hoping it had the intended effect. Barnes stopped struggling.
‘-my friend, James Buchanan Barnes!’
A round of deafening applause snapped you from your bubble. Steve stood back at his podium, baton poised and ready for the band to begin.
Alongside the other Avengers, except Bucky, you bent down and picked up a sleigh bell carefully placed at your feet. You could beat someone to death with this thing, you thought as the chrome bells jingled beneath your hand. Wanda shot you a knowing glance, holding in a laugh.
The applause ebbed as James Buchanan Barnes remained rooted to the spot. His eyes darted side to side across the waiting crowd. He shook his head very, very slowly.
Showtime, you thought.
“I’m afraid he has a bit of stage-fright,” you explained loudly. Collective disappointment hummed in the air.
Steve’s face flushed an immediate shade of fuchsia, features hardening. You could see the cogs in his brain turn, a victorious glittering finale slipping from his grasp. His lips puckered, sucking in his cheeks. “I’m sure with a little...encouragement,” Steve said with a grimacing smile, raising his arms. The crowd roared back to life.
Bucky shook his head, a bit faster this time.
Rogers head lowered, the breath from his sigh of exasperation clouding around his face.
“If I may...” came Loki’s calm drawl from across the line-up. It dripped with sensual showmanship, treacleish tones sending an immediate flood of desire leaking into your panties.
Men and women in the front rows grasped at each other, gawking as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. It doesn’t get any easier folks, you thought with a smile.
“My brother here knows the arrangement by heart,” Loki continued. “The lyrics and suchlike- I’m sure he would be happy to relieve Barnes of his duties-”
Mutters of excitement spread through the crowd like a mexican wave.
Thor immediately turned his back to the audience, muttering something at surprisingly hushed volume in his brother’s ear. Loki listened diligently, holding up a penitent finger to the crowd. Steve’s arms were folded, storm-clouds knitting his brow. The foot had begun to tap.
“My brother makes the valid point that of the two of us, I am the more musically inclined-” Loki began, gracefully gripping Thor’s shoulders and spinning him back to face the audience.
He brushed his brother’s collar, removing the last of the almond crumbs which resided there. A smile you knew all too well stretched across Loki’s lips as he looked deep into Thor’s eyes, willing him to understand. “But alas,” Loki purred, “I know not the words.”
And perhaps these words will heal, Loki thought.
Loki held his breath as Thor began to gingerly shuffle forwards, tugging at the hem of his Naughty- emblazoned jumper. If father could see us now, Loki mused with a shiver as his brother gripped the microphone.
The crowd was beginning to stomp in appreciation, driven into a frenzy by the turn of events. Thor gave a small wave, bashful smile growing wider as people began to whistle.
Loki turned his attention to Rogers, standing stiff and poised with baton in the air. He gave it a singular flourish, counting down from three. The crowd fell silent.
Loki saw the moment that Steve and Thor’s eyes met. It seemed to make every fairy bulb glow a little brighter in the darkness, sparks of hope spreading like embers from a fire, fluttering upwards in a night sky.
Please brother, Loki pleaded silently as he raised his sleigh bell. Don’t arse this up. He suddenly wondered if Thor had felt this way during their time at the cottage. Loki supposed that he had.
The brass band sprang to life, drums making an entrance.
(Christmaaaas) Loki sang suddenly with the others. Nine voices harmonised as one.
Thor panicked, pulling the microphone to his mouth. “Snow is...coming down...uh-oof-” he spluttered, the cable tangling around his shoe.
(Christmaaaaas) they sang, cringing slightly.
One line in, and Loki had almost lost all hope.
“I'm watching it faaaaall” Thor crooned in bass – a little more tunefully.
(Christmaaaas)
“Lots of...very lovely and festive, yes – you...people aro-hounnnd,”
(Christmaaaas) Loki sang, a smile beginning to spread as his brother came alive. He was pointing at the children, giggles and squeals peppering the air. The sleigh bell beat against his palm in time with his brother’s voice.
“Baby, please come ho-hommmme,” Thor sang.
Loki looked up, catching a look on your face that he hadn’t seen before. There was something different in that look. Some deeper variable of your smile that ignited his heart.
But there would be time for overthinking it later, he surmised as his brother launched into the chorus with a glottal barrage of enthusiasm. For now, he had a love to nurture.
As Loki released his practised backing harmonies with the rest of the team, his brother got into his stride. ‘Owned the stage,’ Loki believed was the term. Steve didn’t take his eyes off Thor for the whole number. And if Loki didn’t know better, which of course – he did, he would swear that the captain was blushing.
(Please) they sang, sleigh bells jangling in time.
“Pleaseee” echoed his brother.
(Please)
“Please”
(Please)
“Please”
(Please)
“Please Baby, please come hommmme-”
You were surprised the operatic efforts of Loki’s brother didn’t make the ground shake.
The crowd were beside themselves, singing and jiving and waving their hands in the air. Thor worked the big crescendo, falling to his knees on the ground.
His thighs spread, and whether it was his intention or not, you saw Steve grip the podium as his sensibilities buckled. Just a bit. The captain’s lips rolled together, stifling what you were sure was a bite.
Thank god Thor wore the tight jeans today, you mused as you held the final note.
With a swiping flourish of the conductor’s baton, the song was over. The cheers were deafening.
Thor stood and gave a small bow, sudden bashfulness descending. He waved, backing off to the side.
His eyes met Steve’s, giving him an understated nod. The captain returned it slowly, a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. You watched him mouth two words, thank you, before Thor collided into Loki.
There was only one more song to go.
You watched as Loki patted his brother’s shoulder across the semi-circle, pulling him into a hug. His face was alight with pride. It melted your heart. Despite the passing of the months, you couldn’t get over how different his smiles were now. Open. Genuine. Real. He’s finally opened his heart.
Have you?
The thought came intrusively. Fairy lights shone all around as Loki tussled his brother’s hair. Thor couldn’t stop smiling. And neither could Steve, you noticed. One more song.
Rogers tapped the podium for the final time, raising the baton. The mellow sound of the saxophone twisted in the air, followed by strings.
“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know” you sang.
Loki’s eyes met yours, sparkling with the glitter of mischief well done.
“Where the treetops glisten,
And children listen,
To hear sleigh bells in the snow,”
Bucky’s voice began to grow louder beside you. Released from his bodily prison at last.
On cue, the Avengers began to peel away from the semi-circle, mingling with the crowd. Of course, any production orchestrated by Steve Rogers would end in a collective heart-melting communal singalong. Nothing else would do.
You watched as Wanda cosied up to a older man holding a mulled wine. He offered it to her immediately, stunned as he mouthed the words to White Christmas. She took it.
For your part, you made a beeline for the children sitting at the front of the audience, joining them in their sway. This whole thing was for them, after all.
Loki’s shadow crept behind you, falling over the little girl with his face emblazoned on the pin badge.
“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,
with every Christmas card I write” Loki purred melodically as he lowered to his haunches.
He paused, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek.
You watched her face, transfixed in joy as all her daydreams came true. The God of Mischief in person, his shadowed blue eyes looking into hers as though she was the only person in the world. That never gets old, either, you thought. He took her hand, pressing her tiny palm against his own.
“May your days,” he sang with the crowd as his fingertips glowed green, “be merry and bright-”
You couldn’t tear yourself from the look of absolute sincerity on his face. The utter determination painted on softened features to give this sweet girl a memory that would last for the rest of her life – however long that was.
Tears began to prick your eyes, seeing the crane of her neck upwards as her mouth fell open in wonder to the sky.
Loki smiled. The green shimmer of his palm pressed to hers grew stronger.
A glow flashed across the inky night, a billowing flourish of northern lights erupting over central Manhattan seeped in emerald and pinkish hues. They twisted in waves, swirling like a cloak which moved and rolled. It was alive.
Loki's voice was quieter now, but no less beautiful as he sang.
“And may all your Christmases, be-”
“white,” the little girl gasped as snow began to fall.
He did that, you thought in wonder as the crowd began to cheer, hugging each other. All sets of eyes were turned upwards to the sky.
All but yours.
They stayed fixed on Loki as the band played on amidst a flutter of newly swirling snowflakes. The man I love.
“The tie, brother-” Thor muttered nervously, “is it..?”
“It is well done, brother” Loki replied.
He dusted the lapel of Thor’s crushed velvet suit jacket a final time, a deep red the shade of fine merlot. The blonde released a trembling sigh, pulling at his fingers.
It was Christmas Eve.
“Did you take the pharmaceuticals as instructed?” Loki enquired quietly as the elevator bounced to a halt. Thor nodded, patting his breast pocket. “The Tums? Yes. I have some on my person should the gaseous beast rear in my belly.”
Loki nodded, satisfied. All the bases were covered. He had done all he could do. Now, it was up to Thor. Well, almost.
It had been Loki’s idea for the brothers to dress together for the party tonight. And although his initial plan was to ensure that Thor was in peak condition for this eve of great import, Loki would admit that he had enjoyed it. Very much.
He wore a suit matching his brother’s in all but one detail. Loki’s was a crushed velvet of richest emerald green.
Thin silk ties of gold adorned them both, fastened tight to the white shirts beneath with a pin bearing their respective emblems. Loki’s gift to his brother. The Asgardian Princes were showing up, tonight. Loki had made sure of it. Mother would be proud, he smiled as the elevator doors opened.
