#AND I JUST RUSHED BACK TO MY APT-

[nanamiskentos]

(JUST MEET ME AT THE) APT! — gojo satoru minors dni. art by chitrartum on twt.

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (a) and let the show begin !

prologue. → your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. never drive, no matter how little alcohol is in you folks!!! never!!! making out, creampiè, hooking up with a stranger, ovèrstimulation, mildly rough sèx, gojo won't tell you what his job is

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. apt — rosé & bruno mars

a/n. reader lowkey a hater, i love vanilla vodka eggnog </3 i said i was gonna post on 02/12 and i kept my word, literally rushed to finished this before my clinical exams in the cardiac ward 😭😭😭😭😭😭 hope y'all stay healthy. your future surgeons are writing gojo smut on tumblr.com

mp3. don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now? sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. all you gotta do is meet me at the apartment (아파트) !

you think your friends would kill you if they knew this was how you were spending christmas eve. not at some glittering holiday party, nor tucked away in a snow-dusted cabin. but here, holed up in a dimly lit bar with an atmosphere so questionable it should come with a warning label alongside a health and safety audit.

the place had charm, if your definition of charm included scuffed floors, a jukebox stuck on 'last christmas' and a string of blinking lights that looked like they'd been thrown at the walls rather than hung. still, you'd swiped a couple of minty candy canes from a jar near the door, which felt like a win.

your phone sat resolutely off in your bag. self-preservation. no instagram, and no tacky mirror selfies from your scumbag ex with the same smirk he'd worn a month ago when you caught him cheating. with someone who had always been 'just a friend, babe!' you weren't keen to let that ruin the rest of the night, though if you were being honest, you had already let it ruin a good chunk of the month.

"another christmas vodka...sour, please," you squint at the messy chalkboard above the bar, where the christmas specials were scrawled in what would barely pass for handwriting.

the bartender gave a single, surly nod. he looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere free of customers nursing post-breakup bitterness like a fine wine.

and so, you found yourself staring at the tall glass now sitting in front of you, studying the rosemary sprig that swayed lazily in the translucent red liquid. a few cranberries bobbed among the ice cubes like they were on some tiny festive raft.

"woah, that one's way too strong for me."

the voice interrupts your private session of wallowing. you turn your head, slowly, to take in the culprit. he-who-hath-disturbed-the-peace. a man sitting close enough to be annoying, but not close enough to invade your personal space.

it takes you a moment to process the stranger, mostly because of the brain freeze from your ill-timed gulp.

"i mean, it's not bad," you shrug, hoping to sound neutral enough that he leaves you be. but then because you just can't leave well enough alone, you gesture at the specials board, "better than...that, at least."

you jab a finger at the chalk-scrawled abomination: vanilla & peppermint vodka eggnog.

the man frowns, a sharp but somehow charming movement that's overshadowed by the dim lights, "hey, i ordered that one."

you blink like a startled bovine, before breaking into a laugh, "my bad. i'm sure it's really fuckin' delicious."

the stranger chuckles too, a soft and low sound that seems more genuine that it has any right to be, "i hope so. otherwise, this is gonna be a long night."

the man finally shifts, casting aside the dim shadows that lay over him, into the blinking string lights. broad shoulders framed by a dark, tailored jacket that hugs him like a second skin. his hair, startlingly white, was pushed back by — wait, was that a blindfold?

you stare longer than you should have, trying to piece the odd sight together. a cosplay? a k-pop idol wannabe, hoping to get recruited for the next bts tour? perhaps, he was blind, hard of sight? you start to open your mouth, wondering how to phrase the intrusive and awkward questions, but he beats you to it.

"i can see you just fine, y'know," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

your cheeks burn at the realisation that he's caught you gawking shamelessly. so you quickly turn back to your drink, suddenly very interested in the cranberries floating in the glass.

the bartender returns, sliding the stranger's drink onto the counter with an audible clink. it was the most obnoxious cocktail that you'd ever seen. a martini glass filled with frothy, pale liquid and crowned with a cinnamon stick that jutted out like the mast of some ridiculous holiday ship.

you watch, mildly horrified, as the man picks up the glass and downs half of it in one confident gulp. he sets it down a satisfied sigh, and a smack of his glossy lips, and you wrinkle your nose involuntarily at the sight.

