#There was just more to ...untangle with her

[breadedsinner]

I think an overlying theme across all 3 of my canon girls and their relationships is "I need to believe there's hope for you, so that I can believe there's hope for me, too,".

[deletedelight]

DAVEKAT YURI BEAAAMM

[novelconcepts]

Watching my mom evolve over the years has been such a fun experience. For context, she's got nine kids (at least five of whom have turned out to be queer; at least four of those have turned out to be non-binary), and for most of my life, she was just your average Gen-X Irish-Italian Catholic mom. She didn't really do vocal homophobia or whatever, but she also clearly didn't know how to handle it when her firstborn interrupted a Red Wings game to announce, "I think I'm gay." (Spoiler alert: that was me at fifteen or sixteen. In retrospect, of course the Tomboy For Life who had never been remotely interested in boys but was ALWAYS talking about actresses/female friends at school a bit too much wound up being gay. And announcing it. During a hockey game. Of course.)

She also didn't really know how to handle that same kid starting to date in college, bringing a girl home, and so on. She did a bit better when the next kid came out as a lesbian, but when that kid came out as non-binary (shout-out to that sib for doing some of the heavy lifting first), it was a whole new deal. It clearly had never crossed her mind before, that this might come up. Gay? She was figuring out gay. Gender stuff? Whew. A shiny new Pokemon of a situation.

The changed pronouns have been a bit difficult for my mom. The new names still get jumbled. (In fairness, the old names got jumbled, too--it was always a laundry list of names before she got to yours, no matter what you went by, because there were just so goddamned MANY of us.) It gets harder when she's stressed, and sometimes she just seems not to be getting it. I know it frustrates my siblings deeply. It can grate on me, too. You just want people to understand out the gate, to take you at your word, to shift gears without a slip-up. You don't want the awkward conversations, the painful skips, the rough patches. It's tempting to just give up on people if they don't stick the landing immediately.

But if you look a bit deeper, there's such a soft mama bear energy to my mom. Such a stubborn determination to get it right where it really counts. My mother, who never once skipped Sunday mass as I was growing up, has left the church completely because "they don't treat my family well." My mother, who once told me not to bring a girl home because it might confuse the youngest children, bought Converse sneakers expressly for my wedding to a woman. And my mother, who had never known the word non-binary, who didn't seem aware of the trans umbrella at all before her kids started huddling beneath it, keeps leaping to tell me all about the shows she's watching lately. The ones where "there's a non-binary character, and it's so cool that people can see that now!" The ones where "and this one is non-binary, and they're so great, and maybe it'll teach the shitty politicians of the world that they're just people, you know?"

Sometimes you just have to give people a little space. Let them stumble occasionally. They're going to. They're going to trip up. My mom hurt my feelings so many times when I was young, said so many of the wrong things right on the heels of the right ones, confused and upset me because I couldn't understand why she just didn't get it. But here she is, almost sixty years old, and so gleeful to tell me about the power of queer representation on TV. She doesn't always get it right, but goddamn, does she love her kids, and goddamn, does she want the world to love people like her kids, too.

[sadrockandwaltzes]

Just some crappy Mikage drawings based on images from the show cause I need practice... I feel like I'm really getting the devianart experience tryna draw him😅😭

He looks much better in the show I assure you...

[writing on top left says 'Mikage Death Pose' since it looks very simpson death esque; writing for glasses (he looks so cool in his prof outfit) says 'stylish professor turned stylish librarian after pick-up attempt' (cause I accidentally gave him lipstick😅); middle left writing says 'shading fail' and 'dude being shady- not blushy; and bottom writing says 'Gah... She kept me waiting again!']

Favorite's definitely the bottom one

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

odalia gaslit gatekept girlbossed her way into getting a new child to replace the ones she lost in the custody battle. slay queen

[walkscornelia]

here’s my (maybe last) thoughts cause i was just thinking about why it’s sad for me (someone who isn’t friends/family with her or going through it) and i think it’s cause one i love and care about her and know that this must be beyond heartbreaking in every way but specifically cause everything is gonna remind her of him and all future plans are just cancelled and her best friend the person she would go to when something bad happens is gone and two because it shows the scary reality that you can love someone and truly believe you’ll be like that forever (and both feel that way for years) and have it still not work 💔

[malinaa]

i know it's 4am but i just had an idea to make theo more insane

[kiatoru-archived]

"toru", you whisper in a slight panic, reaching out in an attempt to find your snowy haired boyfriend in the dark. you glance at the alarm clock which reads 6:32 in blaring red lights.

"toru," you say again, this time more urgently. your hands working to untangle the sheets around the both of you and shake him awake. your palms press against his cool skin as you give him a gentle push before violently shaking him.

"what the f- baby? whats goin' on?" he groans tiredly as he's jolted from his sleep. you take about half a second to swoon over his groggy, sleepy voice before another crash sounds from downstairs and you jump slightly, clinging to satoru.

"did you hear that?!"

he furrows his brows slightly and nods, smoothly unwrapping you from him and standing up.

"i'll go see what it is."

you nod and stand up as well.

"i'll come too."

"what? no- there could be a serial killer or something."

"whats a serial killer gonna do against you?"

"thats not the point-"

CRASH!

the both of you jump and grab the other one. carefully, satoru leads you both out and into the hallway. all is silent before a quiet gasp is heard followed by a hush and muted giggling.

you and satoru exchange a glance before creeping down the stairs and peering into the kitchen.

"megumi, you gotta be quiet," tsumiki whispers, "we'll wake gojo and y/n up!"

"you're the one who keeps dropping stuff!" megumi insists, a small pout on the little boy's face. he stands on his tip toes, peering over the top of the stove into the pan of... something.

you cock your head and try not to gag as the smell of whatever's in the pan hits you.

"do you think they'll like their breakfast in bed?" tsumiki asks with an excited smile on her face. her brother just shrugs and adds way too much salt to their concoction.

your boyfriend turns to you with a panicked expression and mouths 'breakfast?!' you elbow him softly and motion your head towards the stairs. you both creep back up to your bedroom with a soft sigh.

"i am not eating whatever the hell was on that stove."

you fix him with an icy glare.

"satoru gojo you will eat what those children have made for us and you will like it."

true to your word, an hour later when tsumiki proudly presented a tray of... breakfast , if you could call it that, with a sullen megumi in tow you both acted pleasantly surprised and choked down the food gratefully.

[amiableness]

Little Lies

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader

Summary: James asks Sirius and Y/n to pretend to date after he blurts out they are to Lily.

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: smut 18+, male masturbation, oral fem receiving, fingering, unprotected sex (pls be so careful!), reader wears a bikini top, and jealousy

A/N 💌 Hope you all enjoy this; it's been my baby for a while!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“I may have severely fucked up.” James sighs, his features tight with guilt as he stands before you. His chest is heaving like he has run all the way to you—it’s a likely theory.

Remus glances up from beside you; the two of you had been buried in your homework in the common room when James came racing in. He’s disappointed that James has disrupted the productive atmosphere. There’s no way that you or Remus will be continuing to work on your essays.

His admission doesn’t surprise you; James has come to you countless times seeking assistance after making a mistake. Being best friends since you were born, you’ve grown accustomed to being the one to untangle his messes.

Your parents were best friends, which meant that you and James were also raised to be. There wasn’t a memory that you could recall that James wasn’t in. It ended up working; to both of your mum’s excitement, you and James were inseparable. As the levelheaded one between you, you often found yourself trailing after James, tasked with picking up the pieces.

It was in the aftermath of pranks spiraling out of control, times when he impulsively voiced things he really shouldn’t have, or instances when he procrastinated excessively on his work, inevitably turning to you for help with his essays. Surprisingly, it’s become almost amusing to you, a reliable routine in your friendship.

You undeniably held the title of James Potter’s best friend.

Your eyes narrow skeptically, folding your arms over your chest, “Define severely.”

His demeanor turns sheepish as he nervously rubs the back of his neck, his gaze drifting away from you. He looks incredibly uncomfortable, “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“You’re not starting off strong.” You snark, an amused smile finding its way onto your lips. Remus chuckles next to you.

“Y/n.” James sighs, his expression urging you to stop your teasing.

“James.” You mimic.

He shoots you a glare, eyes narrowed in mock irritation, “Lily and I were chatting, like really chatting,” He begins, sighing obnoxiously as he settles into the chair opposite you, his expression a grimace. “She told me why she hasn’t taken me seriously when I flirt with her.”

You pause, confusion etching into your features, “And where exactly did you severely fuck up?”

"She thought we were a couple." He says, his hands gesturing wildly between the two of you, his expression a mix of incredulity and amusement. "Can you believe that? You and me?”

You can believe that, actually. You and James have been mistaken for a couple more times than you can count. Even your parents were convinced the two of you would end up together. While you had told them it wasn’t going to happen, you were convinced they were still holding out hope.

You furrow your brows as you watch him a tad uneasy, “Okay, and where did you severely fuck up in this?”

“I panicked, okay?” James looks guilty when he blurts this out. He nearly shouts it, and Remus hushes him. “She said it wasn’t fair for me to flirt with her because of you. She didn’t want your feelings to be hurt and wouldn’t listen when I said we were just friends. And I panicked.”

“Mate, get to the bloody point.” Remus huffs out, tired of James dragging out the story. Nothing bothered Remus more than when James or Sirius took an eternity to get to the point of their story.

“I told her you’re dating Sirius.” James grimaces, shifting nervously.

“What?” You hiss, your palms smacking onto the table, causing James to flinch, “Have you taken too many hits to the head? James, we are not dating!”

James protests, panicking, "But Lily doesn't know that! If you two could just pretend-"

"No, absolutely not! That is going too far." You snap, sending James a frustrated look, while Remus is chuckling to himself next to you.

"Y/n, please. This could be it! My chance with Lily!" James pleads. He’s desperate to try and salvage the plan he had put all his hopes on.

"Starting your new relationship with a lie, are we?" You snap, massaging at your temples. Most of the stress is from spending too many hours studying, but James is undoubtedly making it worse.

James shrugs, a mischievous smirk starting to form, "Well, not really. You and Sirius already flirt a lot. It’s not that far off from the truth."

James was well aware of your feelings for Sirius; he had watched how you nervously stumbled over your words the first day you met Sirius. He had never seen you like that before, eyes lit up with inflation at first glance.

While he occasionally teased you about it, he understood that what you felt for Sirius was deeper than just a crush. Though you would never admit it out loud.

Your frustration grows, "It absolutely is far off from the truth. Lily probably didn’t even believe you! There's no evidence for her to believe the idea that we are together.” You cry, disbelief evident in your voice. James's casual attitude only adds to your frustration. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

Remus interjects, an amused scoff escaping him, “There's evidence to believe it."

"Are you joking?" You deadpan, your voice full of incredulity. Remus sends you a teasing smirk. He considers how Sirius flirts with you more than anyone else, but he doesn’t want to deal with Sirius furious at him.

Ever since you met Sirius, you have had a crush on him. Realistically, you knew it was pointless; Sirius had a fan club of admirers. So, you counted yourself lucky that you were one of his closest friends. Being his friend was manageable, and quite honestly, kept your expectations in check.

But Sirius acting like he had feelings for you? You wouldn’t handle that well.

James interjects, "Lily believed it. She even said she wasn't surprised."

"But she thought you and I were together?" You ask, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Your tone was snippier than you intended, but you could feel the stress building. The mere thought of pretending to be with Sirius made you feel nauseous.

"She might've just been jealous, wanting to know if you had feelings for James before she finally goes for him." Remus says casually, and James' eyes light up in excitement.

James is positively giddy as he leans forward, “You think she was jealous?”

"Does Sirius even know?" You interrupt, catching James's eye. He glances at Remus, clearly hoping to hear more about Lily’s supposed jealousy.

James shakes his head, and you scoff, opening your mouth to enlighten James on why you think this is a bad idea. Before you can say anything, Remus cuts you off, “Here’s your chance to tell him.”

You glance up to see Sirius walking through the library, and you resist letting out a lovesick sigh at how effortlessly handsome he is.

Your stomach plummets at the sight of a stunning girl effortlessly chatting with him. His laughter rings out, causing unease to settle in your stomach.

If he was close enough, you probably would’ve tried to eavesdrop.

Despite not knowing her name, you know she’s a Gryffindor; you’ve seen her in the common room. James nudges you, and when you glance at him, he sends you a knowing look.

"Glad to see you guys are having study dates without Peter and me." Sirius calls, settling into the seat next to James and patting him on the shoulder in greeting.

Relief washes over you as you notice that the girl who was with him a second ago is long gone. He glances over at you, and pauses in surprise at your disgruntled expression, "You okay?"

Remus chuckles at the question, finding the harsh look you shoot James hilarious. It’s clear that he’s finding this entire situation entertaining.

“Ask James about what he told Lily.” You say, voice strained with irritation. James sends Sirius a nervous smile, and Sirius looks at him oddly.

"What'd you do?"

Sirius asks, his eyes darting back to you, taking note of your frustrated expression. Your stomach tightens with nerves, scared of Sirius’ reaction. Remus leans back in his chair, excited to see how this will all play out.

"Lily and I were talking today," James sighs, "and she wouldn't stop going on about how she thinks Y/n is in love with me and that it's not fair for me to flirt with her because I could be hurting her."

"She thinks I'm in love with you?" You shriek, oblivious to the barely visible flinch on Sirius' face at James' words. Remus catches it, his grin getting bigger.

James ignores you, “Anyways, I said that it’s not a problem because you and Y/n are dating.” James finishes cautiously, his gaze locked on Sirius, curious for his reaction. Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes fixed intently on Sirius, awaiting his reaction as well.

"You told Lily that Y/n's my girl?" Sirius inquires casually, causing your stomach to somersault at his words. You force yourself to focus on James instead of the warmth creeping into your skin.