Thor’s Yuletide offering to him had been a gift certificate to the Cheesecake Factory, but Loki paid it no mind. Gifts had never been his brother's strong-suit.
The rest of the team was already gathered by the Christmas tree, festive beverages in hand. A rolling cheer of greeting sounded as the duo strode towards the scene. Loki grabbed two glasses from the bar, passing one to his brother who necked it immediately. The dark god swirled his finger, refilling it.
Loki felt his brows rise as he saw you, standing with one finger curled over your lip and an entirely too sensual smirk on your beautiful face. Beneath the perfectly cut trousers of his suit, Loki’s cock twitched.
“You look handsome,” you coaxed quietly as he slid an arm around your waist, releasing a breath he’d been holding as a charged grunt of need.
“If we had gotten ready for tonight together,” Loki growled hot in your ear, “I fear that dress would never have been seen by another intact.” He pressed himself to you with a lingering kiss, an appreciative thrust of his hips rubbing against your own. He sighed into your open mouth, feeling your fingers dig into his shoulders.
“God,” Natasha muttered with playful scorn under her breath, shuffling over to give you both space. “Can’t take them anywhere,” she murmured to Sam. Sam grunted in agreement.
“Presents!” Tony cried, clapping his hands together. “Party starts at eight, tick tock. Cutting it fine thanks to Paris and Nicole here.” He nodded in Loki and Thor’s direction. Steve checked his watch.
“One cannot rush perfection, Stark” Loki smirked, releasing you. He watched as Rogers turned and adjusted a decoration on the tree. A plush rabbit wearing a santa hat. He was nervous.
Tony knelt down, reading each gift tag and throwing it to the corresponding team-member. An oblong package whizzed past Loki's face, hitting his brother square in the mouth.
'Ooft,' Thor grunted as mulled wine slopped over the side of the glass. He stumbled, catching the present.
Loki sighed, flexing his fingers and removing the stain from the front of his sibling’s suit. His brother nestled the empty glass dangerously within the tree branches to his side, inspecting the package.
“Tis soft,” he muttered seriously.
Across the circle, Loki saw Steve’s anxious gaze darting upwards at his brother in intervals. He noted you offer the captain a comforting nod while Thor tore at immaculate wrapping, ripping off the red ribbon and casting it aside.
“Odin’s beard…” Thor gasped as the final sliver of paper fell away.
The team fell silent, looking up from their various body massagers and associated tat. He raised the item in his hands like Simba, slack-jawed in awe. The amazed god stared at it, eyes glossy.
Bruce frowned towards the blonde, peering over his glasses with an oversized posing pouch dangling from one finger. “Is that-?”
“-A chicken drumstick?” Nat gawked.
“Tis’ soft…!” Thor breathed in wonder, twirling it in his hands. He clutched it to his chest, eyes darting around the group.
“A thousand thanks upon whomever bestowed this plush poultry treasure upon me,” he murmured, unable to resist holding the cushion proudly at arms length.
“Truly whomever be my secretive santa knows me to my core-” he continued dreamily, looking to each avenger in turn. They all looked befuddled. All except one.
Thor’s brow creased, doing a double take as Steve’s cheeks plunged to new depths of crimson. “Rogers?” the blonde god whispered, so low only Loki could hear it.
“Open yours Steve!” someone probed. Captain America still held his own package in his hands, toying with it gently.
Loki maintained his stoic expression, tossing his newly acquired bottle of luxury dry shampoo between his hands as he noted horror descend on his brother’s face. Never fear, brother; he thought smugly.
Thor thought that Steve was about to open a small box containing yet another gift certificate to the Cheesecake Factory. But Thor was mistaken.
Firstly, America’s saviour was lactose intolerant. Any internet search would have told him that. But despite his brother’s poverty of imagination where presents were concerned, his heart was in the right place.
And for the cunning plan his love and he had concocted, there was only one gift which could bring the two men comfort and joy this Christmas.
The truth.
“Wait, wait-” Thor yelped as he took several panicked strides across the room. He knelt down to Steve’s level, placing his hands over the box that Steve had only just revealed through the wrapping. “It’s not-”
Steve looked up, meeting the god’s panicked stare with practised indifference.
“Let me open it, will ya?” he said calmly. Thor sank back, head bowed as he waited for the axe to fall. With every careful unlatching of sellotape, Loki saw his brother’s heart sink a little more into his stomach.
“Good gravy, what’s this? A pocket-square?”
Thor looked up, regret turning to confusion as he clocked the handkerchief dangling between Rogers slender fingers.
It was familiar, heavy with otherworldly silk and trimmed in thread ground from the most precious jewels of nine realms.
On one side, deepest burgundy melting to crimson. But on the other, a rich navy which faded to shimmering azure.
Red and blue, not red and green.
The two colours met in the middle, threads glittering and overlapping like foam on the shore. They seemed to move. To change and ebb in the light like a living thing. And stitched across the handkerchief in the finest gold,
En sannhet byttet mot en sannhet.
“Jeepers,” Steve muttered as he pulled the silk appraisingly through his fingers. “Someone definitely went over the twenty dollar limit.”
Thor twisted his head incredulously towards his brother. Loki narrowed his eyes briefly in response, coupled with a small nod. The blonde god cleared his throat, finally catching up to the scenario unfolding before him.
“A truth for a truth,” Thor breathed quietly, looking to the floor.
Steve’s concentration broke, as if suddenly seeing the person kneeling beside him on the floor for the first time. “P-pardon?” he stuttered.
There was a sudden wave of green hued light through the room, reminiscent of the northern lights which lit up last night’s sky at the jamboree.
“My apologies, Rogers…” Loki purred, stepping forwards. “I feel it best to inform you that the others cannot see nor hear us at this moment. As far as they are aware, you are both by the bar.”
Loki nodded to where a slightly glitchy duo of duplicates stood behind Tony’s counter, clinking glasses of tequila. “Just myself, and she-” he nodded to you, “are witness.”
“W-witness?” Steve spluttered, trying to stand and finding his knees starting to buckle. He looked at Thor, eyes wide. But all he found was softness.
“Say the words, Rogers” Thor urged gently, gesturing to the handkerchief. Steve frowned, as the blonde god pulled the silk from his grip.
“A truth for...what was it? Truth for a truth?” Rogers asked, confused gaze darting between the men and you.
Loki clapped his hands together quietly. “Wonderful. You are now bound to the Accords of the Kerchief.”
Steve frowned deeper. “Accords of the what-now?”
“Kerchief,” Loki repeated formally, nodding towards the silk in Thor’s hand.
“You have both held it while the other spoke the words. And now, you must exchange the truth which causes the conflict between you – so that it may be resolved.”
“And what if I don’t wanna?” Rogers sniffed, ears burning. He avoided Thor’s eyes.
Loki released a whittling hum of discontent. “Unfortunately, failure to comply with the Accord of the Kerchief once initiated means instant smiting at the hands of Heimdall.”
“Smiting?! You can’t be serious,” Steve scoffed with gusto.
“Oh yes,” Loki nodded very seriously. Thor was nodding too. Also very seriously. “The penalties are most grave, Rogers.”
“You tricked me,” Steve hissed to the blonde opposite him.
“Technically I tricked you,” Loki smirked apologetically. Rogers eyes narrowed in his direction, his lip trembling with what looked suspiciously like a swear. “Laufeyson,” he warned.
Loki extended his forefinger, waggling it slowly side-to-side. “It will do not a jot of good, Rogers. You can thank my mother for this one. Now -” he gestured expectantly between the men.
Thor took a deep breath.
“Rogers-Ihavefeelingsforyouwhichcannotbeexplainedin,mere...Norns-”
“Slow down, Thor-” you cooed gently.
Loki felt your hand slide into his. The nerves roaring in his belly soothed as your fingers interlinked. Despite maintaining an exterior of calm, he was terrified.
“Rogers,” Thor began again. Steve stared at him, transfixed. The aura of suspicion which surrounded him was fading, his stiff spine slackening as he looked at the god. Really looked at him. Saw him.
“I have feelings for you, which run deep to the heart of me. Which I cannot deny any longer. And if you feel that you cannot return my interest, then I shall understand. But I cannot spend another night unable to sleep, thinking that you believe me to hate you. And I apologise for my boorish behaviour these past months.”
There was a pause as the god took a breath before continuing. “It was self preservation, you see-” Thor rumbled quietly, before sighing.
Steve looked down, still except for his fingers fidgeting with the wrapping paper in his lap.
“That was well done, brother” Loki soothed. Thor shot him a sad smile.
“I-” Rogers started.
The three of you held your breath.
He looked up, just at the moment Thor curled a blonde tendril behind his ear.
“I-” Steve choked, shifting on his knees. “It’s okay Steve,” you coaxed from the side-lines. It was the final nudge he needed.
“I feel the same,” was all Steve said. He looked up, meeting Thor’s widening eyes.
“Truly?”
Steve nodded shyly. “I got myself in a tizz, about a whole bunch of things which weren’t really to do with you. Or….us. Not really,” he stammered. "It wasn't a mistake. And I was a dummy to say so."