"i swear it's good," he says with a laugh, catching your expression. his grin is wide, playful. and you find yourself smiling back despite your sour, gloomy mood.

he has a nice smile, you note. not forced nor smug, but genuine. framed by pale pink lips that curl up in an easy, natural way. it was strange though, to look at someone without seeing their eyes.

"i'm gojo, by the way," he offers, his voice smooth and lightly amused once more, as if he'd caught you studying him again.

your gaze drops to his hands, long and slender, tracing the rim of the martini glass. something about the way they move — elegant and deliberate, hold your attention a moment too long for propriety. you quickly snap your focus back to his face, "what brings you here, gojo?"

gojo shrugs, and you can almost imagine him rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold, though you doubt his ire is directed at you, "work, i guess. or maybe i just got bored of going to work."

"they're working you hard, yeah?" you ask, trying for sympathy. employers loved squeezing their workers dry during the holidays. your own boss was proof enough of that, running the office like a sweatshop for santa's unpaid elf labour.

"something like that," gojo says with a scoff, the corners of his mouth quirking up again, "what about you? what brings you here? it's christmas eve, isn't it?"

you sigh, the weight of gauche embarrassment suddenly pressing down as the words spill out before you can stop them, "my ex-boyfriend cheated on me."

gojo's lip curls, the kind of expression that balances perfectly between pity and disgust, "that sucks," he offers. profound and wise, you have to agree as he continues, "you jus' find out or something?"

the question makes you cheeks heat, and you fiddle with the edge of your drink, "no, i've known all month." you gesture vaguely towards your purse, where your phone sat like an unsealed pandora's box, "but he posted...on instagram. and stuff. i'm still, y'know, getting over it."

gojo makes a thoughtful clicking noise with his tongue, "ah, see, i don't do social media. but that sounds rough."

you let out a weak huff, "yeah, well...now i just feel like a loser. my friends told me to go out and have fun, and here i am..." you trail off, downing the rest of your cranberry vodka in a single, decisive gulp. the sting hits your throat, sharp and sour, and you grimace at the burn.

gojo frowns slightly, leaning in just enough that you can hear how his voice softens, "i don't think you're a loser." the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, pulling your gaze back to him, "it's fair to wallow."

his words hang in the air, and you find yourself smiling, albeit thinly, "that's...really nice of you to say."

gojo hums thoughtfully, "i meant it, i promise. but i can't exactly say i've been there, never really dated anyone."

you blink, openly gaping at the man, "really? you're joking."

it was hard to wrap your head around that. even with the odd blindfold, everything about him screamed 'pounce-worthy'. the broad frame, the charming smile, the striking white hair that looked like it belonged in a kérastase commercial.

gojo laughs at your incredulous expression, "same old work and stuff," he explains with a casual shrug. then his grin fades, tone shifting just enough for you wonder why that feels as though the clouds have covered the light of the moon outside, "always got in the way."

"at least you never had to deal with a breakup," you offer, trying to find some weak, silver lining.

gojo frowns, his pale complexion now tinged with a faint red flush that even the dim bar lights couldn't disguise. was he really that much of a lightweight, or was the eggnog's amaretto content deceptively boozy?

he sighs dramatically, "a friend once left me outside a kfc in shinjuku. then he became a murderer and a cult leader. that felt like a breakup."

"huh," you murmur, staring at the man with a mixture of amusement and faint alarm, wondering if you'd seen any cult leaders on the evening news lately. no, nothing save for the occasional incorrect weather report, a friendly good-looking priest running some scam association, and news reports about an octopus that could predict the lottery, "that's - well, okay..."

you couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not, but gojo seems to shake himself free of the odd reverie. he's running his hand through his shock of white hair, and his grin has returned, slower and a touch softer, "still, your ex must've been crazy. letting go of a pretty girl like you?"

the words land with surprising weight, considering they come from a stranger in a sleazy bar, but it leaves you momentarily stunned. you can feel a blush rising to your cheeks, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip before you manage to get a grip on yourself.