"I panicked, and that's what came out. So, if you guys could pretend you're madly in love, that would be great!" James claps his hands together, and you feel the urge to wack him. You're prepared to snap at him, to explain why asking this of you both isn’t right.

But then Sirius shrugs, "Sure, shouldn't be too hard, right, sweet girl?" He says, and your legs feel like jelly.

You're floundering, not having expected Sirius to agree. He’s never maintained a steady relationship, so pretending that he’s dating you is a big ask. His agreement sends your mind spiraling with different scenarios. For a brief second, you wonder if he agrees so easily because he has feelings for you. But you quickly shut down that thought.

You’re delusional. You truly are.

"Sure, that shouldn't be too bad." You agree, hoping you appear casual about this.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"I need you two to amp it up. Lily is eating breakfast with us today." James directs, causing you to glance up from your breakfast, disbelief etched into your features. He takes a bite of bacon and casually observes you as though his request is perfectly normal.

"We've switched spots, is that not enough for you?" You ask sarcastically, and Remus shakes his head, wearing an entertained smile as he continues eating breakfast. He can tell you're panicking about pretending to be with Sirius; it’s painfully obvious to everyone at the table.

You're usually seated between James and Peter, but when you attempted to slide into the seat this morning, James slammed his hand down on the seat and instructed you to sit next to your boyfriend, wearing a smug smile. Peter snorted softly but quickly replaced it with a sympathetic smile, silently apologizing for his reaction.

"I mean, we all know Sirius is into PDA, and you look terrified to even be sitting next to him." Peter points out, and you find yourself scrabbling.

Were you two supposed to be super affectionate? Would Sirius find it weird if you initiated it? Questions are flooding your mind leaving you feeling overwhelmed.

"I am not terrified. I just don’t know how to act." You insist.

"Act like you’re in love with him; it shouldn’t be too hard, right?" James quips, earning a glare from you. He responds with a playful wink.

"The boys are right. You need to sit closer to me.” Sirius declares as his arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You squeak his name in surprise, flustered at how easily he moves you. The boys chuckle at your bewildered expression, finding your embarrassment hilarious.

You feel disappointed when he releases you. Even more so when he doesn't pull you flush against him. Instead, your shoulder to shoulder, the distance between you both feeling more pronounced than ever.

"I'm still waiting on the PDA." Remus says with a playful smirk; his eyes are full of mischief when you glance at him.

You elbow Remus in the side, and he playfully nudges you back, causing you to bump into Sirius' side. Sirius surprises you by wrapping his arm around you, keeping you against him while playfully calling out, "Oi, back off, mate." Being pressed against his side causes warmth to spread through you as you lean further into him.

James watches as Sirius's cheeks flush, a soft smile on his face as he gazes down at you. You appear flustered but content, being so close to him, and James can't help but grin at the two of you.

"We're not going to be all over each other." You say, attempting to distract yourself from the fact that you’re pushed up against Sirius.

"Why not?" James leans forward with a grin, clearly finding everything about this entertaining. “That is what most couples do. Plus, Sirius openly flirts with everyone. But he won’t kiss his own girlfriend? It’s not believable.”

“Merlin, we should have talked about this last night.” You mumble under your breath, and Sirius chuckles beside you. He's entirely at ease. It doesn’t seem like he has any worries about pretending to be your boyfriend. With that observation, you try not to let your worries spiral out of control.

"Listen, we can do whatever you're comfortable with. If you don't want to kiss, then we don't have to," Sirius tells you gently, "but it would be sort of odd for us not to be somewhat affectionate."

The last thing he wants to do is make you feel uncomfortable. But there's a rush of exhilaration at the thought of holding you close and calling you pet names that were once off-limits. And the thought of possibly kissing you?

Surviving that would be inconceivable for him.

"You're right," You nod. “Let's just start off slow. It will be weird if we're all over each other today when we didn’t even sit together yesterday."

"Yeah, yeah! Flirt, be a little touchy, throw some cute pet names in here, will you, Sirius?" James calls out with great enthusiasm. You send him a look that you hope he understands as shut the fuck up. He doesn’t acknowledge your discomfort. Instead, he makes a heart shape with his hands, which adds to your annoyance.

Sirius presses a quick kiss to your temple, “Fuck off, mate. I know how to flirt with my girlfriend, right baby?” You freeze, your eyes widening in disbelief, while the boys laugh at your reaction. How exactly were you supposed to survive this?

You fall into a comfortable silence, happy to enjoy your breakfast as James issues his warnings to the boys, ensuring they behave themselves. Remus, with a subtle eye roll, acknowledges James's words while Peter nods emphatically in agreement. While, Sirius simply outlines every embarrassing memory he plans to share with Lily.

“Y/n, get your man in check.’ James complains in mock irritation, throwing a grape at Sirius, who dodges it.

"Good morning." Lily greets quietly. You all turn to see her approaching, her expression a mix of embarrassment and hesitance, as if she's debating whether to turn around and go to her usual spot down the table.

James abruptly stands up, his hip thumping into the table. He stifles a wince, trying to maintain his composure as he greets Lily, who tries unsuccessfully to suppress a smile at his reaction. Remus cringes and turns back to his breakfast, unable to look at James.

"Y'ready for this?" Sirius leans in, his voice lowered to a hushed tone meant only for you, effectively pulling you away from eavesdropping on James and Lily's conversation. You glance up at him, surprised to find you’re a mere inches away from him.

You're so close that you could individually count each of his eyelashes if you wanted.

You still feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, creating an intimate connection between the both of you.

It feels like a magnetic pull draws you closer, tempting you to tilt your head forward and touch his lips with yours. The urge to kiss him is so strong that it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

You clear your throat, attempting to push the thought from your mind. "I think so. We're newly dating, so don't go overboard with it." You remind him, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“When have I ever gone overboard with anything in my life?” The smile he gives you is teasing, and it makes your heart pound to have him this close, his eyes sparkling as he smiles at you.

You hum softly in response, “I can think of quite a few times.”

His voice carries a flirtatious tone, “Can you?”

“Good morning, Lily.” Peter's gentle voice steals your attention away from Sirius. Disappointment and longing settle in his stomach as he watches you pull away and turn to greet Lily, that sweet smile now directed at her.

Lily settles between Peter and James. For a quick second, you feel a pang of jealousy because that's your spot. But when you notice James's pink cheeks and flustered expression, you forget all about it. All you want for James is for him to be happy, and having Lily near seems to do just that.

Breakfast goes smoothly. Lily fits seamlessly into your group, and you can tell it makes James giddy. He doesn't even mind not getting to talk to Lily much. He simply enjoys seeing the girl he's so hopelessly infatuated with getting along so well with his best friends.

You and Sirius aren't acting much differently than you normally do, just sitting close to each other and chatting. However, when Lily turns to you and Sirius, a wave of nervousness washes over you.

“I was so excited to hear you guys were together!”

"Oh yeah? So you can finally go for James with a clear conscience?" Sirius grins, teasing Lily, who looks thoroughly embarrassed. You nudge Sirius in the side, and he responds by giving your hip a gentle squeeze. James sends Sirius an incredulous look, which he pointedly ignores. While Remus and Peter chuckle at the playful banter.

Lily tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and clears her throat; her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "Uh, no, just that you two have obviously had feelings for each other for years. Everyone knew."

You're at a loss for words. Is that really what people thought? Clearly, they read you right, but you weren’t sure what to think about Sirius having feelings for you. Maybe he did, or maybe they were mistaking it for how he constantly flirted with you. But that was just how Sirius was; it didn’t necessarily mean he had romantic feelings for you.

"Haven't gotten her out of my head since the day I met her." Sirius says casually, his right elbow resting on the table as he pops a piece of bacon into his mouth. His other arm remains securely wrapped around your waist, holding you close to his side with a gentle yet firm embrace.

You look at him in shock, your eyes widening at his unexpected confession. Even the boys look slightly startled at Sirius' words, their eyes darting between you and him.

“That’s so sweet.” Lily says softly, her eyes glowing with genuine happiness as she sends you a warm smile. The sight tugs at your heartstrings but also stirs up guilt in the pit of your stomach. Lying always made you feel uneasy like a weight was pressing down on your chest.

"Sirius, I can't believe you thought that she—" Lily begins, her voice trailing off as James interjects, his interruption tinged with a hint of urgency.

"Okay, love! I think I should walk you to class, don't y' think?" James stands up from the table, extending his hand towards Lily.

Lily looks slightly confused, but she takes his hand nonetheless. As they walk away, James glances back and sends a wink in Sirius' direction. Your attention immediately shifts to Sirius, curiosity written all over your face as you’re about to ask about Lily's interrupted comment.

Sirius cuts you off before you can ask, shaking his head with a gentle smile and flushed cheeks, "Don't even bother asking; I’m not telling you what she was talking about.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re curled up next to Peter on the common room couch, both of you chatting quietly together. For the last twenty minutes, he has been feeding you details about the Ravenclaw girl he has a crush on. He's sworn you to secrecy. Hoping for your advice on asking her out without enduring the teasing of the rest of the Marauders. Your gasp of excitement nearly gives away the secret, but you quickly compose yourself, offering a reassuring smile to Peter.

"Who is she?" You ask, excitement laced in your voice, but Peter sends you an apprehensive look.

"I'm going to keep that to myself. Your squeal almost let the boys know.." He teases, though his tone also carries a note of seriousness.

A laugh escapes you, "I promise when you’re ready to tell me I’ll be so careful about keeping it a secret."

"Oi! Are you two sharing secrets over there?" James calls out, his voice immensely curious. He’s sat with his back to the flickering flames, his palms flat against the floor as he leans back on them. Peter tenses beside you, but you maintain an easy smile. Remus and Sirius are lounging in the armchairs nearby, their attention piqued by the exchange.

"All my deepest darkest secrets." You tease, flashing James a grin. He furrows his brow and sits up, clearly riled up by your response.

“Y/n, as your best friend, I better know all these secrets.” James lips are pouted, his expression tinged with a hint of concern, as if he's genuinely worried that you and Peter are sharing secrets that he doesn’t know.

James has always been fiercely protective of your friendship. Despite being close to the boys, your bond with James was stronger. There was nothing that the two of you didn't confide in each other; he honestly did know all your secrets.

“You do.” You smile reassuringly, and James's expression breaks into a satisfied grin.

The boys continue their soft conversation by the crackling fire, the warm glow casting flickering shadows across the room, while you and Peter sit in comfortable silence. Both of you are lost in thought as you relax in the cozy atmosphere.

After stifling a good five yawns, you glance at the time and decide it's probably best to head to your room, the quiet of the common room signaling just how late it had gotten.

You inch closer to Peter, before finding the courage to lean over and envelop him in a friendly hug, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

He's momentarily taken aback, his body tenses at your touch, but soon he relaxes, reciprocating by wrapping you in his arms. It's a gesture that feels somewhat out of character for you, but after he trusted you with his secret, it seems like the most natural thing to do, a silent affirmation of support for him.

"I think I'm going to go to bed." You tell him softly, "But I promise we'll talk more tomorrow."

“I’d like that.” He smiles at you as you pull away. You grab your bag and make your way in the direction of the stairs.

“Goodnight boys!” You call out softly over your shoulder before disappearing up the stairs. Sirius watches you go, his gaze lingering on your figure, his thoughts full of you long after you've left the room.

Ever since you moved to hug Peter, his eyes have been on you, curiosity and jealousy settling in his stomach.

"Why the hell did you get a hug?" Sirius asks, his tone laced with bitterness as his gaze shifts to Peter, who appears taken aback by Sirius’ sudden question. Remus and James exchange amused glances, before they refocus their attention on Peter, waiting expectantly for an explanation to ease the tension.

“I don’t know, she just hugged me.” Peter squirms uncomfortably in his seat, his confidence quickly dwindling as he's put on the spot.

Sirius nods slowly, his lips pursing in contemplation. His carefully measured tone betrays the longing and a hint of possessiveness that he struggles to conceal, "What were you guys talking about over there?"

Remus interjects with a teasing tone, "Careful, Pads. You sound jealous." A playful glint dances in his eyes as he notices Sirius' furrowed brows and the discontent on his face.

“He’s got the boyfriend role down.” James quips, and Sirius sends them both a glare.

“I’m not jealous,” Sirius repeats quite grumpily. “I just don’t understand why Peter got a hug, and we didn’t.”

James barks out a laugh while Remus shakes his head, a chuckle escaping him in sheer disbelief.

"You're jealous because you have feelings for her." James states matter-of-factly.

Sirius begins to shake his head in denial, but Remus promptly interjects, his voice firm and unwavering, "’Haven't gotten her out of my head since the day I met her.’ What the fuck was that then?” Remus repeats Sirius’ words from the other day, perfectly mimicking his tone.

James bursts into laughter, the sound hearty and infectious, while Peter offers a small smile, observing Sirius as he struggles to respond.

“Not to mention, you’ve been staring Peter down ever since Y/n touched him.” Remus remarks while Sirius gazes blankly at him, his expression unreadable as he nervously chews on his bottom lip.

“You really have.” Peter adds with a grimace.

“You like her, mate.” Remus concludes, his words carrying a sense of finality that lingers in the air.

Sirius sighs heavily.

The conversation weighs heavily on him as he sinks down in the armchair, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The boys’ words replay in his mind. He was jealous, and he did like you. He already knew all of this. But he had always been cautious around you, mindful of the unspoken boundaries because of your friendship with James. A nagging worry in the back of his mind that James would be against any relationship between the two of you. James was his greatest friend, and he worried he could lose him if he attempted to go for you. The idea of James being unfazed by a romantic relationship between you and Sirius threw him off balance. It vastly differed from the scenarios he had envisioned, where James would react with fierce anger upon learning of Sirius' affection for you. The realization left Sirius feeling torn. Did that mean he could actually go for you?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

As the air is warm and balmy, birdsong emanating from the trees while the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze. The sun casts everything in a golden haze, letting you know summer is near. The boys are certain of their decision: today is the perfect day to spend at the lake.