Loki felt your fingernails dig into his palm, both of you craning forwards as the captain continued. His voice was serious, a slight waver just audible between the words.
“For a while, I thought you thought I was just some kinda tart. Some kind of loose Jack. Well lemme tell you Odinson, Steve Rogers is no one’s tart.”
“You were never my tart, Rogers,” Thor uttered with gravitas, gently cupping Steve’s jaw. The captain’s eyelids fluttered closed, leaning into his hold.
In seconds, the space between them closed. Rogers arms wrapped around Thor’s shoulders, Thor’s hands sliding around the captain’s waist. They fit together like a glove, Steve’s fingers winding in the god’s hair like a spindle through spun gold. Low mutterings of apologies cascaded from their lips between kisses, small gasps and sighs as unpleasantness of past months were forgotten.
“What the fuck?” Tony spluttered. Every set of eyes in the room was fixed on the God of Thunder and Captain America’s passionate embrace.
Hel, Loki thought with a shock. In all the excitement, he had neglected to hold the spell which shielded them.
The kiss ceased, but still their arms were wound around each other.
“Sheesh,” Wanda laughed, grabbing a bottle of the good stuff on her way past the bar. “It’s about time.”
A murmur of agreement rolled around the room, a chorus of whoops sounding as each teammate stooped to offer a clap on the back to the newly outed couple. And for the first time in living memory, the colour of Thor’s cheeks rivalled his lover’s.
“Maybe you guys won’t be the public embarrassment at parties anymore,” Nat quipped as she passed, tapping Loki and you lightly on the ass. Your laughter lit up Loki’s heart. And there was that look in your eye again, the one he couldn’t place yesterday.
‘We did it,’ you mouthed silently to him. Loki winked in response, just as the clock chimed eight.
With a spring in his step, Loki made his way to the men kneeling awkwardly on the floor, noting their interlinked fingers with a wave of pride. He offered both hands, and each was taken. He heaved, pulling the men to stand and immediately into a hug.
“Merry Christmas, brother” he whispered in Thor’s ear.
“Do you need the handkerchief back?” Thor muttered through a smile. “I am assuming the revised colours were only temporary.”
Loki chuckled, pulling him and Rogers tighter. The captain released a strangled ooft as the air was pressed from his lungs.
“I think not that we need such a trinket to ensure our bond. Not anymore. Do you, brother?” Loki murmured into his sibling’s hair.
From deep within the embrace, in a hold which seemed to melt the centuries, Loki felt his brother shake his head.
The party was a roaring success. And in the early hours of Christmas Day, you and Loki stumbled back to your apartment upstairs.
It was tiredness, mostly – and happiness. Strands of tinsel poked from Loki’s curls. You pulled one out with a giggle before unlocking the door and pulling him inside.
“Finally,” he growled longingly as one slim finger toyed with the strap of your dress. Making quick work of pushing the velvet suit jacket from his shoulders, your fingers were halfway down his shirt buttons before you suddenly remembered-
“-your present!” you cried, making Loki flinch back from where he had been buried in your neck.
“Can’t it wait?” he whined with feigned impatience. You waved an excited hand, scurrying to the cupboard. “No.” you shouted, head popping out behind the cupboard door. “I’ve been dying to give it to you.”
Loki sighed, a reluctant smile spreading across his beautiful face. “I thought we agreed no gifts,” he huffed as you ran and sat cross-legged on the bed.
You bounced on your knees while he swaggered over, undoing the last of his buttons with a knowing grin as he enjoyed the roam of your hungry stare across his skin. His carved abdomen flirted into view, obliques visible with each stride as the thick cotton folded to his movements. Loki sat on the bed, legs spread at the edge. His thighs creased the material in a way that made your mouth water.
He picked up the box, inspecting it before throwing you a lingering smoulder. “Mischievous elf,” he purred.
“It’s just a small thing” you bargained, biting your lip as the first side of paper was torn. “I stole it, actually.”
Loki raised an eyebrow. “Open it!” you said, chewing on your thumbnail as you watched his eyes drop to the package.
Suddenly the god’s face changed.
Playfulness melted to a frown, his smirk fading. He swallowed thickly, staring down at the mug in his hands before looking up at you.
“-with the yellow bear,” he said quietly.
“and the eyepatch!” you beamed. “I took it from the cottage. I noticed you always used it, I thought you might like the-”
Before you could finish, Loki’s hand had cupped the back of your head and pulled you into an all-consuming kiss. He bore down on you, the passion of his adoration sinking through the air and deep into your soul. Every circle of his tongue against yours, every caress of his breath as he repositioned his mouth over your own. He broke, panting.
“Darling,” was all he could muster in thanks as he looked down at the ceramic with adoring eyes. You couldn’t stop smiling.
His gaze snapped up, a click of his fingers making a perfectly wrapped present appear beside you on the bed. Golden paper shimmered before becoming whole. It was flat, and light.
“No presents, huh?” you goaded sweetly. Loki smiled. “Open it,” he echoed.
You complied. And inside the paper was a perfectly folded nightdress, adorned with autumnal leaves. The very same one. You hugged it to your chest, a dopey smile on your face. “I knew it was the one thing in that room you would miss,” he rumbled apologetically.
You reached for his hand, thumb running over the veins taut and thick on the back. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’ll be sleeping alone,” you whispered with a smile. Loki placed his mug on the side table, before reaching for the nightdress and placing it beside.
“God forbid,” he growled.
Loki pulled another errant strand of tinsel from his hair, making it vanish. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered you back on the mattress, the pad of one fingertip tracing down your cheekbone. Memorising it.
The way he was looking at you, the silence that hung where words should be. You knew which words they were.
He was holding back, even now as he inhaled against your pulse-point. Holding back for you.
As dark curls blanketed your vision, you thought of the excitement in his voice as the cunning plan was formed. Of the way his fists clenched as he silently cheered his brother on, how his face fell when he thought that it was all for naught. How his eyes had swum with joy as it all came together. Not for himself, but for them.
And you thought of the smile on that little girl’s face, joyful in the midst of Christmas lights and magic that shouldn't be possible. But for her, and for you - with him...it was.
Yes, you’d thought about that a lot.
“I love you, Loki” you whispered slowly in his ear.
Loki’s kisses against your neck faltered. You heard a sigh rack his chest, breath hitching as his heart-beart quickened on top of your own.
“Truly?” he murmured in response.
It was cautious, wary. His eyes came into view, concern clouding them. You slid a hand up his jaw, kissing him gently. “I love you,” you repeated solemnly.
He pressed his forehead to yours, a choke of relieved laughter accompanying a long inhale of breath. “Gods,” he whispered on the exhale, “what have I done to deserve you?”
“Everything,” you replied quietly. It was a truth.
He kissed you as though he was trying to absorb each atom of your breath, capture each flutter of the three words he’d longed to hear. As though they might vanish if he did not mark the moment with the seal of his touch.
But they wouldn’t. You knew that now. How could they?
“I love you,” he whispered back.
And you believed him.
A/N: Thank you again so so so much for coming on this journey with me and the gang. I'm so happy with how this ended, even though the expansion was a bit unexpected(!) and I really hope you are too! Although the 'main' story is chapters 1-7, it felt like there was more to explore. Please let me know what you thought, any insights or additional HCs you have - they are always welcome ❤️
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☆ AFTERMATH.
Reo Mikage faces the aftermath of his actions, and his ex-girlfriend (?) tries to move on. Part two of "ONE." Warnings: Reo Mikage, swearing, violence, fake everything!!! 3.6k angst to fluff to angst(???), both platonic and romantic relationships here, pro! post! bllk boys, no beta because how. this is too long.
REO MIKAGE was an absolute mess.
His mind was of no help, either. The image of you and Seishiro at the club was on his mind, replaying constantly like a broken record. The minute he stepped outside, he met with his white-haired best friend, who received him with open arms.
"I'm so sorry she did that" he apologized, "it's better that she did this now rather than later. Plenty of fish in the sea."
Many tears (and many drinks inside Seishiro's apartment) later, Reo Mikage had been consumed by delusion. The more words that came off his best friend's mouth, the more determined he had become. Because yes, his best friend was right: there were plenty of fish in the sea, and instead of drowning in his own sea of tears, he should swim and see what he can find.
"And what you can find, is, a golden crown with two lions at its sides."
It was a gamble, sure. To distract his broken-hearted best friend with their upcoming matches and championships could earn him an earful, but it was their job after all. Reo surprisingly took it well, and made it his goal to stick to football, as relationships were a hassle. The Premier League was slowly coming to an end, and Champions League just reached quarterfinals. Football was forever. Besides, according to Seishiro, "trophies can't cheat on you, now, can they?"
Delusion had struck him unlike ever before. Reo Mikage was a like a sponge cake, soaking up his best friend's poisonous, yet effective advice. He became a monster, letting his frustrations out on every training session. Reo overworked himself, to the point where he barely had any rest, and it showed.
Draws, losses, yellow and red colored cards raised. Reo Mikage had reached a new (professional) low. A match against Luton was scheduled to take place in a few days, and what came next came as a shock to no one, except for Reo and his loyal companion.
Reo Mikage was to be benched for the next few matches of the season.
The issue with the sponge cake of Reo Mikage was, that he was undercooked. Rising to the very top, then completely deflating after cooling. A hard exterior with a liquid interior, yet to solidify. What seemed like his peak to him, was an all-time low for his peers.