"wow," you laugh, feigning composure as you sip the last remnants of your drink, "smooth."

gojo's smile is wider now, "hah, i call it like i see it," and his lips now curl upwards as he leans in, "and i'm serious. if i had someone like you..."

you laugh again, but this time it's far more unsteady. you wonder if the cranberry vodka is playing with your head, "big words for someone who's never dated. should i be impressed, gojo?"

gojo's chuckle is a deep sound that vibrates in his chest, "i know a good thing when i see it. you don' need to date to know what you want. and i think i want you."

your stomach does a little flip, and you feel all rationality being pounded out of you just from staring at his unfairly gorgeous hands rest on sturdy thighs, "you do flattery well, i'll give you that."

"oh, i don't know about that," gojo says, fiddling with the stem of his glass, "but what'dya say we get out of here? how about my place?"

you blink slowly, and you're aware that your heart (and...nether regions) have already composed an answer before your mind has, "what if you're a serial killer? you're not about to silent night, deadly night me, are you? you haven't killed someone have you?"

for a moment, the man stills but then gojo leans back, "smart girl. asking the right questions. but no, i can at least promise that i'm not a criminal."

you hesitate just for a beat, the words lingering on your tongue, before you let out a breath and shrug, "fine. where's your place?"

"azabu," gojo replies without missing a beat, his tone smooth, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

you gape once more, blinking as you try to process the information. azabu? as in tokyo's ritziest neighbourhood, where a one-bedroom apartment could cost you more than most people's yearly salary? the kind of place where the floors are made of marble, and everyone's shoes are more expensive than your entire wardrobe?

gojo, ridiculously handsome despite looking like a circus runaway, too charming for his own good, and not the type you'd expect to find in a cheap downtown dive bar. definitely not on a christmas eve, at least.

for a split second, you wonder how a man like him even ended up in a place like this. maybe it's some kind of self-imposed penance. or he likes to keep things low-key when he's pretending not to be rich? maybe he's looking to cosplay a succession character?

whatever it is, it's working. not only does gojo have a face carved from marble, now you've got a solid ticket into seeing what a neighbourhood for the top one percent really looks like beyond it's wealthy exterior. maybe, you'll bring back a souvenir.

you wonder whether there's a group of small emotions standing around inside your head, inside-out style. glaring at you as if you're incapable of making good and rational decisions.

well fuck that, you gather yourself and shrug off the small wave of nerves, and loop your purse strap around your finger, "alright," you say, "let's get out of here then."

you don't miss at how the adam apple of gojo's throat bobs for a second, before he downs the rest of his drink in one go, "let's get outta here then."

you follow him out into the cold, your breath fogging in front of you as you try to focus, but the man is tall, like ridiculously so. but when you reach the curb, he turns to face you again, a frown marring his face.

"so, i have a small confession."

i changed my mind and i find you repulsive.

i was paid by your ex to do this, and now i've done enough to get my money.

i'm a serial killer.

you don't know which possibility is worse, "huh, a confession? what is it now?"

gojo chuckles, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, as though he's about to spill a dark secret into the night air, "i don't have a car."

"you've got to me kidding me. how'd you even get down here?"

gojo shrugs, a casual and almost lazy movement. and you feel your gaze lingering on his shoulders. broad, impossibly wide, the dark jacket hugging him in all the right places, like it was tailor-made to showcase just how much he filled it out.

"someone dropped me off. ages ago," like it was the most normal and rational explanation in the world.

your own laugh is short, a little disbelieving, but you pull your silver keys from your purse, "well, i guess i'll have to drive then. but what would you have done if i hadn't been here to save the day?"

gojo steps to the side, opening your own car door for you with a small flourish and exaggerated bow that makes your heart jolt again, "probably teleport back home. maybe fly, since the skies look clear."

what a weird guy. hot, but weird. he seems like the type to dress up with a fake beard and show up as gandalf at the next lord of the rings fan convention.

in the driver's seat beside him, you catch yourself staring too long. your gaze slipping over a model's jawline, the white of his hair being held up by the blindfold. even his vaguely expensive scent is disorienting, pleasant like pine and blackcurrant. but it's also hard not to be amused when he's furrowing teeth into plush pink lips out of concentration, pressing an address into your cracked gps screen.

well, merry christmas to you.

gojo's place is well...how do you say this? gorgeous doesn't quite begin to cover it. he leads you into the building with the ease of someone who knows every inch of it, tossing a casual smile over his shoulder as he swipes a key card to unlock the private elevator, "i tend to move around a bit. or stay in different places. keeps life exciting, don't you think?"

you step into the elevator alongside him, the polished mirrors reflecting the soft glow of gold accents and sleek, modern lines. his hand hovers over the control panel before he presses the button for the top floor. of course, it's the penthouse.