Laughter and chatter echo across the shimmering waters as the boys swim around the lake, reaching where you’re draped over a soft towel next to Lily. You have been trading gossip back and forth for the last couple of hours. It’s refreshing since usually you’re glued to the boys’ sides. You were constantly in the company of at least one of the four.

You feel a twinge of regret in your chest, realizing you haven't made an effort to have a close friendship with the girls. And you really should have. It wasn't a deliberate choice; James had always been your go-to person. Then, when you met the boys, you naturally formed close bonds with them, too. The thought of branching out and making more friends never really crossed your mind.

Though you value your friendships with the boys, you decide you desperately need to spend more time with the girls. The possibility of James and Lily getting together has you hopeful.

“You realize Sirius can’t take his eyes off you, right?” You choose to remain silent, only giving a shrug, fully aware that Sirius is merely pretending to be in love with you. To his credit, he's played the part convincingly throughout the entire week. There have been moments when you've found yourself questioning the authenticity of his actions, wondering whether his affection is genuine or merely his acting skills.

For someone who hasn’t had much practice with relationships, he possessed an innate ability to treat you like you were the only girl in his world. Whether it was a reassuring hand on your lower back as you maneuvered through the crowded halls, a tender kiss planted on your forehead when you parted ways, or the subtle exchange of flirty smiles whenever your eyes met across the room.

Sirius' laughter drifts over from the lake, reaching your ears, and a subconscious smile graces your lips. Lily must have seen your reaction, “Merlin, you really like him, don’t you?”

It was driving you to the brink of obsession. If this was the experience of being Sirius' girl, you wanted it more than before.

Despite your efforts to contain it, a sigh slips from your lips, "Yeah, I really do."

Confessing this feels uncomfortable. You've never talked to anyone about the depth of your feelings for Sirius, and now you're doing so under the guise of a fake relationship. You had come close to telling James, but you really didn’t need to. He had an uncanny ability to read you like an open book. Guilt churns in your stomach once more as you think about lying to Lily. What will her reaction be when you reveal that you and Sirius were never actually together?

The silence lingers for a few moments before you gently break it, "What were you about to say at breakfast the other day? Before James interrupted?"

Lily's expression shifts from confusion to excitement, her eyes lighting up, “Oh, in Charms! I finally wrangled it out of Sirius that he had feelings for you. But he insisted that nothing was ever going to happen because you didn’t like him back.”

It feels like you've been plunged into a tub of cold water. Your mind goes momentarily blank, a surge of disbelief flooding your senses as you struggle to comprehend Lily's words. Your body freezes in place, grappling with what this could possibly mean. There’s no possible way you heard her correctly.

“What? When was this?” Your voice escapes breathless and startled, yet Lily appears oblivious to it.

“Just a couple of weeks ago! I’m so glad he finally told you how he felt.” Lily smiles sweetly before laying back on her towel. If she notices you’re in a state of shock, she doesn’t say anything.

You hear a whistle, and no surprise, your best friend throws himself between you and Lily, “Don’t you two look pretty!”

Lily gasps as James leans down, playfully pressing his lips against her cheek, his hair dripping water onto her. Though she protests, you both can tell she doesn't truly mind it.

As James and Lily become wrapped up in their own world, you find yourself drifting back to the conversation from a moment ago. Your mind spins, still muddled by Lily's words. Sirius had feelings for you. Why hadn't he spoken up? Did he not want anything to come of it?

Your heart nearly stops when Sirius drops down and hovers over you, his hands propping him up on either side of your head. You barely register that he's shirtless and above you just before icy water cascades from his hair onto your skin. A startled cry escapes you as the cold droplets trickle down your cheeks, tracing a chilling path along your neck and chest.

“Sirius Black!” You had intended to sound angry, but laughter slips past your lips, betraying your emotions. Sirius grins at your reaction, his eyes trailing down from your eyes to shamelessly check out the bikini top you have on.

The boys had been teasing him relentlessly after witnessing how he practically fell to his knees when you walked into the common room wearing a bikini top and tiny denim shorts. You were oblivious to his gaze, heading straight for Lily and conversing about who knows what.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you all day.

He feigns ignorance as you whine at him, responding with a sweet smile instead, “What, sweet girl?”

"Get off!" You squeal, though your tone lacks any real irritation. Deep down, you’re secretly enjoying having him so close, enveloping you in his presence.

“Whatever you want, sweet girl.” He mutters as he rolls off of you, repositioning himself so he's sitting behind you. With a gentle tap on your shoulder, he prompts you to sit up, then guides you until your back hits his chest. Once you're settled, he loosely wraps his arms around your shoulders before placing a kiss on your head.

Remus catches your eye as he and Peter make their way to their towels. Unlike Sirius and James, they hadn't hurried over to you and Lily. Instead, they took their time, chatting lazily while the sun warmed their skin. Remus sends you a sly, suggestive glance, and you respond by narrowing your eyes at him playfully.

Sirius and Remus engage in their own conversation, their voices blending into the background as Peter gestures for you to follow him. Sirius protests lightly, his eyes following you as you pull away from him to walk down to the lake with Peter.

You're gone for no more than twenty minutes, offering Peter advice on establishing a friendship with the girl he likes, perhaps making it easier for him to ask her out in the future.

Despite Remus' attempts to draw him back into the conversation, Sirius remains preoccupied, his gaze fixed on you until you eventually return and settle onto the towel beside him, seeking the familiar comfort of his presence. Only then does Sirius relax, draping his arm around you protectively.

He despises the twinge of jealousy that creeps in every time Peter has you to himself.

“Mate, you’re fucked.” Remus chuckles, and you assume it's due to something amusing said during their conversation. Sirius simply rolls his eyes and playfully extends his middle finger in Remus' direction, a gesture of mock annoyance that elicits a smirk from both of them.

The rest of the afternoon is spent wrapped up in Sirius as you chat with your friends and bask in the sun.

You spend the remainder of the afternoon draped over Sirius, basking in the warmth of the sun as you chat with your friends. It's been a while since you've felt so at ease.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After lounging by the lake all afternoon, the thought of cleaning up for a party you had little interest in attending felt like an unnecessary chore. However, after an hour of James' persistent pleading, you eventually gave in and agreed to go. You were confused about why he insisted on your presence, especially when he'd be busy spending the evening with Lily. You couldn't help but think you could have been snug in bed with a good book instead.

“How long do you think it will take before they get together?” You turn to Remus, who is leaning against the wall next to you. He wasn't thrilled about coming tonight, either. The full moon was approaching, and he could already feel the effects beginning to take hold.

You scan the bustling room, eager to catch a glimpse of James and determine Lily's proximity. Impatience simmers within you as you wait for them to get together. Their relationship seems overdue, and you’re desperate for it to happen, bringing an end to the relationship you and Sirius are forced to maintain. Though being Sirius' girlfriend has its perks, the artificiality of the situation weighs on your conscience.

After a lazy afternoon enveloped in Sirius' arms, you had returned to your room feeling unsettled. The comfort of being held by Sirius felt genuine, yet it was all fake, and that realization deeply unsettles you. The longer this relationship goes on, the more you worry about your heart being left in pieces at the end.

“Probably any day now. Why? You aren’t having fun being Sirius’ girl?” Remus asks, casting a knowing smirk in your direction. You huff and give him a playful nudge, causing his drink to slosh around in his cup. He chuckles in response, amused by your reaction.

"It's not that, and you know it." You respond, frustration evident in your tone.

Remus turns towards you, a genuine smile on his face this time, "You guys are doing quite the job of looking infatuated with each other."

You shoot him a warning look, sensing where the conversation is headed.

But Remus persists, his gaze steady, "You should consider telling him how you feel."

You scoff. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? What have you got to lose?"

You meet his gaze, incredulous, "Our friendship, for starters."

Remus shakes his head, "Do you really think Sirius would end your friendship? I doubt you could get rid of him if you tried."

You meet Remus's gaze, your brow furrowed with uncertainty, "Okay, maybe he wouldn't end our friendship. But things would definitely get awkward, and who knows where it could lead."

Remus offers a small smile, "Or it could go well. You could end up together."

You remain silent, the weight of Remus's words sinking in as you contemplate the idea of confessing your feelings to Sirius. Your stomach churns with anxiety at the mere thought of opening up to him. The fear of rejection and the potential fallout from confessing weighs heavy on your chest.

But Lily had shared with you that Sirius had opened up about his feelings for you. Maybe there was a possibility that confessing your own feelings might not be as far-fetched as you had assumed. Maybe being with Sirius wasn't entirely out of reach.

Remus observes the slight furrow in your brow as you chew on your bottom lip, a clear indication of your spiraling thoughts. The dim light of the common room highlights the unease on your face. "Do you want a drink?" He offers, his voice gentle and reassuring.

You pause, considering his offer, grateful for the distraction, "Yes, please." You respond with a small smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

As Remus leaves to fetch you a drink, you're left alone with your thoughts, the chatter and laughter of the crowded common room serving as a backdrop to your contemplation. Your eyes wander over the sea of bodies, each occupied with their own conversations and activities, creating a lively yet chaotic atmosphere.

“Y/n, hi!” You startle as Max Townsend stands beside you, his sudden presence catching you off guard. You recall being partners in Charms a couple of weeks ago, but beyond that, your interactions had been limited.

"Hey, Max." You greet with a soft smile, noticing how his shoulders relax slightly at your acknowledgment. He settles against the wall, his posture casual yet attentive, as if genuinely interested in chatting with you.

"I know we haven’t talked much since Charms, but I’ve been meaning to catch up with you." Max says, his voice earnest as he breaks the silence between you.

You're surprised by his remark, "You have?" You ask, genuine curiosity coloring your tone.

"Yeah! I enjoyed spending time with you." Max admits, his voice slightly shaky as he offers you a shy smile. You notice the faint blush coloring his cheeks, a sign of nervousness.

"I enjoyed spending time with you too! I don’t think I could have passed the last exam without your help." You respond sincerely, returning his smile with warmth. His face lights up at your words, visibly relieved.

He regains some confidence and continues, "Actually, Y/n, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade sometime?"

Your smile falters, and you feel a pang of guilt. You have the excuse of having a boyfriend, at least. It makes things a little easier for you. For a second, you debate if you should say yes, go on a date, and move past your feelings for Sirius. But then you think about Lily‘s words and how he might possibly like you back. Not only that but you’re supposed to be in a relationship right now.

You can't bring yourself to say yes; truth be told, you don't really want to, anyway.

"That’s really sweet of you to ask. But I’m dating Sirius." You reply though the words feel heavy on your tongue, wishing they were true.

Max looks taken aback, "Sirius Black?"

"Yes." You confirm, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you; turning someone down is always an awkward and uncomfortable experience.

Max shakes his head, looking confused, "I didn’t know Sirius-"

"You didn’t know what, Townsend?" Sirius looks hard at him, slipping his arm around your waist and handing you a drink. "Here, baby, Rem said you wanted a drink."

You thank him quietly, settling into his side with ease. Glancing up at him, you notice Sirius isn't looking at you; his gaze is fixed on Max. His jaw clenches tightly, and his usual friendly smile is absent. The message to Max is clear: back off, she's mine.

Max looks uneasy, eyes darting from you to Sirius, “Uh, I didn’t know you and Y/n were together.”

“And why were you talking about that?”

“Uh,” Max looks at you briefly, his expression tinged with panic. He lets out a sigh, reminiscent of a child caught in the act and resigned to confessing. “I asked her out.”

Sirius' entire body tenses, his tone laced with mock curiosity, “Did you?”

He feels sick at the thought of you going on a date with another guy. Images flash through his mind – Max holding your hand on a walk through Hogsmeade, flirting with you over dinner, and the possibility of him kissing you goodnight before you head back through the portrait at the end of the night.

A surge of intense emotion floods him, an overwhelming desire to lash out, to throw a punch and convey the unmistakable message that you are off-limits.

But then the reality hits him: you're not off limits. You're perfectly single, and maybe you actually wanted to go out with Max. The realization sinks in, gnawing at him from the inside, intensifying the ache in his chest.

“But look, man, I didn’t know she was your girl! Honest.”

"Max, it's okay. Really." You interject gently, offering him a reassuring smile. Max nods frantically, clearly relieved, before hurrying off in the opposite direction and disappearing into the crowd of Gryffindors.

“What the hell was that?” You turn to Sirius, but he refuses to meet your gaze. Instead, he drops his arm from your waist and leans back against the wall, taking a long sip from his drink, his expression unreadable

“Playing the part of your boyfriend. You should go find James, he was looking for you.” His mutterings reach your ears, and your stomach clenches with irritation as hurt flashes over your features. He's never shut down before you, and it hurts your feelings deeply.

You don’t bother saying anything; instead, you scoff and walk away. Sirius’s eyes follow you the second you leave, watching as you walk away with a heavy feeling settling in his stomach.

Maybe he did need to express his feelings to you. There might be a chance that you felt the same way. And if you didn't, at least he would know and could attempt to move on from you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“I think you need to check on Sirius.” James murmurs into your ear as you stand in the common room, waiting for Lily to join you. You're flanked by the boys, but Sirius is conspicuously absent.

You glance over at him, confused, “Why? Is he not coming down?”

“He bailed, said he isn’t feeling good.”

“He isn’t coming to Hogsmeade with us?” You all had meticulously planned your trip to Hogsmeade during the lake outing yesterday, discussing the shops you wanted to visit and the Butterbeer you couldn't wait to taste.

“Oh,” You mutter, “I’ll check on him and catch up with you guys then.”

You still harbor concern for his well-being, a lingering sense of care that remains despite the the frustration you feel about last night. You ascend the stairs, faintly catching Peter's inquiry about your destination and James' response that you won't be joining them anymore. You contemplate turning around, half-tempted to inquire with James about his statement, but decided against it, choosing not to waste your energy.