The match against Crystal Palace ended with him earning a red card, after a display of violent conduct against another player. The locker room was like entering a colosseum, as everyone from Manshine City watched Reo Mikage receive lecture after lecture. The last lecture, though, stood out to him.
"As soon as you stepped into this stadium you should've left your home life behind, because you're here to play ball, not with women's feelings. Don't know why you're the one sulking, if you're the one who caused hurt."
Gasps and 'oohs' were barely heard as the everyone in the locker room suddenly quieted down. Reo's eye twitched.
"Say that again."
The man in front of him sighed. "As soon as you stepped into this stadium you should've left your—"
Before he could finish his sentence, his head hit the metal behind him, and a streak of blood ran down his nostril. Reo Mikage had swung at the man in front of him, pushing him towards his locker. "Not sure why you're called a panther when you're so fucking slow."
The man tried to maintain his composure, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood off his nose. "Not sure why you treated Yn like shit, she didn't even cheat."
"What do you know?"
"I know your piece of shit lackey lied to you" the man facing Reo retorted, raising his voice. "I sat in the booth in front of them, Nagi was the one to grab her hand. You should really use glasses you blind bitch."
Reo's eyes widened as his lips parted in surprise. He was speechless, turning to his best friend and awaiting his response. In return, Seishiro averted his gaze with a sour expression on his face. It was a no brainer. It was the face of a guilty man.
"It's not true, right? Seishiro?"
Silence.
"Nagi it's not true, though, right? Slowpoke's just talking out of his ass, right?"
Absolute. Deafening. Silence.
"Look, I did you a favor" he spoke up, finally daring to look at his best friend in the eye. "She was a parasite that made you sloppy."
He was shocked, with no words able to come out of his mouth. The persona he had built for the past few weeks came crumbling down before all his peers as he realized what he had done. He was an asshole, and had been led astray by toxicity.
Reo Mikage collapsed.
Prior to getting punched in the face, CHIGIRI HYOMA had spent every minute of his time by your side.
After Reo had left on that fateful night, Chigiri offered a warm, tight embrace, as well as a late night-drive to your apartment, with a quick stop at the nearest convenience store. He was certain you were going to need comfort, and after accidentally watching the whole debacle, it was the least he could do.
You woke up the next morning, seemingly confused as to how you managed to get yourself home. Last night had been a blur, both mentally and physically; your teary-eyed vision was not of any help. Turning to your nightstand, you were stunned.
A gift basket.
It was made up of essentials. Pills (for the raging headache after a hectic night out, and also for your liver), a face mask and eye patches (for the puffiness after crying), cold medication (because crying can lead to a small, yet annoying cold), and electrolytes to help restore your body. It was also, strangely enough, made up of your favorites. Favorite snacks (both salty and sweet), favorite beverage, and favorite... flowers. With a note. Flowers? From who?
'Hope you feel better :)'
Slowly (and carefully), you got up from your bed, sliding your feet into your slippers and heading out towards your kitchen. What caught you off guard, was, the fact that a red-haired Manshine City player sat comfortably on your couch, turning his head your way.
"Morning, Yn. How'd you sleep? You like the basket I left there for you?"
"Respectfully, Chigiri, how the hell did you get in here?"
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "I guess you don't remember, but I dropped you off after last night to make sure you got home safe. You gave me your keys and told me to come back in the morning."
So, you were that drunk.
Before you could even apologize, the doorbell rang. Chigiri stood up from your couch, making his way towards the door and opening it, only to reveal a delivery guy with a few boxes in his hands. Chigiri received the boxes, handing the guy some bills. He turned around and pushed the door closed with his back, walking towards your dinner table and setting the boxes there.
"I got us some toast and smoothies. You need to replenish your body with sodium and carbs after a night out, y'know?"
It was nice, you had to admit. To be taken care of after such a horrific night was precisely what you needed. It was a safe space which you clearly needed: the breakfast was delicious, and Chigiri's company was comforting. It was therapeutic, with you telling him how you felt and letting a few tears slip, and him listening to every word while using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe your tears away.
It was so nice, in fact, that you had not realized that the breakfast turned into a twelve hour hang out, which later turned to weekly hangouts, which later became 'let's just let Chigiri move in and basically become my roommate' hang-outs.
He was the company you never knew you needed, a breath of fresh air, if you will. Every day off he had meant a new activity for you two to try out, a new adventure, and a new fond memory. From painting mugs, to visiting zoos and aquariums, baking, a walk in the park—you name it, you and Chigiri had done it all.
It was hard not to notice the lingering touches, the lost puppy eyes, excuses to be near each other. It was bound to happen. For the past few months, he had been by your side, helping you heal and holding your hand on each step of the way. You wondered if he felt forced to do so, or if he genuinely cared. His actions seemed to insinuate that he did, but there was a sprinkle of doubt on your mind. You guessed you had Reo to blame for that.
It was too soon. Besides, there was the possibility he did this out of friendship, not out of love. Nonetheless, you were certain of one thing: Hyoma Chigiri had become your safe space.
The day of the altercation, Hyoma made sure to stop by his place to clean up his nose before going to yours. He did not want for you to find out, because it really was not relevant, as it could set back your progress towards healing completely.
As he stepped onto the elevator of your apartment complex, he pressed the button of your floor. He felt his phone buzz, and as he pulled it out from his pocket, he read it was a message from Reo.
Mikage
I'm sorry. I didn't know the truth about everything, and I'm sorry I punched you.
Hyoma sighed.
Chigiri
Say sorry to Yn, not me.
(xxx)-(xxx)-(xxxx) That's my therapist. Clearly you need her more than I do.
Don't even think of apologizing until you've changed. She doesn't need to deal with your shit right now.
The elevator's doors opened, and he stepped up to your door. With a few knocks, the door opened to reveal a happy you. A better you, that had a giddy smile on her face, instead of her lips curled downwards with tears running down her cheeks. A healed you, that was ready to take on the world, as her eyes gleamed with life.
"Are you ready, Hyo?"
He nodded as he took your hand in his, stepping back inside the elevator with you, going down towards the parking. After the match against Crystal Palace (and its gruesome aftermath), you offered to treat him to some sweets at a coffee shop you both liked.
As you and him arrived at the coffee shop, his phone began to buzz like crazy. His phone began to heat up from the amount of text messages he was receiving. He opened them, only to realize that he was in trouble. The first message he opened was a link from Isagi, which was a tweet leading to a news article.
Isagi
"CHIGIRI HYOMA PUNCHED IN THE FACE BY MIKAGE REO IN LOCKER ROOM ALTERCATION. The red panther received a punch after winning 4-2 against Crystal Palace. A thread."
This true?
Bachira
WELL DID YOU FIGHT BACK?? DO WE NEED TO BOOK A FLIGHT???
Isagi
More importantly, does Yn know?
He quickly turned his phone off as he held the door open for you, guiding you to a secluded table at the back of the shop. It was for privacy, because Hyoma Chigiri was one of England's most popular players after all.
It was not unusual for you and him to receive so many weird stares. Especially with the disguises you had on.
It was tradition, and it was something you did even with Mikage. In order to avoid crazy fans or paparazzi, you opted for stupid disguises, like sunglasses, hoodies, sun hats, caps, and more. This time was no different, with Hyoma having his hair tied into a bun, wearing a gray hoodie and a pair of polarized wraparound sunglasses. You, instead, opted for a cap and cateye sheer sunglasses.
The staring felt... somewhat strange. People from the coffee shop already knew you and Hyoma since you frequented the shop, but this time, their gazes lingered a bit longer than last time.
"Umm... Hyo... why's everyone staring at you?" you questioned, genuinely concerned as to why everyone stared at the man in front of you.
"Probably has to do with the fact that I screwed up in our match against Luton" he shrugged, feigning indifference.
Hyoma was glad that you had decided to block both your name and Reo's on your social media tags. It was done for obvious reasons, of course. The mere thought of Reo Mikage would have made your soul leave your body (in a bad way), so you opted to block both of your names to avoid gossip and the media trying to decipher your breakup.
This meant, of course, that only Hyoma and the rest of the world could see the tweets, the paparazzi pictures of you two, the speculation, the blind items of 'trusted sources' (which were garbage), and the overall buzz on what was deemed 'football's biggest love heist'. In the public eye, Hyoma Chigiri was a home-wrecker. A home-wrecker that fell HARD for his teammates ex-girlfriend. A total simp.
Unbeknownst to you, a certain red-head had his eye on you for some time. To him, you had been off-limits. Before, he felt utmost respect for Reo, so there was no breaking 'bro-code' when Reo told him and Seishiro that he was starting to fall in love with you. More importantly, he knew that, as long as you were happy, he was happy, even if it was with someone else. Naturally, that initial attraction faded over time, settling to admire you as a friend instead.
Hyoma internally cursed as he realized that maybe it did not fade completely, and that maybe, just maybe, he had been given a second chance. There was no more 'bro-code', seeing as him and his 'bro' had fallen out, and he already was a home-wrecker to the media, so there really was nothing to lose in regards to reputation.
What Hyoma Chigiri was afraid of losing was you.