"you move around a lot?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, "what, like a restless billionaire or something?"

gojo smiles, leaning casually against the steel as the elevator begins its smooth ascent, "now you're exaggerating."

the elevator finally dings, and gojo steps aside, offering an exaggerated bow as he gestures for you to exit, "after you, my fair maiden."

you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of it, but there's something so endearing and charming about how he pulls it off, especially when paired with the unfair symmetry of his face.

floor to ceiling windows dominate the far wall, revealing a jaw dropping panorama of tokyo's skyline. the city stretches out in a glittering sea of lights, with the tokyo tower glowing a golden exclamation point against the velvet night sky. the interior is just as impressive, with polished wood floors that gleam in the warm light and a glass dining table that sits beneath a sculptural chandelier. that same faint scent of blackberry and pine lingers in the air, heady almost.

behind you, gojo strolls with an easy and languid grace, tossing his jacket onto an artisan leather armchair. beneath it, his sky blue dress shirt clings just right and rolled up to reveal forearms faintly dusted with pale hair. you think you've momentarily forgotten how words work, and you avert your gaze quickly. though not before catching the faint smile on his lips.

"not bad, huh?" gojo says, heading to the open kitchen as though he's unaware of the effect he's having on a rational and sensible mind such as yourself, "it's no dive bar, but i'll do."

you shake your head, bewildered. trying to process how someone you met in a dingy bar could live somewhere that looks like it belongs in architectural digest. even down to the odd, ancient looking pieces that scatter the wide living room. weird looking artifacts of some sort. maybe he's also a collector? go figure.

"not bad?" you repeat, incredulous, "gojo, this place is incredible."

the man laughs, opening a sleek fridge to grab a bottle of water, "i have good taste," he says with mock modesty, his tone teasing as long fingers twist off the cap, "and a thing for gorgeous views. though, between you and me, i'm not great with heights. ironic, i suppose. paying a fortune for a view i'd rather not get too close to."

he waves a hand vaguely towards the windows, the blindfold still firmly in place.

"so, what's the deal? did you win the lottery, or inherit a fortune. or are you some kinda secret agent who moonlights as a barfly?"

gojo lifts the bottle in mock toast, "let's just say i'm very good at what i do."

you arch a brow, crossing your arms and ignoring the warm flush creeping up your neck, "and what exactly is that?"

"oh, you know. standard stuff. international intrigue, thwarting evil creatures. i even saved a kitten from a tree the other day."

"right, because nothing screams the next member of the avengers like eggnog in a seedy bar."

gojo leans casually against the counter, "even the avengers need a holiday drink now and then. don't knock it." but then he gestures towards the sleek couch, "wait, you can make yourself comfortable, y'know. i'd hate for my guest to think i'm a terrible host."

"terrible host? no, but a mystery man —"

before you can finish, your foot catches on something hard, and you stumble forward with an undignified yelp. gojo reacts instantly, how does he move that fast, and his arm is shooting out to steady you. but glorious gravity and magnificent momentum has other plans.

both of you crash onto the couch, and you find yourself sprawled unceremoniously across his lap. gojo's laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can feel the warmth of it underneath your palms as you steady yourself, "well, that's one way to get comfortable," he murmurs, voice teasing as his large hand lingers lightly on the curve of your waist.

you prop yourself up slightly, cheeks burning, and glance back at the offending object. your brows knit together when you spot what looks suspiciously like a katana gleaming under the soft light.