You're so deeply immersed in your thoughts as you walk through the hall that you don't even notice the sound at first.

The muffled noise filtering through the boys' dorm door catches your attention, causing you to pause in front of the door. You briefly entertain the idea that Sirius might be genuinely unwell, but skepticism lingers in your mind. The persistent groans don't quite fit the pattern of someone who's just sick.

You were on the verge of turning around, genuinely considering it, until you caught a muffled moan that distinctly sounded like your name.

You pause, questioning the authenticity of what you just heard, wondering if it was a figment of your imagination or if you truly heard your name. But then you hear it, “Fuck, Y/n. Feels so good.”

Your legs turn to jelly, the words coursing through your veins like an electric shock, leaving you feeling stunned and breathless.

Without a second thought or even a plan forming in your mind, you find yourself knocking on the door. Inside, you hear a muffled curse followed by shuffling before Sirius swings the door open nearly a minute later, clad only in pajama pants. His hair is tousled, his cheeks flushed, and he's breathing heavily. The surprise on his face is evident as he takes in your unexpected presence.

“What were you just doing?” Your words spill out more confrontationally than you intended, catching Sirius off guard. The surprise flickers across his face, evident in how his eyebrows knit together and his eyes widen slightly.

“Uh, I-” He glances back into his room, searching for a believable excuse among his belongings. Flustered, he struggles to come up with a convincing lie.

"Sirius," You press, and his eyes flicker back to you. He appears guilty, aware that you've caught on. "I just heard you." You add, your tone that is firm but not accusatory.

“Merlin, Y/n. I’m sorry I-” He stammers, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of you possibly feeling disgusted with him or worse, refusing to remain his friend because of what he’s just done.

“What were you thinking about?” You ask instead, taking a deliberate step closer to him. The room feels charged with tension, and you can sense Sirius's unease. His breath hitches as your presence draws nearer, his eyes flickering with a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

He glances over your shoulder, his gaze flicking to the empty hallway outside before he answers, “You.”

“Me?” You take a tentative step closer, your voice barely a whisper compared to before, its tone huskier, laden with curiosity and perhaps a hint of intrigue. You fix him with a daring look, a glint of challenge in your eye, as if silently daring him to take action.

He remains silent, his gaze fixed on you for a fleeting moment before he takes action, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the dorm without a word.

As soon as the door shuts, he presses you against the door, his movements swift and urgent. You let out a gasp in surprise, feeling the sudden shift in atmosphere as Sirius's intensity envelops you. His eyes, usually filled with mischief, now bore into yours with a mixture of seriousness and vulnerability.

“Y/n. Why did you knock on the door?”

You don’t answer at first, your eyes locked with his for a few heartbeats before you let out a sigh, “Because I heard you say my name, and now I know you want me the same way that I’ve always wanted you.”

Sirius doesn’t hesitate, his lips meeting yours with a sense of urgency that sends a shiver down your spine. The moment his touch connects with yours, you exhale softly, feeling the warmth of his lips against yours. With gentle pressure, you draw him closer, your arms wrapping around his shoulders while Sirius’ embrace envelops you, pulling you closer as if he never wants to let go.

He initiates with a tender kiss on your lips, then gently nibbles on your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp. Seizing the opportunity of your parted lips, he intensifies the kiss, pressing forcefully into your mouth. Sirius kisses you as if each moment is the first and last time, molding you into pliancy. You willingly surrender, allowing him to kiss you into a state of blissful oblivion.

As he withdraws, a soft whimper escapes your lips in protest. He casts a questioning glance your way as he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you respond with a nod of affirmation. Slowly, he peels it off of you and lets it drop at your feet. Shamelessly, he admires your breasts and how they sit so pretty in your black bra. For a moment, the thought of apologizing for the simple garment crosses your mind, but the way his gaze lingers on you halts any inclination to do so.

He leans down, pressing kisses and nipping at the exposed skin on your neck and trailing his way down to your chest. It steals your breath away, prompting you to weave your fingers through his hair as you tilt your head back, reveling in the sensation. He's murmuring praises against your skin, ranting about how beautiful you are, how sweet your moans are, and how you drive him crazy. Your heart pounds within your chest, and for an instant, you fear its thunderous rhythm might betray you, considering how near he stands.

“Take it off.” In a hushed tone, you speak, prompting Sirius's gaze to swiftly rise and lock with yours.

He encircles you with his arms, quickly undoing your bra, and you deftly push the straps down, allowing the garment to cascade down, unveiling your skin. Swiftly, you toss it into the growing pile that appears to be taking shape by the door.

Sirius gazes intently, his bottom lip captured between his teeth, and a subtle furrow forms between his eyebrows, “Fucking hell, y’have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

Before you can utter a word, his mouth is on your breasts. Pressing the softest kisses onto your nipple before gently biting it, causing your breath to hitch. He bends down, mirroring the gesture with the other one.

His hands, possessively grip at your hips, act as anchors, momentarily keeping you in place. However, a growing restlessness takes hold, and you start to squirm, a subtle plea for more of his attention. Silently comprehending your unspoken desire, he wordlessly responds. A gentle tug on your hand is all the communication needed, and without a moment's hesitation, you obediently follow his lead.

Guiding you, he directs you to settle onto his bed, a silent request you readily heed. Your legs dangle over the edge of the bed as you rely on your elbows to bear all your weight.

Sirius kneels in front of you, easily slipping off both of your shoes and tossing them to the side. He reaches up, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your skirt before tugging it down and off of your legs. You’re left in a pair of gray panties that easily show how soaked you are for him.

He pushes on your knees until your legs are completely spread for him, and he can get a clear view of your soaked underwear. A hushed curse escapes his lips, the words slipping out quietly as his gaze lingers on you.

“You’re fucking stunning. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. To deserve you.” You bask in his words, your body thrumming with warmth and delight as his sweet sentiments wash over you.

He glances up at you, and he nearly loses it right then and there. You’re watching him through hooded eyes, your pupils dilated wide, a silent reflection of your anticipation and desire. He doubts he could ever erase the image of the way you're gazing at him, etching it into his memory with the fervent wish to witness it for the rest of his days.

He caresses his hands along your thighs, fingers gently squeezing and kneading with each pass. Occasionally, he leans down, planting tender kisses on your sensitive skin, each one a whispered promise of affection. The closer he gets to your core, the more you squirm and let out soft whimpers.

“Can I take your panties off?” He asks, glancing up at you from between your thighs. The pad of his thumb brushes against your clit, and you jolt in surprise.

A gasp escapes your lips as you're overtaken by the sensation, yet swiftly, you find yourself nodding frantically in response, “Please.”

Overrun with desperation, Sirius pulls at them with such fervor that they nearly tear as he tugs them off. You can't help but giggle at his fervor, amused by his frantic actions and the unmistakable look of pure desire written across his face. He wouldn't be surprised if he was drooling, staring the sight of your glistening pussy.

“I want to be inside of you.” He declares, standing up from the floor, leaning over you to firmly grasp your jaw before capturing your lips in a heady, intoxicating kiss. The moan that escapes you sounds so foreign, so unlike yourself, that it catches you by surprise, leaving you momentarily taken aback. You don't bother vying for dominance, allowing him to take control of the kiss. He withdraws from you leaving your chest heaving and breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Take your pants off.” You demand, reaching desperately for the band of his pajamas to shove them off. Sirius beats you to the task, swiftly shoving them off himself in a display of impatience.

“Sirius.” Drool pools in your mouth at the sight of him. Long, thick, and pretty. Your lips part slightly, and you look up at Sirius in surprise, caught off guard by him. For a fleeting moment, you sit there, eyes locked, contemplating whether you'll be able to take him or not. He’s bigger than anyone you have ever been with before.

Sirius doesn’t let you stare for too long before his fingers are sliding through your soaked folds and brushing over your clit. Whimpers and moans tumble past your lips as Sirius rubs firm circles over you to get you adjusted before dipping down and pressing two fingers into you. A cry escapes you at the intrusion, and your hand instinctively reaches down to grip his bicep firmly.

Sirius startles you by leaning down and pressing the softest kiss to your clit, before licking you the bundle of nerves softly. Your body tenses with pleasure, hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

“I’ve always wanted to taste you.” He confesses a surge of heat courses through your body, igniting every nerve ending as you absorb his words. He doesn’t waste another second before leaning down and gently sucking on your clit.

"Please don't stop." You plead softly, and Sirius complies, continuing with unwavering determination. He nips and sucks, licking through your folds and holding your thighs open for him. His fingers continue to slide in and out of you; the sounds you’re making are obscene.

You’re struck by the thojught that this doesn't compare to any other times that you’ve been eaten out. But maybe it's not just his technique that feels good; it might be the fact that its Sirius who’s between your legs.

Your thighs tremble, and a euphoric sensation begins to build up in your stomach, making it feel like you are floating on a delightful high.

“Sirius, I need you.” You gasp sharply, your fingers instinctively tugging on his hair, signaling for him to ease up. You wanted to come together for your first time, as cheesy as it may have been.

As he rises to his feet, your eyes meet, and contagious, goofy smiles spread across both of your faces. In this shared moment, a mutual understanding passes between you—acknowledging the absurdity of the situation yet reveling in the fact that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

You watch as he wraps his hand around himself, dragging his hand up and down a few times. He whispers for you to scoot back until your head rests against the pillow, and with a gentle nod, you comply. He follows suit, settling on his haunches before you, creating a comforting, intimate space between you both.

“Y’ready?” He asks in a hushed tone, leaning in to hover over you, and at that moment, a rush of memories floods your mind, reminiscent of yesterday by the lake. You're convinced you must look rather pathetic with the speed of your nod, but Sirius only responds with a sweet smile.

With a grip on his cock, he slides the tip through your slick, both of you sucking in a breath at the sensation. He gently pushes at your entrance. Sirius steals a glance up at you, silently seeking reassurance, and you respond with a simple nod and a warm smile, letting him know that everything is perfect. Sirius catches you off guard as he leans down, tenderly pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips, a gesture filled with unexpected sweetness.

His gaze shifts, watching as he pushes his cock inside of you, letting out a string of curses as your pussy grips him tight, pulling him deeper inside.

“Fuck,” Gritting his teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, determined to regain control and prevent himself from losing composure. He’s sitting fully inside you, and he has to take a breather because you feel better than he could have ever imagined. The last thing he wants is for this to end as soon as it begins.

His voice sounds utterly shattered, “You’re so wet, fuck.”

You entwine your fingers in his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingertips as you pull him closer, urging him to meet your lips with his own. The anticipation builds as his warm breath mingles with yours, creating an intimate connection before the gentle press of his lips against yours. Parting your lips, you deepen the kiss, and Sirius eagerly reciprocated.

“Sirius. Fuck me, please.” You exhale softly against his lips, and Sirius responds with a low, guttural groan of longing and desire.

He doesn’t waste any time before dragging his cock along the sensitive walls of your pussy, before thrusting back into you, “God, your pussy feels incredible.” The cry that escapes you resonates loudly in the room, and you're immensely grateful that everyone is out at Hogsmeade. The absence of others allows you the freedom to be as uninhibited as you are, knowing that the full dorms would never afford you the same level of privacy and volume.

“Feels so good.” You gasp, head rolling to the side, your cheek resting against the pillows. Sirius’ hands rest against the back of your thighs, holding your legs against your chest, giving a clear view of the way his cock is so seamlessly slipping inside of you.

He watches you, transfixed on the way your brows pinch together in pleasure, lips parting to let moans slip past. It's as if a dam has burst within Sirius, an unstoppable torrent of words and emotions pouring forth as he finds himself unable to contain everything he's been holding back.

“Fuck, you sound s’pretty, sweet girl,” The groan that leaves his lips is downright sinful. “Thought about this pretty pussy all day. Pretended to be sick just to get off to the thought of you.”

“Sirius.” You whine, reaching out to thread your fingers through his hair and pull him down to you. You’re soaked and aching, desperate for Sirius to fuck you faster. However, much to your disappointment, he remains insistent on maintaining a slow, teasing pace.

“Pictured, tugging that fucking bikini top down. Watching your tits bounce while I fuck you. Fuck, cumming all over them.” The whine that escapes you feels pathetic, and under different circumstances, you would've been embarrassed by it. However, given the situation you're in, embarrassment takes a backseat.

“I know, baby. I know.” He complies, adjusting his position so that his right arm supports him above you while his left hand gently traces your skin. Brushing over your nipples, trailing up and over your tits, before placing his hand loosely around the base of your throat.

“You’re fucking perfect,” He grunts, admiring how ruined you look for him. Your mascara smudged beneath your eyes from tears, and your lips swollen from his earlier kisses. He loved seeing you like this. Being the one to ruin you, to smudge your makeup and bring you to tears. “Taking my cock s’well.”

You’re incoherent, begging for Sirius to go harder, to fuck you faster. Hands pawing at his ass, desperately trying to bring him closer.

His hand squeezes your throat gently, “Tell me you want me to fuck you harder. C’mon love, wanna hear you beg for it.”

A smug grin tugs on Sirius’ lips as he watches you struggling to form words. You’re getting close if the way you’re squeezing him so tight and rolling your hips is any indicator.

But then a desperate, needy whine with the words he so badly wants to hear slips past your lips. Babbling about needing his cock and wanting him to ruin you. The second he hears your pleas, he thrusts into you harder, setting a brutal new pace that has you crying for him.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, m’love.” He speaks so sincerely that you feel a surge of emotions welling up inside, an overwhelming urge threatening to bring tears to your eyes.

Overcome with your emotions, you reach for Sirius’ hand and interlace them together before Sirius presses your clasped hands into the sheets. His headboard thumps against the wall rhythmically.