He feared that if he were to confess, the beautiful 'whatever-it-was' that you two had (because he knew for a fact this was not a friendship) might end due to his feelings being overwhelming for you. If anyone was to make the first move, it had to be you.
And Hyoma was so glad you did.
After the coffee shop, he drove you back to your place. Hyoma offered to order takeout as a way to thank you for the coffee shop snacks. It was getting late, and as per usual, he was going to spend the night. The couch was all set up and ready for him. It had his blanket and his favorite pillow, along with a stuffed animal (a panther) which you had gotten for him at the zoo. He was about to lay down, when your voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Hyo... can you sleep in my room tonight?"
He spared no time in following you to your room, with his blanket and pillow in hand. As you climbed onto your bed, he set the pillow and blanket on the floor. You laughed as you shook your head, patting the spot on your bed next to you. "I meant up here, with me."
Carefully (and while trying to maintain his cool), Hyoma climbed up to the spot next to you. You scooched over to his side, placing your head on his chest and your arms wrapped around his torso. Feeling him tense up, you slowly loosened your grip.
"I'm sorry, it was wrong of me to do that, Hyo. I'm so sorry."
His arms were now on top of yours, readjusting them, thus tightening your grip. He bent down to leave a kiss on your forehead, reassuring you that it was more than okay for you to do so. A content sigh escaped your lips. "I like this" you smiled, "I like us."
"I like us too, princess."
It had been a year since you last saw Mikage.
It had also been around six months since the wish Hyoma Chigiri pushed away for so long had, at last, come to fruition, with him honored to be given the opportunity to call you his girlfriend.
The relationship was kept private. It was as if an unspoken agreement had been settled, with yours and Hyoma's friends not daring to ask about the status of your relationship, or if you had finally settled on a label other than 'just friends.' Aside from the usual photos taken by fans or paparazzi on the street, there were no public appearances or statements to clear things up.
Until the end-of-season party.
The end-of-season parties were hosted by each club once the season is finalized, usually sending out special guest invites to players from other clubs, or even having joint celebrations with them. Manshine City sent their invites, reaching former members of Blue Lock, and even providing each guest with a plus one.
There was no doubt on Hyoma's mind. It was time to go public.
It did not take long for you to be convinced to attend, seeing as this would be you and Hyoma's debut as an official couple. Media involvement was at an all-time high, seeing as there was a rise in popularity for Manshine ever since the 'internal conflicts' between players were shown to the public.
As you got ready for Manshine's end-of season party, you noticed a medium sized velvety box on your vanity. Curious, you opened it, revealing a beautiful necklace, at the center being a pendant in the shape of an initial. Your initial. As you took it out of the box, you heard your boyfriend's footsteps as he walked into your room.
"Hope you like it. Your name is lovely, so own it."
He took the necklace from your hands, swiftly placing it on your neck. Your phone began to ring, the caller ID reading Isagi's name. He had called to let you know he and Bachira were parked outside the apartment, waiting for you and Hyoma. Seeing as they ended up in Champions League quarterfinals and decided to stick around for a while in London, it was no surprise they got guest invites to Manshine's party. This meant carpooling was mandatory.
The party was flooded with journalists.
It was to be expected, of course. As players arrived, journalists approached them as if on queue, each one had a camera and a microphone on hand, as they were expected to cover the whole event.
So it was no surprise when you and Hyoma got approached by a journalist, hoping to ask your boyfriend a few questions about his thoughts on the season, as well as to congratulate him on his performance. The journalist asked Hyoma who was 'the gorgeous woman who stood at his side', to which he proudly smiled, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.
"She's the love of my life."
After a cordial 'congratulations' and a few pictures (which were definitely going to trend on the internet for weeks), you excused yourself as you walked towards Isagi and Bachira, wanting Hyoma to have a one-on-one with the journalist. You were about to approach them, only to be stopped by a tap on your shoulder. You turned around, your eyes widening in astonishment.
"Hi."
"Oh... umm... hi Mikage."
'This is going to be one hell of a night' you thought, unsure of how the hell Reo Mikage had the balls to actually strike up a conversation. His gaze lowered from your eyes to your chest, fixated on the sparky initial which hung on the shiny, silver chain.
"Uhh... nice necklace."
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry."
Flabbergasted, you raised your eyebrows. He sighed as his gaze was now focused on the ground, as he was unable to look you in the eye. You could tell he was beyond nervous, as he fidgeted with the sleeves of his suit.
"I'm really sorry, Yn. I let my emotions get the better of me, and more importantly, I didn't trust you. I'm sorry that I didn't hear your side of things and just broke things off like that. I've been to therapy since then, and I thought now was the right time to apologize."
You stood there utterly dumbfounded, unsure of how to react. One one hand, it felt soothing to know your ex-boyfriend finally worked on himself, but even then, his actions still cut you deeply, and a part of you wished he never showed his face again. Even with mixed feelings, the corners of your lips raised to form a smile.
"It's okay, Mikage. Let's leave that in the past, okay?"
Sure, Mikage was the one who left you hurting, feeling like you were stuck at the bottom of a well with no one left to hear your pleas. He was the one to destroy you completely, after not caring enough to know your side or even listen to what you had to say. But if there was one thing you learned with Hyoma, it was that, to be at peace with yourself, sometimes it was better to forgive.
Mikage's eyes glimmered as tears threatened to trickle down his face, a smile growing on his face. Slowly, his hand reached for yours.
"Do you think we can... you know... give us another..."
You wasted no time in pulling back your hand.
"I hope you find true joy, Mikage, I really do. I just hope I never get to hear about it."
He slowly inhaled, letting out a shaky breath. You felt a strong arm wrap itself around your waist, and as you looked to your side, there was your boyfriend, Hyoma.
"Everything okay here?"
Mikage's eyes met with the redhead's.
"No—yeah—I was just leaving" he stuttered, "seems like you've got it from here."
"Don't you worry, yeah? I got her now."
#blue lock x reader#reo x reader#reo mikage x reader#bllk x reader#bllk x y/n#blue lock x you#blue lock x y/n#bllk x you#chigiri x reader#hyoma x reader#chigiri x you
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thunderstruck | marcus pike
Summary | You're scared of storms but it's okay, because Marcus always knows how to soothe you.
Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader
Word Count | 1.4K
Warnings | Explicit - descriptions of thunderstorms, softness/fluff, rain, established relationship, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, our boy Marcus just being Marcus. No use of y/n.
Authors Note | This is my contribution to @undercoverpena's April Showers Challenge. It's a blessing that I got anything out because this brief gave me so many ideas, but I've missed my man and knew he would be the one I'd want to comfort me through a rain storm. Enjoy.
Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi
Divider by @saradika
Are you busy?
No baby, what’s up?
I don’t like the storm.
They’ve never been your favourite. Something about growing up on the coast, when the rain and wind would bring the waves crashing near your home, and your parents would walk about like nothing was wrong and there wasn’t the immediate danger of your house being washed out to sea. The nights, when the wind would clatter the shutters against the windows and drag tiles from the roof to break onto the ground. It might be Washington D.C. now and you might live in a new apartment building, but it doesn’t make the torrential rain and gale force winds any easier to handle.
You’re sitting on the couch, curtains drawn with all the lights on to try and make it feel less scary, but when the first clap of thunder hits you jump and scream all the same, burying yourself further under the blanket, some childhood wish for that to keep you safe.
There’s a knock at the door a little while later, the only thing that could drag you from the warm cocoon of blankets. Padding gently to the door, you open it, Marcus stood in front of you, dripping wet from the storm outside. He steps across the threshold, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips to press a kiss to the crown of your head.
“This feels stupid.” You grumble as you shut the door behind him, following close to his heels as he walks through your apartment, so familiar with it now that it feels like home to have to him here.
“It’s not stupid if you’re scared, baby.” He soothes, sitting down on your couch, opening his arm to encourage you to snuggle into his side, which you do without question.
You can feel his thumb tracing soothing circles on your arm as you settle a little, but it’s short-lived, when a crash of thunder bellows through the room from outside, making you jump and bury your head into the side of his neck with a groan.
“I blame the coast,” You speak softly, “I was always so scared of it blowing our house away when I was small.”
“You know what helps?” Marcus murmurs against your head, another soft kiss placed to it.
“Hmmm?”
“Sometimes you’ve just got to be louder than the storm.”
You look up at him, confused for a second, until you can feel him moving the two of you, laying you gently down on the couch. His mouth sponges kisses across your neck, trailing down across your collarbone before he drags it away to peel your tank top from your body. You hear Marcus hum in approval at your lack of bra, his hands gently pressing your tits together before his mouth is suckling a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over it until it’s stiffened to a peak, giving the same attention to the other side until you’re gasping, bucking your hips into his, the bulge in his trousers evident as his mouth trails further south, tongue leaving a trail from your tits and down your stomach until he gets to the waistband of your pyjama pants.
“Lift up.” He murmurs softly, voice almost drowned out by the constant smattering of rain against the windows.
Doing as you’re told, you lift your hips up, letting him hook his fingers into the waistband to drag them down your legs. You miss the weight and warmth of his body when it’s gone, but then you feel his warm palms on the inside of your thighs, pressing your legs open, and then you don’t mind so much at all, especially when you look up at him, watching him admire the already sticky mess accumulating between your thighs.