"did i just trip on a — hey, what the hell is that?"

gojo interrupts, smoothly extending a long leg to nudge that suspicious object under the nearby coffee table before you can finish, "nothing important," he says breezily, the motion so quick you almost think you imagined it.

his focus shifts back to you, almost guilty, but his fingers are pressing divots into the fabric of your top, "now, where were we? hi."

you blink, caught off guard by how strange it is to feel the searing heat of someone's gaze underneath a blindfold, impossibly intent, "hi yourself," you manage.

for a moment, neither you nor the gorgeous man under you move, and the world feels strangely airless.

but your fingers twitch against the fine linen of his shirt. and before you can second-guess yourself, you reach your hand up to the edge of the silk fabric over his face and you ask, "can i take this off?"

gojo tilts his head, like it's a genuine consideration and you catch the faintest flicker of hesitation. it's fleeting, replaced by a crooked smile as he nods, "go ahead, sweetheart."

your hand rests lightly on the silk, hesitant for only a second before tracing its way to the back of his head. your fingers brush through impossibly soft strands of white hair, and his breath hitches when you find the knot tied neatly to the base of his skull.

you wonder what manner of man gojo is, letting himself be stitched undone by a stranger. but with care, you undo the knot, working deftly and clutching the fabric as you pull the blindfold away.

the blindfold slips free, and for a moment, you're certain you've forgotten how to breathe. bright, piercing blue eyes. framed by thick white lashes blink up at you. the intensity of such an unearthly gaze is softened by something more vulnerable, almost shy. nervous even.

"wow," you murmur without thinking, the word spilling out as gojo's expression shifts, an unguarded openness replacing the playful smirk that you've seen all evening.

your earlier assessment echoes in your mind: k-pop reject wannabe. the recent memory now feels like quite the injustice, a careless slight against a face that defies easy description. each detail of his face is striking, as if some divine hand had taken special care to sculpt him from the fabric of time and space itself.

gojo seems to sense your analysis, and you're sure that he's parted his lips to speak, but whatever he was about to say falters. that faint flush, pale-red like vermillion watercolour bleeding across a canvas, blooms across his cheeks. gojo's hazy gaze flickers for a second, and it sends a thrill through you. he's affected by this, by you.

it's hard to resist the slow smile that curves your lips, light and playful if only to mask the way your own heart is racing, "are you seriously shy now, gojo?"

gojo's expression shifts again almost immediately, as if that subtle invulnerability has been replaced by something sharper, almost indignant. he sits up a little straighter, the movement making you acutely aware of how the hard planes of his body feel beneath you.

"shy? no," gojo says, his voice steady but edged with some need to defend his honour, "i just...don't usually do this. that's all."

there's a sincerity in his words, an almost begrudging honesty that takes you by surprise. you tilt your head, as your murmur, "i don't either."

before you can second-guess yourself, you tilt your head down. pressing your lips to gojo's in a featherlight kiss. his taste is intoxicating, honey and sweet grapes mingling with a hint of that ridiculous vanilla drink from earlier. you pull back almost as quickly as you leaned in, testing the waters.

but your breath catches when you see that the blue of his eyes has deepened, darkened. and his lips, pink-blush and slightly parted, form a quiet and stunned oh!

"cool," gojo manages, his voice rougher than you expected, and you bite back a laugh as you watch him swallow hard.

"huh, cool?" you echo, your amusement bubbling over, "that's it? that's all you've got?"

gojo's grip on your waist tightens, and his hands are now splayed over your spine. anchoring you to him, as his mouth curves into something sly, though his flushed cheeks betray his composure, "compliments to the chef?"

you shift slightly, pressing more of your weight firmly into his lap. though not yet close enough to situate yourself over his groin, delighting in the way gojo's blush spreads down his neck, staining his skin a shade reminiscent of ripe berries swirling in cream.

you can feel gojo's attention as much as you can see it, how his own gaze lingers, deliberate and unhurried. taking you like a masterpiece that deserves more than a cursory glance. the hand that had been steady on your back shifts, his fingers threading through your hair. he watches as the strands slip and fall beneath his touch.

"thought you said you wanted me, gojo," you tease, though you're certain your voice is betraying the way your pulse is doing its best impression of the macarena in your jugular, "are y'gonna do something or not?"

gojo's gaze snaps back to you, a flicker of something far more intense passing through those impossibly blue eyes. full of hunger, need even. the hand in your hair slides away, only to settle at your jaw. it's warm and steady, his thumb brushing slightly over the plush of your bottom lip.

"i do want you," gojo says, his voice low and steady and maddeningly genuine, "want you to kiss me again. and again. as many times as you want until i forget my own name."