“Need you to fill me up. Please.” You plead desperately, and Sirius curses, his voice rough and strained.

“Shit, that’s my girl. Want me to fill you with my cum?” It's the praise that pushes you over the edge. Your back arches, pressing your breasts into Sirius’ chest and your legs tremble.

“Doing so good f’me.” He’s close behind you. Your tight, wet walls clenching around him is what does it for him.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna cum. Fuck.” Sirius moans, burying his head in the crook of your neck as his hips stutter and you cry out at the feeling of his warm cum filling you up. You clench his hand tightly, your nails likely leaving imprints on his skin. A sob escapes your lips, and your fingers weave through his hair, a desperate attempt to draw him closer.

You both remain entwined, lost in each other's embrace as you gradually come down from the euphoric highs. The room resonates with the sound of your intertwined breaths, each one heavy and labored. Your body feels utterly slack, every muscle loosened, and you're so relaxed that you could easily doze off at any moment.

Sirius presses a couple of tender kisses against your neck, eliciting a satisfied hum from you. When he withdraws from you, a wince escapes you as you feel the separation, and Sirius’ eyes dart up to you in concern.

“Y’okay, sweet girl?”

“I’m okay, just sore.” You grace him with a sweet smile, and Sirius leans in, gently pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Gonna get a towel, one second.” He assures you, rising from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. You listen to the faucet running and the faint sounds of the cupboard opening and closing. Lying back, you gaze up at the ceiling, absently nibbling on your thumbnail until a smile breaks across your face at the thought of what just happened.

“Here, love.” Sirius says, sitting on the edge of the bed holding a washcloth in his hand. He’s got a fresh pair of pajama pants on, you didn’t even notice him grab clothes from his trunk, too lost in your thoughts.

Sirius gently grips your ankle, encouraging you to spread your legs. His breath hitches at the sight of his cum dripping out of you and onto his sheets, desperately hoping to see this sight again. He murmurs a curse under his breath, his touch gentle as he delicately uses the warm washcloth to clean between your thighs.

“There.” He whispers softly before aiding you to sit up. As you glance over, you notice the t-shirt and pajama pants laid out beside him, meant for you. Your heart swells with warmth as he assists you in slipping it over your head. With a grateful smile, you slide into the pajama pants. Meanwhile, Sirius utters evanesco to fix the sheets up, before joining you in bed.

“C’mere.” He beckons to you, sinking into the pillows, and you nestle against him, finding solace as you rest your head on his chest.

In the silence, you both relish the comfort of each other's embrace, enveloped in a cocoon of intimacy. Lost in contemplation, your mind wanders, grappling with what just happened and what that meant for the both of you.

"That wasn't just a one-time thing, was it?" You inquire, the hopefulness evident in your tone.

"No," Sirius responds, tilting your chin so you can meet his gaze. "I want you to be mine, for real this time."

The fluttering butterflies that dance through your stomach are overwhelming as you absorb his words. A lovesick grin spreads across your lips, unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you, “Then I'm all yours."

You settle back into Sirius, and his arms hold you against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your head lull you into a serene state, the sound of his steady heartbeat serving as a soothing lullaby that guides you into a peaceful sleep.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"I'm sorry, so you asked us to fake it not for Lily, but for Sirius and I to get together?" You gaze at James, confused, knitting your brows, while he sits opposite you at the table. Remus and Sirius are absorbed in their own conversation, and Peter is having breakfast with the girl he harbors a crush on. Despite their current status as friends, Peter seems overjoyed nonetheless.

James grins, casting you a smug look. "I mean, Lily genuinely thought you and I were a thing. At first, it really was because Lily thought we were together, but then I realized that this was the perfect way to get you and Sirius together.”

“James! So you lied to us?” You huff in disbelief.

James shrugs nonchalantly, his demeanor radiating an air of casual indifference, “You already knew I lied to Lily; what’s the difference?”

You sigh softly, "That's true, but what about you and Lily? Are you two getting together?"

James smiles, “We’ll get there eventually. This was more about you and Sirius. And before you start, yes, I’ll tell her the truth.” He sends you a pointed look, and you chuckle, already preparing to remind him to come clean to Lily.

"You're certifiably insane." You tease, exhaling a laugh.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? You got the guy.” James watches with delight as a lovesick smile effortlessly graces your face before you steal a glance at Sirius.

"Oh, hey. Pick up your clothes next time you're napping with Sirius," He remarks casually, but the emphasis on the word napping lets you know that he's fully aware there was more happening than just sleep. "My shoe got tangled in your bra."

[inklingofadream]

chapter 17 of polychives is literally like 8 paragraphs from being done but i wanna wander off to write melanie pov insteaddddd

[cleo-fox]

Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

*

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?”  he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

*

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation. 

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later. 

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together. 

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

*

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it. 

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

*

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh. 

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net. 

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly. 

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar. 

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say. 

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants. 

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. 

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine. 

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you  and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

*

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee. 

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.

[fushitoru]

rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy nights with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen��-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

[dmitriene]

cw: dubcon (?), reader is something akin to a hybrid.

simon riley picks up a stray, a small kitten that was balled up in some small, carton box in a narrow alleyway, black fur clumped together with grime and wetness from the rain, seeing the little thing all soaking under cold weather makes him feel a tiny spark of something unfamiliar smoke bitterly behind his ribs, so he picks the stray with him.

he almost gets his eyes clawed out, little claws digging into the skin of his scarred hands and shirt, trying to flee away with skittish hisses and loud mewls, but he still bundles the kitten, hiding the stray behind the thick fabric of his coat, calloused fingers scratching behind small, tightly pressed ears purposefully, making the amount of self protective noises subside to tiny growls.

simon tidies to the thing, washes the soft fur as softly as possible, untangling the thick clumps, making the water turn as black as the color of the fur, before curling the kitten in a big, fluffy towel that soaks all the wetness, carrying it to the kitchen, and the little stray already purring loudly in his hold, curled in the crook of his elbow as he enters the kitchen.

he feeds the stray with chunks of sausages from the fridge, simon doesn't has anything better, yet the little thing swallows it's all down with rumbling purrs and loud chewing sounds, mingling with small possessive growls, afraid someone gonna take it from her, but simon only pats the little thing at the head, before scooping the kitten up once all the sausages gone.

simon wakes up at morning to the small, pointed nails raking against his abdomen like talons, kneading at his skin under the crumpled shirt, his body sweating with warmth knotting beneath his navel, scorching deep in his gut, and when he opens his eyes, trying to lift himself on his elbows, he's greeted by pretty thing bouncing on his cock, thick girth buried deep down in the hot clutches of gooey hole.

his hands move to grip onto your round hips, squeezing at the fat, and your pussy clenches at the sudden movement, the fat tip of his cock jamming against your spongy spot as you bounce up and down, your soft ass plapping onto his thighs that is still covered by his pajama pants, as simon growls, biting at his thin bottom lip as his cock jerks, pale eyelashes fluttering with an urge to roll his eyes back.

simon doesn't knows who you are and how did you get inside, sleep hazed mind trying desperately to comprehend the events, but then there's thin, black tail swishing behind your back, rubbing against his leg and crumpled sheets, tiny ears peeking from your hair, pressed tightly against your skull as you gasp, canting your hips with jerky, rolling movements, and you start to mewl whiny, strained gratitudes.

your movements increasing, turning sloppy, and simon can't do anything but grasp tighter at your hips, helping you to rock down on his throbbing cock, squelching wet at the amount of the oozing slick that coats your puffy, spread folds, wetting his curly pubic hair, as his tip grazes just one more time against your little gooey spot, before you cum, clamping tightly with ripple of your warm walls around his jerking cock, gushing.

simon fills you up, reaching his climax right after yours, making his whole body shudder, as you pump your hole full of his milky cum that spills from your tight, fat pussy, holding him in a vice just right, rumbling purrs that vibrate against his chest, calling him your handler, and as your fluffy tail curls around his thigh, and you rub your face against the crook of his neck, he knows he picked more than just a simple stray kitten.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[igbylicious]

consumed [san x reader]

pairing: vampire ! San x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, angst, vampire au, darkfic

summary: After getting a taste of your blood, San dedicates himself entirely to you — whether you want him to or not.

wc: 5.6k

general warnings: non-con elements, pheromone-induced ‘consent’ but reader resists at first, blood drinking, reader’s blood literally drives San crazy, he is delusional and obsessed and thinks it’s love, abduction, mention of San killing a nameless stranger to feed on

smut warnings: somnophilia, praise kink, body worship, vaginal fingering / sex, creampie, spanking, cum feeding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, scratching, petnames for reader (darling, sweet girl, angel, love)

a/n: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! reader is afab & she/her pronouns are used

“You’re not supposed to keep them around this long, San.”

Yunho does not speak the words unkindly, though his disapproval is plain to hear.

“She’s different,” San says quietly, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand why Yunho can’t see that.

They’re standing in the wide, spacious living room of San’s penthouse; decorated in an elegant, bare minimalism that leaves no doubt over the many digits in his bank account’s credit balance. Yunho hangs back by the exit to the foyer, like he already knows he’ll outstay his welcome with this topic of conversation.

San is not looking at him, staring out the floor-length window with his forearm leaned against the glass, tinted with a special filter for his safety during daylight. But the sun has not risen yet, though the city is already bustling with activity in the early morning. From this height, San can barely make out the specks of people on the sidewalks and in their cars; their minute size reflecting their significance.

No one else in this city matters. Only you.

“She’s already growing immune, isn’t she?” Yunho remarks, annoyingly astute.

The corner of San’s lips twitches.

Yunho’s objections are irrelevant, he tells himself, deafening his ears to the truth in that question. He has to, if the alternative is to give you up. He can’t.

Ever since San found you, a chance meeting at a hotel bar, he has been enamoured by you. Your tinkling laugh, the sway of your hips, that wicked glint in your eyes when you realised his interest. You made him work for it, to persuade you up to his room, but not too hard. Just a little game, both of you pretending that you hadn’t decided to fuck yourself senseless on his cock from the moment you laid eyes on him.

Yes, he’d been taken with you from the start — but it wasn’t until the elevator ride up to his hotel room that San realised you were more than just a simple, if particularly delectable, meal.

There San had gotten a proper whiff of you, undiluted by the smells of food and drinks and other patrons.

You’d moaned when he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, nerves creeping into the edge of your voice. You had also finally realised that San was more than just a simple, if particularly delectable, one-night stand; some primal part of your brain warned you of danger.

It hadn’t mattered at that point. You mumbled something about having left your phone down at the bar, trying to untangle yourself from San’s grip — but all he had to do was grab your waist tighter, yanking you back against his body as he testingly lapped at your jugular. San’s hunger was growing, and you had been powerless against the push of his pheromones dousing your susceptible human brain. From then on, you were a willing banquet for him to feast on.

(Still, San was generous. He still let you fuck yourself senseless on his cock.)

The longer he’d fed on you, the more he was dizzied by your scent; like he was breathing in oxygen for the first time in over six-hundred years. Your voice, sweet in your cries, pleading for him like he was the only lifeline still binding you to this mortal coil. Your taste… San never tasted anyone like you before.

Like you are his lifeline, your blood hot in his gut, saturating his veins with essential nutrition. Liquid sunlight, warming him from the inside. No one else tastes like this. No one else feels like this.

All of his plans were thrown out the window; to wipe the questionable details from your mind and abandon you before morning light. Instead he had taken you with him, given you a home, devoted himself to you with every fibre of his being.

His dedication never wavered, even when you began to resist the haze of his subjugation; when you no longer understood that everything San does, he does out of love for you.

But it’s not your fault — and San is not so fickle as to abandon you now. His loyalty is stronger than your blindness to it.

So how dare Yunho tell him it’s time to let you go?

“For fuck’s sake, at least turn her if you’re so attached to your little toy,” Yunho continues, and San’s face twitches at the blatant disrespect of you. A toy? “It’d be a kindness, and not only to her. Sannie, I’m worried about you.”

“It’s time for you to go home, Yunho. The sun is about to rise,” San says coolly, not even taking his eyes off the city skyline to see his oldest friend off.

Yunho lets out a frustrated sigh, but concedes to San’s stubbornness — for now. “This isn’t the last we’ve spoken of this,” he warns, and with that, Yunho turns away and leaves. He does not take San’s bad mood with him though; he leaves that behind to fester in San’s cold, deficient blood like a rot.

San stands alone in his luxurious penthouse, resisting a sharp urge to put his fist through the filtered glass of his window. He settles for digging his nails into his palms, a low growl escaping past his gritted teeth.

He needs you. Now more than ever.

The thought is all-consuming, hunger blazing through him. But right now, his devotion is tainted by rage, and he cannot risk to have you touched by it. San did that once, mercilessly rough as he took you; not even to feed, just to know you are his. He still has not forgiven himself for it. He never will.

But Yunho’s incessant meddling is not the only thing that has soured San’s mood — and it only makes his need worse.

San knows he has to be mindful of your health, allowing you time to recover between feedings. And so he hunted fresh prey, just a few days ago. It had been a brutish affair, sloppy and violent. San had almost gagged on the young man’s blood, a vile and repugnant liquor compared to yours, and left a scene of savage destruction behind.

(Hongjoong had arranged a clean-up afterwards, for which he’d heatedly told San off. Come to think of it, Hongjoong probably sent Yunho today too. He needs to stop fucking coddling San just because he is a few centuries younger. San could’ve handled it himself.)

Days later, the taste of inferior blood still lingers on San’s tongue, streams through his veins, and his craving for you becomes too powerful to withstand. He yearns for a sustenance and a comfort only you can provide.

No, San cannot go back to an existence without you.

Restlessly he paces across his home, through the spacious living room past the gallery and the master bedroom, all the way to a wide terrace that looks over the bay. Sometimes he takes you there, at night when the stars are bright, but the sun is already out. San ignores the terrace, heading to a relatively modest bedroom tucked into the corner of the penthouse.