Marcus moves to run his thumb across your folds, dragging your slick across your skin, but not daring to dip below to where you truly want him.
“Such a pretty pussy.” He muses, moving to situate himself between your legs, hot mouth pressing wet kisses to the delicate skin of your thighs, teasing you by putting his mouth everywhere but where you need it most.
“M-Marcus, please.” You whimper when his face moves, he’s so close to your cunt you can feel the hot of his breath.
“What do you want, baby?” He asks, running that damn thumb over your folds once more, this time though, his other thumb rests to the side, gently pulling your folds apart to bare you to him, “Want me to kiss it a little?”
“Oh god, oh please Marcus, please.”
“Sound so pretty when you beg for it.” He speaks, and you’re about to say something smart when he leans forward and presses a single, open-mouth kiss to your clit.
It’s tiny in comparison to what you really want, but it makes you throw your head back anyway, back arching, trying to press your cunt closer to his face. Thankfully, he takes pity on you, kisses your clit once, twice more, and then you can feel the tip of his tongue, flicking up against your clit, then dragging back down, sometimes circling, working you gently until you’re whining and bucking your hips into his face.
You’d almost forgotten about the storm outside, the movements of his tongue distracting you just enough, until the loudest clap of thunder echoes through the apartment. It makes you scream, jumping slightly, but you feel Marcus’ hands grip tightly to the skin of your thighs, tearing his mouth away from you. You look down at him, mouth glistening with a mix of your slick and his spit, glint across his brown eyes.
“What did I say?” He asks, squeezing at your thighs again, “What did I tell you earlier?”
“Um…” You wrack your brain, trying to remember, “I needed to be louder than the storm?”
“That’s right, my clever girl,” He praises, heat rising across your skin, “If you scream for me, you won’t notice.”
Once again, before you can retort with your smart mouth, he’s back on you, lips closing around your clit, tongue resuming it’s flicking across your bundle of nerves, but then you can feel two of his fingers sinking inside you, easing into your walls, curling up against that perfect spot inside of you.
It makes you cry out, his name dropping from your lips as you arch off the couch, his tongue working in time to the press of his two fingers in your cunt. You’re chanting his name into the room, moving your hips in time to the movements of his hands until you’re teetering on the edge of bliss. He knows, of course he does, the way your walls start to flutter around his fingers, so he slows his fingers, keeping you dangling over the edge but not quite pushing you just yet.
“Marcus p-please,” You whimper, hands tangling in his hair, “Please make me come.”
“You asked so nicely, baby,” He muses against your pussy, letting his fingers curl just perfectly against the spongy spot inside you, “Whenever you’re ready honey.”
It takes very little more, his mouth suckling at your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, and then you’re crashing, skin aflame with pleasure as you do exactly as he told you and scream his name into the living room, body convulsing, gushing around his fingers as they still inside you. You’re clenching around him as his tongue moves gently across your clit to work you through your orgasm until you’re boneless and pliant beneath him.
Marcus drags his fingers from you, letting them run up the skin of your thighs, as he finally relents and pulls away from you, just in time for more thunder to sound out, this time a little further away.
“Well, listen there,” He whispers, fingers moving to undo the button of his trousers, “Storm still hasn’t passed,” He speaks as he drags the zipper down, “Think you can make a little more noise, baby?”
You reach up, hand clutching the back of his neck to pull him back down on top of you, mouth meeting his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you before you pull away, “I can make all the noise you want.”
#Marcus Pike#Marcus Pike Smut#Marcus Pike x reader#Marcus Pike x you#marcus pike fanfiction#Marcus Pike x female reader#Marcus Pike x F!reader#Marcus Pike fic#Marcus Pike fanfic#the mentalist#the mental illness is winning#the mentalist fanfic#the mentalist fanfiction#Pedro pascal#marcus pike fluff#Marcus Pike angst#Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal#Marcus Pike The mentalist
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jamie “who absolutely lost his fucking mind the first time you called him daddy” drysdale
sounds of skin slapping and the headboard slamming against the wall filled the empty apartment. your loud moans turned into screams as jamie plunged himself in your cunt. his hands wrapped tightly around your legs that were propped over his shoulders.
you let your legs fall as they began to shake with pleasure. jamie’s hands switched to grab your hips, pulling your weight to meet his thrusts. you dug your nails into his forearms, drawing a deep groan from jamie.
“fuck just like that baby. taking me so well.” he leaned down, moving his arms to rest by your head as he laid his body flush against your own. you legs welcomed him with ease, wrapping around his waist to rest on his lower back.
you could feel the shocks of your orgasm begin to tighten in your belly. your pussy contracting violently around jamie’s thick cock. he sped up his pumps as he felt your core tug him in closer. the way your walls wrapped around his cock was heavenly.
“mmm, daddy.” you whimpered mindlessly. your head completely empty other than thoughts of jamie. your whole body and senses were consumed with him. you could feel his hip stutter, stilling slightly as he heard your words.
your eyes widened as you realized what you had said.
“what was that?” his blue eyes bored into yours, with a certain fire that you had never seen.
“n-nothing, jamie,” you swallowed thickly, turning your head away. “it was nothing.”
jamie’s hand gripped your face, forcing you to look at him once more. “no, no, baby. it was definitely not nothing.” he lowered his lips, now slightly grazing your own with each word.
“i want you to say it again.”
you bucked your hips pathetically, trying to get him to move them once more. his throbbing cock now unmoving in your aching cunt.
“not how this works, princess. say it again, or i’ll leave you here to finish yourself off.” normally you wouldn’t think jamie had it in him, always making sure to have you cum at least twice before he even thinks about himself. but the look on his face made it seem like he was serious.
the way his eyes were darkened and slightly hooded and his jaw rapidly clenching as he tried not to give in to the sweet tightness of you.
going against the burning sense of embarrassment, you felt yourself muttering the words, “please, daddy.”
“fuck me.” jamie whispered. he let his hips find their original pace, brutally snapping into your eager hole. his hands now gripped your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises tomorrow, but you didn’t care.
all the mattered was the force that jamie’s cock was hitting that sponge spot inside of you with every shot of his hips. your mouth opened in a silent scream, your boobs bouncing with the sheer intensity of his thrusts.
“you like that princess?” he brings his lips down to yours once more, stealing a white-hot kiss. his tongue traces your lips, as you let him gain entrance. your body too fucked out to put up a fight.
jamie’s pulled back, panting. “that’s it, cum for daddy. make a mess on his cock.”
you felt the knot in your core snap as fiery pleasure seared your whole body. your blood boiling as your body arched into jamie’s rigid front.
you let out a meek cry, “fuck yes, daddy.” 
jamie quickly met you at the peak, the sound of your desperate cries enough to push him to his own orgasm. he continued his thrusts, shooting hot ropes of cum deep inside of your abused pussy.
he slowed down, making sure to work you both through your highs. jamie’s body collapsed against yours, laying his head on your chest. you both laid there panting, attempting to catch your breaths.
after a few minutes, you let your hand travel to his hair, gently playing with the messy strands. his own hands rubbed soothing circles into the reddish-purple marks on your hips. you basked in the bliss of each others spent bodies.
the peaceful silence was broken by your words, “so, daddy huh?”
he bit your shoulder lightly, face turning red.
“shut up.”
#jamie drysdale#jamie drysdale x reader#jamie drysdale smut#jamie drysdale blurb#jamie drysdale fic#anaheim ducks#leawrites💋
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Okay, time to get on with this Nutella and crushed-hazelnut roll cake I've been plotting for the last couple of weeks. (One of our neighbors did us a favor just now and I want to bring them some of this to say Thank You.)
The recipe looks quite sound—no surprise, as this lady's website is full of great stuff. But I'm going to have to spoof it somewhat, as it's predicated on the use of a sheet pan size that wouldn't fit into our oven (the usual US-size-vs-European-size hardware- and appliance-size issue). Probably I'll wind up baking about 75% of the batter in the 10x15-inch pan I've got and the rest in a smaller 9x7-inch, so that the sheet cake doesn't come out so thick that it refuses to roll correctly.
...Got to toast the hazelnuts first, anyway. I'll add pics to this post as I go along.
ETA 1: The hazelnuts, just out of the oven. The aroma in the kitchen is fabulous. :) (We've got a tabletop microwave-cum-fan oven that has about a hundred custom cooking/baking programs built into it, and one of them is for toasting nuts.) (Oh look, @petermorwood got a shot of one of the special menus from the manual when he was posting about the microwave sponge cake.)
...Had I not had the fancy gadget, I'd have just put the hazelnuts on a baking sheet and toasted them at 180C/375ish F for ten or fifteen minutes, stirring the nuts around every five minutes or so until the outsides went nice and brown. The skins rub right off when the nuts cool down, if you don't want them. But I left some in so they'd keep their toastier flavor. These are a soft nut after toasting/roasting, so they crush really easily.
Meanwhile, while sitting still a moment before getting the mise en place together for the cake, and idly scrolling down through the menu on Sky Movies: wow, I really do need new glasses in a hurry. Saw the movie title "Fred Claus" and read it as "Fried Clams." (sigh) After the holidays, for sure. (It's the usual problem. These glasses are trifocals, you have to point-and-steer them to get the right results depending on what you're looking at, and sometimes you're distracted or in a hurry and can not be bothered to do the hunting-for-focus thing, and as a result you get comical results.) (sigh)
Now the mise en place:
...So typical. You're trying to have it be pretty for the photo and one of the egg yolks breaks. (eyeroll)
Anyway. Not shown here: running off to give the stand mixer's bowl an extra wash to make sure it's absolutely clean, because any grease getting into egg whites being beaten will inhibit how well they fluff up.