"gojo —"

"satoru," he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, stripped of any previous swagger. it's unsteady and raw, affected in a way that excites you. sends a dark heat curling low between your thighs, "you can call me that."

"satoru," you repeat softly, letting the syllables fall from your lips, unfurling in the most hazy way.

something within the man shifts. his hand tightens on your waist, dragging you closer in a way that punches the air from your lungs. right over -

oh. the thick, curve of his erection straining against slacks that probably cost more than your monthly salary. it's deliberate, almost desparate at how the invisible thread snapped inside him. unravelled the careful composure he's been clinging to until now.

"go on," gojo murmurs, his voice dark with need, "kiss me again, please."

you lean closer, eyes flickering to his lips, and your pulse roaring in your ears, "who would i be to deny you any wish, satoru?" the words come out more reverent that you'd expected, as if your entire world has been tilted off its axis.

and then you kiss him, hard. desparate. as if his lips are your birthright, a homeland to claim. and gojo's kissing you back, carrying a sweetness that seems both foreign and familiar. in an instant, the weight of another man, a dreary haze in your past, vanishes. gojo is suddenly everything you didn't know you needed, vibrant and electrifying.

"let me know if it's too much," gojo breathes against your lips, his voice shaky as if he's trying to tether himself to the earth. but your kiss deepens, frantic and unrestrained. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends sparks down your spine, and you suddenly realise you quite like the taste of vanilla when it's dripping from his open kisses.

you pull away, for every human needs air. but the sight before you has you clenching your thighs desperately around the bulge where you sit atop. gojo's gaze is heavy, full of that desparate longing that makes your chest ache. his lips are swollen, a soft cherry hue from your kisses. and strands of white hair fall over his blue eyes.

"look what you've done to me, fuck. miss you already," gojo murmurs, and before you can respond, he surges forward, hands pressing against your face with the intensity of a storm. one hand reaches to find the nape of your neck, letting you surrender to the heat of this touch.

you crave more, so much more from gojo, who's taking you in like you're his last breath, his final indulgance. it's as if he's found a new devotion in you, ready to worship you at the alter of your false godhood. but before you can part your mouth to tell him exactly what you and where, gojo's hands are already sneaking under your top, brushing against the trembling skin of your torso.

his teeth are biting down on your lip, leaving you dizzy. and gasping, and so damp in your panties as the fabric of your top is peeled away, and you're left shivering, fighting against the cold of the december air. you find yourself pressing harder into the warmth of his chest, letting the swell of your chest press flat against him.

"shoulda' turned the heat on before we came in," gojo murmurs, breathless as his lips hover a mere centimetre away from yours, "got nothin' to worry about, sweetheart. i'll keep you warm."

"didn't t-think i'd spend christmas eve like this," you gasp, your head lolling to the side as gojo presses open-mouthed kisses to the soft arc of your neck, sensitive even to the cool air.

"no?" gojo's reply is breathy, almost frantic as if he's fumbling in the heat of the moment and has little grasp over the words tumbling out of his mouth, "neither did i. but this? b-better than any fuckin' mission they could've sent me on."

you cock your head, feeling the heat of his clothed cock underneath your thighs, "m-mission, huh? what are you talking about - mmph!" but the rest of the question never escapes your lips for it's swallowed up by another one of gojo's candied kisses.

his rough hands work deftly, finding the clasp of your bra with ease. a pretty crimson thing, almost sheer as it caught the light. and in the centre, a tiny satin bow sat like the final touch on a perfectly wrapped gift. you had only worn it half-heartedly earlier in the morning, some forced christmas cheer for your dreary day ahead.

the look on gojo's face was anything but composed, staring at your cupped tits like you'd knocked the air out of him and his chest rose and fall as though he were remembering how to breathe. in a single fluid motion, your bra is unhooked. the faint metallic click barely audible over the pounding in your chest and he's tossing it aside with a casual flick, his focus entirely on you.

you find yourself mesmerised by his eyes, those swirling pools of blue that seem to have stolen fragments of the sky itself, clouds brushed into cerulean depths with strokes of syrupy smoothness. they're breathtaking, but the thought shatters as gojo's canines graze the flesh of your breasts, a sharp and teasing nip that pulls a gasp from your lips. leaves you rocking sharply against his erection, making him throw his head back, ragged.