A small, delicate silver key hangs on an equally delicate silver chain around his neck, resting on his chest. He takes off the necklace and uses the key to unlock the door to your room.

With his hand resting on the doorknob, San takes a deep, grounding breath. Already he can smell you through the white-painted wood, and just a faint whiff is enough to blunt the edges of his frustrations, while sharpening his hunger.

He opens the door.

Inside, he finds you laying motionless on a large mahogany bed underneath a wide, open skylight. Your nude body is sprawled over the velvet sheets, bathed in the warmth of the morning sun. At peace in your sleep. There is a golden cuff fastened around your ankle, with a long narrow chain to the wall; sometimes your confused mind beckons you to flee, to make some misguided escape attempt, but the chain protects you from making such mistakes.

San closes the door behind him as quietly as he can, careful not to wake you. Reverently, he watches your sleeping form, drinking in the sight of your steady breathing, how your skin glows in the unfiltered sunlight. Light that is deadly to him, but nurturing to you.

His eyes find the three scabbed-over bite marks on your naked body; on your neck, your inner thigh, and your wrist. San is partial to your thigh, mingling the sweet flavours of arousal and blood as he feeds, but every single one of them sings to him right now — angelic temptation.

Still, he resists a moment longer. He likes watching you sleep; the slow rhythm of your chest as you draw breath, your steady heartbeat thumping through peaceful dreams. He hates watching you sleep; to see you in a state of blissful serenity that only the oblivion of unconsciousness brings. He tries to give you that same peace in the waking world, tries so hard, but you struggle against it more and more.

He yearns to touch you, to remind you of true bliss, but even a mere step forward would make him burn in the sun’s light.

Some days he wants to. Wants to burn for you. Perhaps if you saw the true depths of his devotion, you would finally stop forgetting.

“She’s already growing immune, isn’t she?”

Yunho’s words echo through him, mockingly. Now that Yunho is gone, San can begrudgingly admit their truth. Your body is instinctively building a harmful resistance to his pheromones, like a dangerous bacterial strain resisting antibiotics. All San wants to do is cure your hurts, but your own physiology is cruelly sabotaging your happiness.

San’s fingers itch as he gets antsy. He’ll fix it. He’ll fix you. He will find a way.

He flicks a switch on the wall and the solar blinds go down. You stir at the faint whirring noise, whimper instinctively when shade encroaches on your naked body. You do not wake. Not yet.

Soon the room is engulfed in darkness, but San sees you clearly. Still, for your sake he lights a few candles, bathing the room in a different warm glow. Then he slowly shucks his clothes, dark eyes pinned on your slumbering figure.

The mattress dips as San joins you, the sheets still warmed by the sun. It makes San’s skin itch, but all discomfort fades when he turns you onto your side and curls up behind you, finding refuge in your body heat. San groans as you envelop his senses, and he noses at the bite mark on your neck.

You belong to him. It’s time to remind you of that.

Peaceful dreams still have you in their clutches, so you do nothing except sigh softly when San runs his palm over your plush thigh, then hooks your leg over his to open you up for him. A sigh becomes a moan when his fingers part your lower lips; sleep renders you almost as pliant as San’s subjugation does — even if it does not taste as sweet.

By now, San has mapped out your body’s every pleasure-point through his thorough explorations. Knows exactly how to press down against your clit to have your muscles twitching under his insistent touch. He hums in satisfaction at how easily his devoted fingers coax forth the slick between your thighs. It gives him hope.

San’s breath picks up at your heightened arousal, his otherwise useless blood rushing down to his cock. How wonderful would it be, if you are already brought under his spell once you awaken? He groans at the thought, muffling his sounds with an open-mouthed kiss against your neck. You squirm against him; your body is starting to wake, even if your mind is not quite there yet.

He suckles at the precious scab on your neck, canines elongating as he grinds against your backside. His razor-sharp teeth scrape against the scar that he has reopened over and over again — but San hisses, somehow finding the strength to pull back.

He mustn’t feed on you, not yet. Only when you want him to.

Two of his thick fingers have moved down, now buried knuckle-deep into your sopping heat. The faint squelch of it threatens to drive San mad just as much as your scent does, his every sense overwhelmed by the existence of you. He whines, barely able to keep himself from rutting into you when your hips jerk involuntarily against his fingers.

San knows immediately when you wake.

He senses the jolt in your heartbeat, hears the sharp catch of breath, feels how you stiffen in his arms. A muted shock rushes through your body as your mind tries to process what is happening to it.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” San shushes immediately, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. “It’s just me. You’re safe with me.”

But San’s dreams that you would awaken safely under his influence are shattered when you let out a pained whimper. You weakly shake your head, trembling as awareness of your current situation swiftly dawns on you. Feeble hands push at his arms.

“No,” you croak out, voice hoarse from sleep. “Hm, n-no— hmm, hmgh—“

You gasp as San’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing slow circles intended to soothe. “Yes,” he purrs. “Just let it happen, my love.”

He grunts as your nails claw at his wrist, some strength flowing back into your body as your consciousness comes back to you. Your other hand reaches to push at his face — but San’s sharp teeth nip at your fingers in warning when you almost scratch at his eyes, and you flinch away to yank at his hair instead.

Irritation and heartache pang through San’s chest at your incomprehension, and he helplessly listens to your babbled, futile protests. Soon. It will all be better soon.

“Please, stop—”

You break on the word with a wretched sob, a tear escaping your lashes. San’s heart wrenches at the sight. He does not like to see you cry, not when it’s like this. “No no no, darling,” he murmurs gently, the glide of his fingers easy through your sodden folds. “It’s okay, it will be okay… Don’t cry, you feel good — aren’t I making you feel good?”

You merely sob again, twisting against his hold, but San has you pulled too tightly against his chest. He feels your body tense, smells the unwanted pleasure buzzing through your veins. You gnaw at your bottom lip to bite down the moans rising from your lungs, but San will not allow you to fight it. He leans over your shoulder, licking into your mouth until your jaw slackens and your moans spill free. (You dare not bite his tongue. That’s a lesson you did not forget.)

“That’s it, that’s my sweet girl,” San praises. “Let me hear you.”

Your protests have died down to nothing but hitched breaths and hiccups, unable to back away from the inevitable precipice that San pushes you towards. All your instincts contradict one another, wanting to escape, wanting to chase this bright, fiery thread of pleasure until you are unravelled into nothing but pure rapture.

You choke back a throttled cry, grinding back against San’s cock. He whines at the friction, but stays focused on you; you come first. You always do. It won’t be much longer now.

He can tell by the way your thighs tremble, how your legs try to lock around his fingers. Your scent is overwhelming now; dizzying San’s mind with no thoughts of anything but to shatter your existence into bite-sized pieces. Still you try to resist, but San overwhelms you in turn, mouthing at your neck and working your puffy clit. The pitch of your moans rise, chest heaving with shuddering gasps, until you seize up with a strangled sob. Fresh slick gushes onto his fingers and San does not stop, thrusting three glistening fingers inside you to fuck you through your unwilling release.

“Please, please stop,” you sob, mewling with every aftershock that jolts through you. You beg him endlessly, convulsing in his arms — but then your scent changes, and the nature of your pleas shifts into something else entirely. “S-Sannie… please…”

The fear and nausea in your scent make way for your natural sweetness, embracing San in warm welcome as you finally call his name. He whimpers in relief.

You’re here. You’ve come back to him.

“What is it, darling?” he hums, nosing at your cheek. “Tell me, what do you need?”

“San, please, n-need…” You grasp at his wrist again, keeping him firmly in place as you falter for words. Your brain is in a haze. What do you need? Why can’t you think? One moment, everything was all wrong, panic searing through your aching nerves, and now… now…

San.

You need San.

You turn your head to look at him with tearful eyes, and smile dazedly at the fondness in his gaze, filled with heated affection. The flickering candles cast a halo of light around his face, shadows dancing over his high cheekbones and chiselled jaw.

“You… Need you closer,” you whine, aching as he smiles at you with crinkled eyes and a faint dimple. “Inside, p-please, want you inside me, San…”

The desperate yet demure request pleases him, a low noise of approval rumbling in his chest. He presses a tender kiss on your cheek, then takes out his fingers and pulls away from you.

You let out a pained moan at San’s sudden absence; to be without him hurts, the mere thought bringing about an excruciating burn inside your head. There is a strange pressure inside your skull, like a deeply buried thought tries to claw to the surface. But the pain is replaced by equal heights of bliss when San gathers you into his arms again, wrapping around you like a protective blanket.

He only moved to sit up against the headboard, now guiding you into his lap. You come willingly, eagerly, sighing in relief as his hands run over your feverish skin.

“There you go, my angel,” San rasps, restlessly grabbing at your waist to rock you into his hard cock. “So sweet, so good to me. Come, take what you want. I’m all yours, love.”

You whine at his offer and San’s lips spread into a slow, satisfied smile at your neediness. This is how it is supposed to be.

His eyes are drawn downward to your hands, and he grunts as you stroke him slowly, as though testing the warmth and thickness of him in your palm. Already he is leaking from the tip, a primal frenzy nudging at the back of his skull. Hunger.

Thankfully, you don’t make him wait long before you lift your hips and finally sink down on him. San throws back his head with a low growl, the pulsing wet heat of your cunt threatening to tear his self-control to shreds. His fangs have protracted fully, itching to seek out your veins.

Not yet, he reminds himself again, straining against his own impatience. First he needs to watch as you ride him; to see you use him for your own pleasure. To know his all-encompassing desire for you is returned in kind.

You provide him exactly what he craves.

Within mere moments, the candle-lit room is filled with your unabashed whines and the lewd slap of skin-on-skin as you bury San’s thick cock in your tight heat over and over again. Your pace is frantic, shameless in your desperation as you cling onto San’s wide shoulders, your nails close to drawing blood. The irony of that is not lost on him.

San’s head has fallen back, his jaw slack as he draws heavy breaths, utterly entranced by your depravity.

He lovingly admires the glow of sweat on your skin, beads trickling down the valley of your breasts that bounce with every snap of your hips. San is of half a mind to add a fourth bite to his collection on your body, draining you right over your heart. He licks his lips, groaning tightly when you grab his hand and move it from your hip to your backside.

San gives it an appreciative squeeze, but you shake your head and whine loudly.

Ah… message received.

You don’t flinch when San’s lips spread into a wide grin, his fangs on full display. He loves you for that.

He also loves the way your entire body jolts when his palm sharply lands on your ass. Your rhythm falters when he strikes again, your arms trembling as you struggle to remain upright.

“Want more, my love?” San croons, and draws his tongue across his deadly canines. A hot wire thrums through him when you mewl in confirmation, though he can tell you are getting tired. Stamina is not your greatest strength, not with your necessary confinement — but you always give him everything, wearing yourself out on his thick cock until your muscles give in.

Every smack of San’s hand against your rear is received with your loud keening, eyes squeezing shut. Tears streak down your cheeks, and San’s cock twitches inside your throbbing cunt. The shimmering wetness on your skin is a thing of beauty to him now; so overwhelmed by pleasure that your body seeks release anywhere, even in your tears.

San bucks up at the same time that his hand connects with your ass again, and you wail at the impact, crumpling against his chest. Weakly you cling onto his shoulders, moaning pitifully when San continues to roll his hips.

“Good, feels so good… Sannie…” you babble against his collarbone, the words tripping over your clumsy tongue. “Want… want…”

Your tongue darts out against his neck and without further warning, your teeth sink into his skin.

San grunts in surprise at the sudden sting, but then he chuckles breathlessly at your precious attempt to bite him. Your canines are uselessly blunt compared to his, only capable of breaking skin with the greatest effort — and you are already far too fucked out for that.

“Oh darling,” he coos, tipping up your chin. “Is that what you want? Then show me, my love.”

You snivel adorably, tilting your head to offer up the mark on your neck to San’s hungry mouth. Your quiet submission sears through his body, down to his crotch and his stomach, and San presses his nose against the old bite, breathing in deeply.

You whimper as he drags the flat of his tongue over the half-healed scab. Just a faint scrape of his teeth first, not enough to break skin, only to revel in the anticipation. Your heartbeat quickens, blood pulsing under his lips. San can wait no longer.

His eyes roll back with an animalistic snarl as he descends, fangs piercing through flesh with ease. He growls at the first pull of blood, metallic sweetness coating his lips and tongue as your essence floods his senses.

“Yes, yes— Ah, ah, ahhh…” You arch your back into him, slowly rolling your hips in time with San’s noisy, messy slurps. Your fingers tangle into his hair, holding him in place as he drinks deep.

Euphoria.

Pure euphoria.

Drowning in you, in the sublime intoxication. San can barely feel his body anymore, only distantly aware of you rutting tiredly into him, of how he humps upward with increasing force as he loses himself in your taste.

He does hear your cries of delirious ecstasy, right by his ear when his hand slides between your bodies to find your clit on pure instinct. With his cock and fangs buried inside you, you reach your zenith with violent force, convulsing underneath his blood-stained mouth.

San grabs tighter onto you as you writhe, forcing you to stay in place as he drinks unrelentingly. He groans at how you clench around his cock, hips stuttering when he finds release — but even that is drowned out by the frenzy of his feed, mindlessly fucking his seed deeper into your cunt while he sucks at your wound, trying not to spill any of your precious liquor.

Slowly your whines die down and you start to go limp in San’s arms, just as he grows lethargic in the aftermath of his indulgence, his hunger finally sated.

You let out a weak moan when his fangs retract with a wet sound, and for a moment San thinks you passed out; but your eyes flutter open when he pulls out and manoeuvres you onto your back. A weak rivulet of blood drips down your shoulder, but you smile up at him with glassy eyes. He must look monstrous, redness smeared across his lips and chin, but there is nothing but want in your gaze, and San thinks that perhaps his hunger is not completely sated after all.