So, time to get on with that.
First thing, though: the baking pans need to be prepared while the egg whites and so forth are beating.
So the recipe suggests that you should butter both the pans and the parchment paper used to line them. And speaking as one who's writing this after rolling the cakes up, I can speak directly to its effectiveness. The cake sheets pretty much leapt out of the pans. As I can imagine all too clearly what having to convince them out would be like, better to go overboard with the butter at this stage. I buttered the pans with solid butter and then melted a couple of tablespoonsful and brushed the baking-parchment liners with them.
Lining the pans with the paper, btw, is much assisted by having buttered them first. You just press the paper down and it sticks. Then you go get the scissors and cut off whatever's hanging out.
And now comes the part where you make the cake batter.
First you beat the egg whites and half the granulated sugar to the stiff-peak stage. (Took my mixer about five minutes.)
Then in a different bowl you beat the egg yolks and the rest of that sugar together. Somehow I missed getting a pic of this: apologies. It's the usual "beat together until pale, light, and fluffy." Took about seven minutes for that.
Then: sift together the flour, cocoa, salt and baking powder, The logistics of the original recipe get a little complicated at this point—it sounds like a third bowl is being called for. But at that point I'd decided that I already had more than the usual number of bowls to deal with, not to mention the one I'd just sifted the dry ingredients into. And we don't have a dishwasher. So I just said "The hell with that", added the coffee and vanilla to the egg yolk mixture, and mixed it a bit more: then spooned about half the sifted dry ingredients in, and pulsed the mixer a few times: then added the rest of the dry stuff and mixed again, very slow, just wanting to make sure that everything was completely combined. (As usual with cakes at this point, the idea is to get everything well mixed without doing anything to develop the gluten in the flour. I never let the mixer go very fast.)
...Then comes the "folding in the egg whites" part of the operation. Always use the biggest spatula you've got for this.
Then, when you finish this stage (again, sorry, no pic, I was busy racking my brains over what tool would be best for this job) you spread the batter in the pans.
When I finished with this task I was very glad that I had an offset spatula, because if I'd attempted this with a regular mixing spatula, I don't think the result would have been anything like this even. This batter is light but it's also moderately firm... and with the best will in the world, no amount of shimmying the pans around on the work surface is ever going to even that batter out. As for its thickness in the pans: we're talking about a centimeter at the most.
And then: into the oven for ten minutes, while setting up the pieces of cocoa-powder-dusted baking parchment meant to receive them. I don't have pics of them in the pans when they came out, because the get-them-out-of-the-pans stage is kind of a time-sensitive thing (like immediately). So I got on with it.
They fell straight out onto the prepared sheets with no trouble at all. The small one fell out by itself: the large one fell out with the baking parchment still clinging to it, but not so desperately that it took more than gently lifting it away between finger and thumb to get rid of it.
And then came the rolling. I did the little one by myself, to get a sense of the technique: then asked @petermorwood to video the rolling of the larger one.
youtube
...So now they get left to their own devices until, oh, tomorrow morning, I guess. That's when I'll move on to the next stages.
My plan is to unroll the little cake as a test: brush it inside with warmed/semi-liquid Nutella: sprinkle the Nutella with crushed hazelnuts, which theoretically/please gods will stick to it if gently assisted; and then contrive a filling that will taste at least somewhat of Nutella but not be too sweet to bear. Then the ganache will be made using that fabulous Belgian chocolate that came in a couple of weeks back, and when the whole cake's put together and has had a little time to rest, Peter and I will test it and see if it's something we feel confident enough to offer to other people.
So we'll see how it all goes. Tune in again tomorrow for more hijinks... :)
ETA 2, December 23: When we last saw our cake rolls, the two of them (the one baked in the Euro-size pan, and the smaller one where the spare batter went) were sitting innocently on the counter, waiting to settle enough to be unrolled.
Now's the time. And guess what?
DIsaster! (-Ish. As you'll see.)
The first small sheet of cake was just too small to deal with this treatment without immediately cracking into one-inch slices upon unrolling. I therefore won't waste your time with that video. Instead, you should have a look at the video of the bigger-baked sheet as it gets unrolled, and watch it crack in pieces! (This was either due to the baked sheet being too thick, or too thin. More diagnostics are needed before we come to a verdict.)
But first: the buttercream filling, which worked just fine.
This is the recipe I used:
This recipe worked perfectly. There's zero reason to inflict a long video about this on you, as I was working in a cold kitchen (with three stone walls, two external...) and the butter and sugar took something like half an hour to get friendly enough so that the Nutella could finally be added.
One thing I will show you, though. It's been a long time since I bothered buying confectioners' sugar / icing sugar, because when I need it, I make it myself... in the (very old and beat up-looking) coffee grinder. The sugar's grind comes up finer than that of a lot of commercially made icing sugars... and unlike too many confectioners' sugars in North America, there's no cornstarch in it (which they put in to keep it from caking with storage).
If you try this, make sure not to forget to brush the grinder out well afterwards, and wipe it clean with a damp paper towel. Otherwise the sugar, which is very hygroscopic, will go solid, glue the blade to its spindle, and be a real nuisance to clean out after the fact.
youtube
Meanwhile, here's the Nutella buttercream frosting after it's done. Just a very quick clip here, so you can see what the texture should be like when you pull the beater out of the mixture. (Volume down on this, please: it's really noisy.) If it's not soft enough, do as the recipe recommends: add a tablespoonful of milk or so and beat well until things soften up a bit. Add another, and do the same again, if you need to.
youtube
So now we come to the baked-cake unrolling. (Apologies for the black bars at the top and bottom of the video. For reasons best known to itself the phone insisted on recording in 9:16/portrait format, and the bars are an artifact of flipping it back into landscape...)
youtube
...So after all that, both cakes, the big and the small, are in the fridge now, stabilizing. And there we'll leave matters until tomorrow.
#cake#baking#Nutella#chocolate#hazelnuts#experimentation#FOR SCIENCE#that's the excuse anyway#Youtube
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Dessert is Served
Couldnt find many smut fics with gender neutral pronouns so i made one. Dedicated to my bestie @vangowithit <3
Sanji x afab!reader, gn!reader.
Food play, oral (reader receiving), fingering, a lil body worship, mentions of smoking, Sanji focusing on reader's pleasure ONLY bc it makes sense for him.
word count: 1,706
Masterlist here
Sanji fluff fic here
The straw hat crew was sitting around the dining table, consuming an assortment of dessert recipes that Sanji had decided to test out. Chopper and Luffy were in heaven, their faces smeared with chocolate and sweet whipped cream. Aside fromNami and Usopp yelling at Luffy and Chopper to slow down, the chatter amongst the straw hats was composed of fluttering compliments to the chef. You took a small bite out of a chocolate truffle cake, savoring the smooth ganache and the slightly sweet sponge cake. You closed your eyes, feeling the flakes of dark chocolate that decorated the top of the cake melt in your mouth. You smiled, the blond chef knew his stuff. You opened your eyes and made eye contact with Sanji. He raised his eyebrows and smirked lightly, noting your reaction to the cake. He walked over to you, resting his hand next to the plate in front of you and allowing himself to lean closer to you. “Sweet enough?” He asked, his eyes fixed on your lips as he reached over with his other hand to wipe away a smudge of chocolate from your lips.
His thumb felt warm as it softly pressed against your lip. You maintained eye contact as he brought his thumb to his own mouth and licked the chocolate off. The air felt thicker around you as you held his gaze, some of the chatter died down as a few straw hats noticed the situation unfolding. A small smile formed on Sanji’s face as a slight pink blush washed over your cheeks. Remembering his question, you straightened yourself up and stood up from your chair. You were standing so close to him that you could feel his warmth radiating off his body, you could smell the sweet and forestry scent of his cologne. You leaned into his ear and whispered “It was sweet, but I can make you taste something sweeter.” You walked past him towards the jars of hand-whipped cream and chocolate syrup. You picked up a couple of strawberries along and left the room without turning around to see Sanji. You didn’t know how red he got as he felt you close, or how Luffy laughed at him as he stumbled back once he processed what you said. You walked out of the room, getting a glimpse of Zoro shaking his head and laughing at Sanji as you walked by.
You made your way to the women’s quarters, making sure to leave a small note for Sanji by the door. You knew Sanji often walked by and peaked into the room while you slept, you didn’t mind as much as Nami did. Carefully, you lined up the jars of chocolate and whipped cream on the small table by your bed. You placed the strawberries around the jars, almost decorating them. As you undressed, you heard Nami and Robin approaching the room. You heard as they discovered your note to Sanji, gasping and giggling before retreating. You knew they would question you in the morning, but you shook the thought away. You put on some lingerie you had tucked away and layed down on your bed, your eyes glued to the door waiting for the blond chef. As if on cue, you heard footsteps approaching the door. You heard him notice the note and the breathy nervous chuckle that followed. He knocked on the door, calling out your name. You took a deep breath in, trying to ignore your nerves and channeling that confident energy from before. “Come in~” you called out. The door opened slowly, Sanji’s footsteps seemed to echo through the air as his silhouette came to light. His face flushed as he laid his eyes on you, taking in your form. You watched as he carefully studied every curve of your body.