“Did so well, my love,” he murmurs, running his fingers up your inner thigh to catch the trickle of cum leaking out. “Always taking such good care of me.”

He offers up his glistening fingers to you, and you accept with no hesitation. Tiredly, your tongue swirls around the sticky digits, taking all that San feeds you. It only seems fair to him; exchanging one bodily essence for another. He cannot give you his blood, cannot risk accidentally turning you, but at least he can give you this.

Soon his fingers are sucked clean, but you whine as San pulls his hand back, your mouth chasing after him. “N-no, San…” Your eyes glitter with unspoken pleas, and a fond pride swells inside him at your insatiable urges.

“My sweet girl needs more, does she?” San asks, bearing down on you with a pleased smile. He drapes himself over you, humming in approval when your legs reflexively part to make room for him.

You giggle when his nose brushes against yours, his sweaty hair tickling at your face. “San, you’re a mess,” you tease, running your thumb across his lips. It comes back red.

San just moans in contentment, pressing a bloodied kiss against your cheek as he slowly grinds against your cunt. Your giggles quickly turn to gasps, wiggling underneath his persistent hips. His cock is so sensitive the friction almost hurts, but it’s all worth it when you grab onto his shoulders to pull him into a kiss, heedless of his tainted lips.

Your tongue slides against his, and San laughs into your mouth when your nose scrunches up in discontent at the strong taste of blood. As insatiable as you may be, only one of you is a true vampire. Instead San kisses a trail across your jaw, down your neck. He laps at the dried blood, the wound already closed, then suckles at the surrounding skin once you are clean. His hands wander over your body, relishing your heightened responses to his touch as he slowly works you up again.

You sigh at the soft squeeze of your breasts, back arching when his thumbs play across your nipples. San luxuriates in the curves of your body, sliding down to envelop a hardened nipple in the wet heat of his mouth. He takes his time, clever but unhurried fingers teasing deftly between your thighs.

Breathy moans echo through the quiet bedroom, languid pleasure gradually shifting to something more urgent. You start grasping at his shoulders, tell him to fill you up already, and San has never been one to deny you.

He hisses as he gives his cock a few more strokes, but ignores all sensitivity to please you, to plunge his thick length back inside your sopping cunt, drenched with seed and arousal. San bottoms out in one smooth thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs. You gasp for breath as he starts a steady rhythm, careful to find the exact angle he knows will have you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

The lethargy of his feed forces San to take it slow, settling for deep, intense thrusts to have your toes curl into the sheets. He cages you between his elbows, pressing shallow kisses on your lips; and the taste of blood has faded enough that you can happily accept his mouth, tongues gliding against each other in a sloppy tangle.

You moan as San’s pace picks up, wrapping your legs around his waist. The cuff on your ankle presses against his lower back, and a tinge of bittersweetness invades San’s palate at the reminder that it’s is not always like this. But he shakes it off, choosing to stay submerged in pure sweetness for now. Enjoy the moment. Enjoy you.

The slow roll of his hips turns to powerful thrusts as his sluggishness fades, his strength now boosted by the fresh, invigorating effect of your blood. Soon the bed is rattling at the onslaught of his force — he is fucking bruises into your hips, he is sure of it, but still you beg for more, for him. He gives it all.

“So good, fucking me so well,” you keen, and San glows at your praise, spurring him on harder.

He does not slow down when you seize up around him; fucking you through your orgasm, through your body’s attempts to clamp down on him. He hisses at the tightness of your cunt but does not stop, does not relent until you’re sobbing underneath him, your hands clutching at his sweat-slicked back. His muscles ripple with every merciless thrust, low grunts escaping him as his own release draws near, but San pushes through with gritted teeth, fixated on the unrestrained pleasure that contorts your face.

Sweat drips from his hair onto your cheeks, your body jostled helplessly by the rough snap of his hips. Your voice fails you, moans catching soundlessly in your throat as you tense around his cock again. San reaches down a hand to find your swollen clit, groans when it barely takes a touch for you to release a choked up cry — and this time San can’t fight the way you clench around him. He buries his face in your shoulder as he whines, filling you up just as you’d begged him to. He grabs onto your hips to hold your squirming body still as he bucks into you a few more times, his cum leaking past his cock and mingling with your juices, smeared across your thighs and his pelvis.

With a final whine, San pulls out and collapses by your side, his legs tangled with yours.

He recovers slowly, gasping for breath, and his heart clenches when you curl up into him, wiggling yourself between his arms for his embrace.

San is not sure how long you lay there like that, with him gently patting your hair, your quiet breaths falling on his chest. Your heartbeat steadies slowly, and it pains San when he decides it is time to pull away.

As he predicted, you babble tired protests at once, weakly clutching at his arm as you beg him not to go. He allows himself a contented smile, but shakes his head at your pleas.

“You need to eat,” he points out, though he can’t resist showering you with kisses. He smothers you in affection until you’re breathless and whining — which is one way to silence your protests, he supposes — but San cannot be so selfish to stay and do it all over again. He needs to take care of you. “I’ll be right back with some breakfast, alright? You need to regain your strength,” he soothes. “After, we can take a bath together, how does that sound?”

San’s tender kisses have put a dopey smile on your face, and you nod sluggishly at his proposal. “That sounds perfect,” you admit. “Just… come back soon, okay?”

“I will,” he promises, raising your hand to his lips to press a last kiss on the scab on your wrist.

San puts on a comfortable robe that he keeps in your room for just this sort of occasion, then exits, locking the door behind him out of habit. He tries not to rush himself, but still he can’t help but hurry his steps as he picks up an already prepared breakfast from the kitchen. He does not want to return to find you have abandoned him again already.

An uneasy sense of foreboding fills him as he returns to your room. The waft of sex and blood still hangs heavily in the corridor, masking your scent as he unlocks the door again in frustrated impatience. San swallows thickly, praying his bad feeling is just that; a feeling.

But the door swings open, and San knows at once. He does not even need to smell you; your freshly tear-stained, puffy cheeks already tell him that it is too late, your heartbeat spiking harshly at his return. Your arms tremble as you inch back on the bed, subtly as though you do not want to anger him, but still putting as much distance between you and San as possible.

It takes everything for San not to recoil from your sudden rejection of his gift. His fingers clench around the breakfast tray, grief burning behind his eyes. He swears, it did not used to wear off this fast.

“She’s already growing immune, isn’t she?”

Shut the fuck up, Yunho.

San shakes his head, collecting himself. It’s no matter. He sets the tray down on a side-table, and gently approaches your shaking form on the bed. He will drag you back to him again, as many times as he has to.

[flowersforjude]

𝐇𝐞̄𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐢̄

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Jacaerys Velaryon x Sister!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | During your shared grief, you and Jace find solace in each other. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3,880

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Mature Content-Explicit Descriptions Of Sex | Twin incest, Emotional hurt/comfort, Grief, Smut: Piv, Oral(fem receiving), Multiple orgasms, Implied loss of virginity, One use of y/n.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Something I’ve been thinking about since the first episode. Sad sex is something I didn’t know I’d be into, but I’m not mad about it? This obviously isn’t connected to my other Jace fic, Dangerous Disposition, I just used the same name for the reader’s dragon. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞² | Reposting because...I can.

masterlist | read on ao3

Varaxs was restless. The closer you got to Dragonstone, the more ill-at-ease your mount grew. Your boy was a normally calm dragon, but something had him on edge. You were traveling home from The Vale, having secured Lady Arryn’s support for your mother. You would have expected him to be just as anxious as you were to be home after two weeks of treating with Jeyne Arryn.

You were gone longer than the week your mother had allotted, but you wanted to return only with the strongest alliance for her. You had sent word of when she could expect your arrival back, so she did not worry.

The waves crashed against the rocky edges of the island with relentless fury. Seemingly taking after your dragon’s nervous mood. You circled above the palace once, wanting to give him a chance to settle a bit before cooping him up in the pit.

Landing Varaxs on the grassland at the front of the palace, you took notice of how no one awaited you. A pit of dread dug its way into your stomach. Something was the matter.

Your footsteps upon the stairs did nothing to quiet the blood rushing through your ears. Rationality battled with your worry, trying to convince yourself that everything was as it should be.

But once you spotted your cousin Baela as the heavy doors swung open for you, your heart told you nothing short of a tragedy awaited you. The sound of your feet on stones echoed through the entry hall. Baela looked comforted to see you, but her eyes couldn’t hide their distress.

“Cousin,” you greeted with apprehension. “Where-”

“Come.” She simply said, taking your arm to link it with hers.

As she walked you through the halls, your hands shook with the weight of the unknown. “Who is it?” You urged her to tell you.

Baela said nothing. She just looked at you with sympathy before directing you to your mother’s rooms.

Jacaerys was the first person you saw as the doors opened.

“Jace!” You called out to him. He halted his nervous pacing, turning his eyes to you with a relieved gasp.

He met you on the threshold, hands shooting out to draw you to him. “Y/N.” He sighed into your hair as you clutched his shirtfront with trembling hands. His fingers dig into your waist, keeping you from pulling away.

“What has happened?” You whisper urgently into his shoulder.

You heard his breath hitch before he spoke. “Lucerys.”

He needed only to mutter your younger brother’s name for you to realize what was going on. Grief split your chest open as you wailed into the fabric of his shirt. Your lungs seized up in an attempt to draw air.

Another set of arms wrapped around you and Jace.

“My darlings.” Your mother said as she drew her two oldest children to her. No words about alliances were spoken. All thoughts on your shared grief and desperation for the comfort of each other. You stood there wounded around Jace, being held by both him and your mother for a century it felt like. Eventually, your limbs untangle from one another. Your tears stained your cheeks as your heart ached in a way you didn’t know was possible.

Lucerys was born just a year after you and Jace. With only that little time separating you, the three of you had been practically inseparable. Many nights were spent with each of you piled into one of your beds, refusing to sleep anywhere but together. Now you would have to learn to live with the space he left.

“You should go rest.” Your mother said gently, cradling your cheek. Her gaze flickered to Jace. “Both of you. I must attend to the Council before Daemon gets too far ahead of himself.”

“We’ve won The Vale, mother. Your Grace.” You corrected yourself.

She nodded proudly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before doing the same to Jace. You went to reach for your brother’s hand again to take your leave, but your mother stopped him for a moment.

“Watch over your sister.” She whispered to him. “We only have each other.”

He nodded, his face set with determination. He took your hand in his, your fingers linking together tightly. Drawing you closer to his side, as if even an inch of space between you was unthinkable, he began to lead you from the room.

You looked back at your mother one last time, seeing a small, pleased smile spread across her sorrowful expression.

Without a word spoken between you, you and Jace made the walk to his chambers. Your grip on his hand tightened as you crossed the doorway into his room. Your breath still hadn’t fully returned to you, and the same suffocating look mangled your twin’s handsome face.

“Jace.” You spoke with a broken voice before he pulled you to him once again. He took your face in his hands, his eyes roaming wildly over your features like he was attempting to discern if you were truly alright or not.

“I was afraid… I thought…” He couldn’t even give voice to his fears. That you had been slain as well. That he not only lost his brother but his sister too. The girl he loved.

You gripped at his shirt again, needing to touch some part of him with your own hands. “I cannot-” You were breathless, trying to regain control over your emotions. “I cannot breathe; cannot think, Jace.”

You were collapsing into yourself as he surged forward. His lips claimed yours in a way only someone who knew the very essence of your soul could. You whimpered as he slid his hands from your face to secure you against him. Wrapping around your waist like a coil.

You clung to any part of him. His chest, his shoulders, and finally resting your hands in the curls of his hair. His lips molded over yours in a messy display of your desperation to ease some of the hurt with something pleasurable.

Under all your overwhelming feelings, there was a strangeness to having Jace’s mouth on yours. You and your twin had shared a single kiss before. It was your last name day and you had found yourselves with only each other for company. In the darkness of the hall outside your chambers, he had kissed you. It was soft and quick. Nothing like your current hurried hunger.

It felt right in a way nothing else ever had, though. You didn’t know anything beyond that and frankly didn’t wish to.

Soon, the clothes separating you became too great of an annoyance. You let your hands fall from his curls to unfasten the constraints of his doublet. He caught on and went to work on the clasp of your riding gown. Bit by bit, your clothes fell away, bearing you to each other.

“My heart fell from my chest when I returned, and you had not.” Jace told you as he slid his hands up your sides. You sighed when he started to undo the laces of your shift. He pulled the fabric from your body pressing heavy kisses across your collarbone to your shoulder. He dropped to his knees to continue his path down your chest to your stomach.

Wanting to see him as well, you reached down to pull his shirt over his head. He helped you by yanking it off once you got it over his shoulders. He switched his focus from kissing your skin to the laces of your riding trousers. Pulling the strings undone before shuffling them down your legs. His eyes never leave yours. He stopped for a moment once they and your boots were off, taking you in bare before him. His gaze was drawn to the space between your legs. It was tinted with a pink blush. He just looked for a moment before standing in a rush. Kicking off his boots and then hurriedly working the laces of his pants open.

His lips devoured yours once more. Bringing your naked body flush with his. His cock rested against his stomach, rigid with want.

“I need you, Jace.” You pleaded into his mouth. Both knowing and not knowing what you were begging for. All you knew was the chasm of emptiness that grew larger every second. And the fact that Jace and only Jace could make you whole again.

Circling an arm snuggly about your waist, he picked you up. Lips still pressing into yours with a frantic need as he made his way over to the bed. Tipping you down and gently situating you atop the covers.

Opening your legs, you welcomed him as he settled between them. Hips flush with yours, and his hands going to thread through your hair. Pulling on the strands to tip your head back so he could gain access to your throat. He placed harsh, bruising kisses along the column of your neck, making you gasp when he grazed the flesh with his teeth.

You were dizzy with desire and desperation. “You can never abandon me. Swear, naejot issa. Kivio issa īlon jāhor va moriot sagon hēnkirī.” (Swear, to me. Promise me we will always be together.) His cock rocked against your bundle of nerves, making that abyss of hollowness grow larger with yearning.

“I swear it,” he vowed. “I will never part from you again.” He kissed a burning path down your body. From the pulse of your throat to the valley between your breasts to your stomach. And finally, nudging your legs further apart to continue his exploration to the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs.

You hadn’t noticed he’d gotten off the bed until he pulled your legs to dangle from the edge. You looked down and met his eyes as he kneeled before you. A question waited on your lips, but before you could voice it, Jace lowered his head to press the lightest of kisses to your center.

Any and all inquiries dissipated from thought as his tongue flicked against your pearl. His movement was hesitant, as if testing the waters of the newly discovered thirst for each other. He didn’t stop, though. His tongue returned to rake across your cunt. Licking a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A gasp tore from your mouth. Your reaction seemed to encourage him as he took a second taste of you. He then wrapped his mouth around your bud, swiping his tongue over it as he gently sucked at it.

You whine at his touch, fists clutching the sheets at first, but then deciding that’s not enough. Your fingers find themselves in his hair once again. He switched from using his tongue to taking your clit in his mouth every few seconds. Not giving you time to grow used to anything he was doing. A particularly harsh tug on your pearl had your legs closing around his head.

Moving from your clit, Jace turned his attention to your entrance. Sliding his tongue between your folds, gathering your arousal with groans sounding from him. Your back arched to move closer to his face.

“Jace!” A shameless moan slipped from your mouth. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed of the sounds he was pulling from you. Every pull and tug of his mouth on your center filled that chasm inside of you just a little bit more.

His nose nudged against your clit as he dipped his tongue briefly inside your entrance. The sensation was quick, but it had a whimper slipping past your lips and your nails digging themselves into his scalp.

Jace felt the tiny pinpricks of your nails but made no indication of discomfort. No, instead, the pain aided in driving him farther away from the cliff he dangled from. Losing himself in you as opposed to losing himself to grief or anger. The breathy gasps and whines he took from you, he collected as glittering treasures. You were perfection in his eyes; you always had been. And now he was able to show you.

The light flickering of his tongue across your clit was driving you mad. The feeling was heavy, and it was accompanied by a pool of molten fire growing in the pit of your stomach. It spilled from you, only to be collected by Jace’s tongue. He couldn’t even think about letting a single drop go to waste. He hummed against your cunt as he drank from you, his grip on your thighs becoming impossibly tight. Still switching between lapping at your entrance, to teasing your clit with the lightest jolts of pleasure. You could do nothing but lay there and whine at his every movement. Your head turning from side to side restlessly, hips moving not but an inch in his hold.

The low groans sounding from him every time you tugged on his curls only fueled your desperation. There was a cord drawn taunt in your belly, begging to be snapped free. Each kiss and pull on your pearl wound the cord tighter and tighter.

You glanced down and caught his gaze from between your legs. His eyes were dark with lust and desire as he continued his sweet torture on your cunt. “Please, Jace. Just…oh gods.” You breathed out, noticing a satisfied glint in his dark eyes.

A smirk you’ve only seen on rare occasions made an appearance, your pleading appeasing him on some level. He pressed a worshiping kiss to your clit making you jerk away from his lips slightly. “Beg like that some more, and I’ll give you anything.” His voice was low and coaxing.

You wiggled your hips, growing more and more desperate for that cord to release. And Jace found no issue with teasing you with it. “Please.” You sighed, fingers digging farther in his curls, trying to move him closer to you. “I need it, Jace. Please.”

Who was he to deny such a saccharine request from you of all people? His sweet princess, who deserved nothing less than reverence.

The peak was just within your grasp. You just needed a little bit more.

A loud cry tore from your lips as Jace took your pearl back into his mouth. He scraped it with his teeth, whether on purpose or by accident, you did not know. But by the gods, it felt good. His lips pursed around it, suckling and running his tongue over the bundle of nerves at the same time.

There was an obsessive determination in his ministrations. That unquenchable hunger strengthened its hold on him. His tongue lapping over your clit then moving to tease your entrance. His teeth kept catching on your pearl. Your thighs closing around his head told you the release was coming upon you quickly.

“Jacaerys,” you whispered breathlessly. He buried his face into your cunt, impossibly closer. The fire spilled over, causing high-pitched whines to leave your lips. As roll after roll of pleasure went through you, he continued to drink you in. Helping the bliss to stretch out longer. It lingered for a few more moments, making your thighs twitch with Jace’s head still between them.

You looked down with hazy eyes, but you could still make out the sheen of your arousal upon his face. The almost drunk look in his eyes as he rested his cheek against your thigh.

He held your gaze for a time before standing. You moved to lay back on the pillows as he rounded to the side of the bed to join you.

Now that the blazing pleasure had subsided almost completely, that emptiness returned with vengeance. Jace had laid beside you, making no movement to continue onto other things. He only pulled the blankets up to cover you. But you couldn’t stop the ache from spreading.

Grief dug its claws into your heart again. Piercing you until the pain was unbearable. You didn’t allow yourself time to think before you pushed the blankets from you, reaching out for Jace.

You pulled him down for a kiss, your arms going around his neck. He returned your affection. His lips slotted over yours and his hands coming to rest on your waist tugging you to him. The second his mouth left yours to trail down your neck, a small sob broke free.

Jace’s head shot up at the sound, eyes filling with worry. “What is it?” He asked.

You shook your head, not able to give words to the grief.

Understanding replaced the concern as Jace nodded once. “I feel it too,” he confessed. “What can I do to help?”

What can I do to help?

It brought more tears to your eyes to hear Jace’s selflessness. No thought for his own sadness; just wanting to rid you of yours.

You kissed him again, slowly this time. “Just make it go away.” You pleaded, angling your hips to press against his.

He hitched one of your legs around his hips, aligning your bodies perfectly together. Your hands danced up his arms before settling around his shoulders. Your mouths molded together, igniting the hearth of your desire for each other.

The ridgid hardness of his cock pressed into you. His breathing quickened each time you shifted your hips, trying to find some kind of friction. Soft groans slipped from his mouth to yours. He braced his weight on his forearms by your head before guiding the tip of his length just slightly into your cunt.

He looked up at you from where your bodies were joining. A question he didn’t need to voice for you to hear in his eyes. Nodding your head to let him know it was alright, that you were alright, he pressed forward. He was sure to be careful with you; your desperation not enough reason to risk hurting you.

His cock pressed deeper and deeper into you, the feeling of being split apart burning through you. But there was an underlying pleasure that came with the stretch.

A sharp exhale escaped both of you as he finally seated himself fully inside you. His arms trembled with the work of holding himself still. The blissful feeling he had was overwhelming, but he had to think of you.

Something tore inside you as he shifted, drawing out and then back in slightly. The burn was still there, but the feeling of him filling you was all you could think about. Every corner and crevice of your being was nothing but Jace. You realized that even if tragedy had not driven you both to this, you would have found your way to it eventually. There wasn’t a world where you didn’t belong to him, and he didn’t belong to you.

After checking to be sure you were ready, he pulled back slowly and began to move in a languid rhythm. You sighed out his name as you wrapped your other leg around his waist. Hands in his hair tugged at the strands, drawing a hissed curse he spoke into the crook of your neck. Your lower back arched to meet his sluggish thrusts.

Your name fell from his mouth like a needy prayer, sending a shiver through you. Your body reacts to the feel of him by erupting goosebumps down your spine.

He pressed kisses to your throat, nipping at the skin here and there. He reached a place where your shoulder and neck met, drawing the skin between his teeth. You gasped a little as he settled there.

“Jace!” You keened as he picked up his pace. The sounds of your coupling bringing a blush to your cheeks. You let one hand fall from his hair to search for his. He tangled your fingers together before flattening your joined hands beside your head and pressing them into the mattress.

Your core clenched around him suddenly, causing his breath to be stolen momentarily. He moaned lowly, thrusting into you harder, hitting against some spot deep within you that had you crying out and clenching around him again.

He looked up from your neck, locking his eyes with yours. “Ao issi ñuhon. Ao’ve va moriot issare ñuhon, pār īlon drew īlva ēlī breaths hēnkirī.” (You are mine. You’ve always been mine, since we drew our first breaths together.)

He quickened his pace more, driving into you in a way that would surely leave you sore. But you didn’t dare tell him to slow down. Chasing his strokes, you rolled your hips up to meet his, sighing as he squeezed your hand with his.

Jace had always thought you to be beautiful, but there was something otherworldly about seeing you like this. Writhing and crying out beneath him. Breathless as you greedily took the pleasure he gave you. He meant what he had said too; you were his. You came into the world together; it was only right that you remained linked throughout your lives. When he reached his hand up to withdraw yours from his hair to press it into the mattress, he imagined a ring resting on your fourth finger. The thought had him shuddering as he steadily thrusted into you.

Time lost all meaning, and neither of you had any way of knowing how much had passed. But when Jace’s pace started to falter, you knew he was close. You could tell he was trying to compose himself, maintain what control he had left. But you wanted to see him unravel. He tensed his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose. His brows were drawn together, and he had little will to put up a fight when you pulled him down for a kiss.

“Hēnkirī.” (Together.) You whispered into his mouth. “I want to do it together.”

He nodded, trailing a hand down to rub at your clit. A few more moments of Jace rocking into you, combined with his fingers on you, drove you to the end. He followed with a broken moan muffled into your neck. You felt his cock throbbing within you, thrusting gently once, twice, three times before he pulled out.

You panted heavily, his breaths ghosting across your heated skin. You threaded your fingers through his hair as you both took some time to come down from your shared high.

A giggle came from you when he began to softly kiss on your collarbone. You could feel him smile a little as he pressed his lips to you a few more times before raising his head to look at you.

His expression was one of affection, but there was a question swimming in his gaze as well. “Do you feel better?” He asked, not really knowing how to broach the subject just yet.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet.” You answered, not wanting to risk dispelling this illusive moment. Simply wishing to lay here with Jace for as long as you could and not think about anything. Because you were sure that as soon as you left this room, reality would come rushing back in.

Jace nodded in understanding before resting his head on your chest. “It can wait until tomorrow,” he agreed.

You wish you could stop time completely or turn it back. But you couldn’t, and all you could do was cling to Jace’s comfort until the pain came knocking again.

I debated heavily on posting this or not, but I don't have anything else ready to post so enjoy!

[writeroutoftime]

our family

pairing: tyler owens x fem!reader (requested by: @piratejakesgf)

summary: it's the first morning tyler is going back to storm chasing after the birth of your daughter and he finds he needs some reassurances in the nursey.

warnings: none (though not proofread lol)

words: 0.7k

a/n: oh my goodness, thank you for this request!! it was so sweet and fun to write! imagining this man as a father truly made me swoon! please enjoy!! 💕

oOoOo

The sun slowly began peaking over the skyline - a gentle nudge to those still asleep that morning was soon arriving. Not included in that group was Tyler Owens. Instead, he stood in the baby pink nursey, staring down in the crib at his seven-month-old daughter. His finger stroked over her soft cheek, memorizing every breath she took.

Tyler thought the moment he met and fell for you that his life was changed forever. But it changed all over ago seven months ago when he held his daughter for the first time. It was then that he knew nothing in his life was more important than being there for his two girls.

He could feel the anxiety building in his body the longer he stood and simply watched. Tyler knew that eventually he was going to have to tear himself away from her, from you, and get back out to chasing. And dep down, he truly was excited. To be back with his team, doing what he loved. But it all felt so much more complicated now.

He went through a similar spiral once 'I love you's' were shared between each other. It was so easy to go out in the middle of a damn tornado when there was no one waiting for him. And now there were two people who would be waiting to for him to make it home safely.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Tyler didn't hear you shuffle into the nursey. It was only when you wrapped your arms around his frame and pressed your cheek against his sturdy back that he found himself relaxing the tiniest bit.

"Morning, darling." he whispered, letting go of the crib railings in favor of grasping your hands with his.

Your response of incoherent mumbles brought a much-needed smile to his face. Carefully, he untangled your limbs and turned you until your sleepy face met his green eyes. He titled his head forward so his forehead could rest against yours, soaking in this quiet moment.

"How you feeling today, cowboy?" you whispered, not wanting to shatter the bubble that encompassed you both.

Tyler sighed and stepped back so he could pull you into his chest. "I, I don't know if I'm being honest." he confessed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to be back out with the team again, but..."

"But?" you prompted, offering Tyler a space to just think and talk with zero judgments.

"But, I also don't want to leave the two of you. I mean what if something happens here while I'm gone? O-or what if something happens to me while I'm out there?"

You took a moment to carefully craft your response. "I can't say that I won't be worried while you're out there. But that's nothing new. I know you're going to do everything in your power to come home to me - to us." you said, your voice firm.

"Of course I will." Tyler vowed

"Well, we'll be waiting for you when you come home. And that'll just mean the reunion is that much sweeter." you told him with a sly smile.

Greedily, you pushed forward until your lips met Tyler's chapped ones. He responded immediately and held you impossibly tighter. The kiss was long and full of passion, both of you expressing everything that couldn't be said. Love, passion, and promises of more early morning kisses to come.

You eventually pull away and swayed slightly in the nursey as Tyler still held you tightly. Though he felt more relaxed, you could tell there was something he was holding back. As gently as you could, you grasped his chin in your fingers and forced him to look at you.

"And, when you come back home, if it still doesn't feel right - we'll figure it out. We're always here for you, whatever it is you're going to do."

Tyler nodded, teeth caught on his lips as he tried to hold back his tears. "What would I do without you both?" he asked with a small laugh. And when he got into his truck and turned back to see you and your daughter waving goodbye to him, he knew he'd make it back to you whatever mother nature threw his way.