He sat down on your bed, he exhaled away his nerves as they were replaced by excitement, arousal. You giggled softly, your own face flushing red as you felt a heat build in your stomach. Sanji allowed his hands to touch you, starting at your feet and slowly massaging your legs as he traveled upwards. You gasped at his touch, chills running through your body. You grabbed his hands, making him look at you. You pulled him onto you, his breath hitched in surprise as he fell forward. You felt Sanji’s breath hit your exposed chest, yet his eyes never left yours. You slid down, wanting to be face to face. Your whole body felt hot, your breathing was heavy, you heard your heart pounding in your ears. As your face approached his, you smelled the faint scent of cigarettes mingling with his cologne that permeated through his clothes. Sanji brought his hands to cup your face, his eyes were no longer on yours but rather on your lips. You allowed him to fill the gap between you. His lips were soft and warm. He kissed you gently, savoring the taste of your lips. He positioned himself comfortably on you, letting his weight press against you. You felt his growing erection against your thigh. Your hands running through his hair as the kiss grew more passionate, deepening. Sanji begins to grind against your leg, chasing any friction he can. A soft moan escaped his lips as he let his hands leave your face and slid them down, cupping your breast. You moaned against his lips, taking your hand to unbutton his shirt. He lifted himself up, panting as he looked down at you. He smiles, reaching over to the table by your bed and grabbing a strawberry. “Let me focus on you” his voice is barely a whisper.
He trails the strawberry lightly up your torso towards your mouth, looking into your eyes as you take a bite. Sanji smiles, shifting to sit next to you. “Close your eyes.” He whispers in your ear, beckoning you to take another bite of the strawberry. Using his now free hand, he traces light circles on your inner thigh. You gasp at the sudden contact, feeling your body fill with heat. The sweet and tart flavor of the strawberry enhances the sensation, causing a small moan to fall from your lips. His fingers begin teasing you, earning a gasp from you. “You said you could make me taste something sweeter~” He whispers in your ear, kissing it softly. Your breath hitches. “I plan on doing just that.” You can't find the words to respond. Sanji reaches over to grab the jar of chocolate syrup you brought, dipping a finger and smudging it on your lips before licking it off. His tongue felt soft, you opened your mouth allowing him to explore it. You could taste the chocolate on his tongue. He kisses you passionately, rubbing your clit with his thumb. You moan into his mouth, instinctively grabbing onto the sheets on your bed. Sanji pulls away, pouring the chocolate over your chest. It feels cool against your skin, yet you feel hot all over. He slowly inserts a finger into you, making you buck your hips. “Sanji” you groan, suddenly feeling his tongue graze your breast as he licks off the chocolate. You bite your lip, holding back louder moans from the overwhelming sensations. He inserts another finger, pumping in and out of you at a faster pace while he continues to lick the chocolate off your body. You feel yourself clench around his fingers. Sanji moans against your skin as he begins palming himself through his pants to find some relief. It doesn't take him long to reach the edge of his high, restraining himself from cumming so he can continue to focus on you. His movements are faster, feeling you reach your climax. You moan out his name loudly, unable to hold back. Sanji slows down, letting you ride out your high. You open your eyes to look at him, his face is flushed. “Sanji” you begin to speak but he cuts you off. “We’re not done yet.” He smirks, grabbing a strawberry and putting it in your mouth before reaching for the jar of whipped cream.
Due to the rising temperature in the room, the cream melted. Sanji opens the jar and pours it over your thighs. He positions himself between your legs. You shiver with anticipation, feeling his shallow breath on you. Sanji begins to lick the cream off of your thighs, you gasp as he moves towards your inner thigh. He’s teasing you, making you whine. “Sanji please.” He chuckles lightly, catching you off guard as he licks off the drips of cream off of you. His tongue grazes your clit earning a loud koan from you. His tongue on you feels euphoric, you tangle your fingers in his blond hair. Your eyes shut, focusing only on the pleasure he's giving you. Sanji uses one of his hands to palm himself over his pants again while he sees you moan out in pleasure. He moans into you, vibrations running through your body as you reach the edge of your climax once again. He runs his tongue up and down, slipping one finger inside of you. “Sanji” you moan loudly as his movements become sloppier, you pull on his hair lightly. Your fingers in his hair and his name falling out of your lips take Sanji to his high, cumming in his pants. He inserts another finger, feeling you tighten around them as you reach your own climax. You yell out in pleasure, grinding on his face as you ride out your high.
Both of you panting, trying to catch your breath. Sanji pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He stands up, leaning to kiss your forehead softly. “I’ll go run a bath for you. Can’t have you feeling sticky all day.” He chuckles. “I need a bath too… Have to get out of these pants.” You blush, looking over at the mess all over your sheets. Smudges of chocolate and cream mixed with the red tint of the strawberry juice. Sanji smiles at you, walking towards the bathroom. He stops and turns to you, exhaling smoke before speaking. “You were right. It really was sweeter.” You blush at his words. “Maybe next time you’ll let me return the favor.”
#one piece#one piece fic#one piece smut#opla#black leg sanji#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#sanji smut#opla sanji#x reader
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deep ocean, mountain peek.
synopsis; bakugou doesn't love you anymore, and your sons can't sleep.
pairing(s); bakugou x fem!reader
theme warming(s); angst
bakuwhcre's note! this is unedited and a little sloppy. i just had the idea and wanted to get it out! enjoy, please!
when it came to bakugou's love, it was deep like an ocean and suffocating like reaching the peak of a cold mountain. he loved hard. he loved you all at once. and you knew he did - once upon a time. you didn't feel like you were standing at the top of everest. you didn't feel like you were surrounded by water at the bottom of an ocean. not anymore.
he was always working. always out. always late.
"momma," mizuki, your son, dragged his stuffed animal behind him as he peeked behind the staircase railing. his twin, katuso, was beside him with an angry expression on but tiredness showing in his eyes. "i can't sleep."
you had your laptop on your lap, and a single lamp on to keep you awake with an empty wine glass on the coffee table and soft music playing. you gazed at the boys with gentle eyes. they looked just like their father. it made your heart ache. especially katsuo. he was his father.
"c'mere, my little loves."
you opened your arms for them after moving your laptop to the table. they ran over. both attempted to sit in your lap, mizuki somehow winning the spot while katsuo scowled. he didn't even want to be there - mizuki woke him up with stupid worries of you and katsuki getting a divorce; whatever that was.
"are you and the old man getting a de- a duh- divorce. . ?" katsuo took a little glance at his brother, who nodded his head before looking at you.
"wha. ." you looked between the two, baffled. had bakugou mentioned that to them? why would they. . ? you became furious. not at the boys. never them. they were sponges, taking in all and everything they could. you didn't want to lie, yet they couldn't know that you'd been thinking about it. they were six years old.
"you told them we're getting a divorce?" a familiar voice sent chills down your spine. bakugou stood at the front door with a new wound on his cheek, brows deepening into a scowl.
"of course not! did you?"
"so. . you guys don't like each other anymore?" mizuki's voice raised and wavered as if he was going to cry, tears glossing over his eyes. his lip poked out, and katsuo didn't dare look at either of you, flarimg at the ground.
"we like each other." bakugou said firmly.
you like each other. enough. enough to raise your children. enough to keep the marriage going. enough to sleep in the same bed, but not enough to cuddle. not enough to share longing gazes. not enough to check in on each other.
just. . . enough.
bakugou comforted mizuki and got katsuo to stop looking at the ground like it gave him a problem. while you sat on the couch chewing on your nails. he came downstairs in a new pair of clothing and more cleaned after getting the boys down. "some kid in mizuki's class said their parents got divorced and then cursed mizuki." you didn't look up at your husband, honestly believing you were cursed by someone's rotten child. "we should talk about a divorce, though."
you looked up. he stared at the ground. there was silence. it was heavy on both of your shoulders. you wanted to yell at him for wasting years of your life. for promising you eternal happiness. for giving you two beautiful boys that you'd die without.
but all you could do was sob.
you wanted to turn that sorrow into anger but just wailed into your hands, holding your head down. "you're leaving me? after all these years? what about zuki? what about katsu?" you wiped your tears as bakugou shrugged, not meeting your eyes.
"we'll figure it out. i just. . . i'm tired of this. of you." he finally met your eyes, voice lowering. "i don't love you anymore, [name]."
the world seemed to stop spinning.
the water that was once air became poison in your lungs. the cold mountain top truly suffocated you. you couldn't breathe. you couldn't breathe in the worst way possible.
bakugou sighed and repeated himself, "i don't love you anymore."
#anime fandom#anime fanfic#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x fem!reader#bakugou x reader#bakugou x self insert#bakugou x y/n#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo mha#mha#mha bakugou#katsuki bakugo#bakugou x you#my hero x reader#mha x reader#mha bakugo x reader#x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou angst#angst#mha angst#mha fanfic#mha fanfiction#mha bakugo katsuki#mha bakugō
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