the playful string blooms into a flush of heat, and gojo's at it again, his mouth working to leave faint red marks in its wake. you squeal, half in surprise and half in helpless laughter (and entirely in a lusty haze) but gojo only pulls back enough to murmur, "what? can't help myself."

but then he peers at you abruptly, his lips parted as he catches his breath, "wait. do you wanna —?" and gojo tilts his snowy hair towards the shadowy doorway that leads out of the living room, the implication clear even through his panting.

you nod, breathless, "yeah, jus' help me up."

without hesitation, a strong arm slides around your waist, and before you know it, you're being swept into a semi-bridal carry, and your head is resting against the fabric of his dress shirt. not a bad feeling, one you could get used to.

at the doorway, gojo lets out a low 'shit!', nudging the door open with his foot. the faint sound of clattering follows as he kicks something out of the way. you glance down from your entirely too comfortable vantage point, spotting a smattering of cheap tinsel, all glittering in metallic silver and gold, tangled with round baubles that glisten faintly under the dim light.

some have little smears of glue, and uneven glitter patches, as if crafted by unsteady hands, but with earnest effort.

"you big on christmas or something?" you tease, delighting in how the tips of his ears light up like nose of a famous reindeer.

gojo freezes for a moment, almost sheepish as he clears a path, clearly trying to look as macho as possible as he gingerly pushes aside a string of green lights, "made those for my students," he mutters, "thought they'd like them in the classroom tomorrow."

your laugh grows louder, and gojo's brows furrow, his tone growing defensive, "it's a nice surprise for the classroom!"

"i'm not making fun of you!" you insist, leaning up to press a gentle, soothing kiss to the hollow of his collarbone, "it's sweet. i think it's really nice, actually. wait, you're a teacher?"

gojo's mouth quirks up in a faint smile, "something like that," he says cryptically, finally clearing a decent and hazard-free path into a sleek, and clean bedroom. it's all modern space, all clean lines in shades of cream and white, and navy.

gojo sets you down gently, and the plush fabric cradles you as your back lands on fresh linen. and for a quiet, tender moment, you're both caught in the stillness. gojo kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly on each of your thighs as if he's anchoring himself there.

his gaze is steady, content, maybe even adoring in a way that feels too intimate for someone who you barely know. there's a warmth in his expression, like he's savouring the sight of you, searching for something — and he's found exactly what he's hoped for.

almost without thinking, you lift a hand, cupping the sides of his face. his skin is warm beneath your palm, soft with the faintest hint of pale stubble that seems to fade into his skin. the moment your hands makes contact, gojo leans into your touch instinctively, his white lashes fluttering closed.

"hey, 'toru," you murmur softly, "y'still with me?"

gojo's eyes snap open at the sound of that, sharp and bright, as if the nickname itself has sparked a challenge in him. a low and almost frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat, and he presses a feather-light kiss to the inside of your knee.

you don't miss at how his teeth sink into his bottom lip again, worrying and working the plush flesh like he's trying to steady himself. spreading your weeping thighs aside, as his gaze is fixed on something. intense, unwavering. the sheer focus of it making heat creep up your neck.

at how he must be staring hungrily at damp, sheer red fabric that clings to the outline of your cunt. at how it must shimmer almost translucently now, the sticky slick of your arousal enhancing the gloss, making your panties glisten under the light.

you're feeling an unfamiliar kind of shy under the weight of his attention, at how he must see how the fabric clings closely to your puffy, swollen folds — the delicate weave exposing the shape of your taut pussy, practically weeping for his touch.

you needn't have asked, for gojo was already diving into deliver.

he's gliding his index finger over your dripping pussy, letting the tangy syrup sink onto his fingers, leaning in to press a sweet, almost innocent kiss to your clothed cunt, "she seems desperate for me, don'tcha think, heh?"

the sound of the fabric ripping is sharp and wet, a squelching and almost fleshy tone, a sound that's both soft and sharp to the blood rushing between your ears. a strained tear of your beautiful panties, leaving cool air to gently leave a kiss of its own upon your cunt.

you gape at him, a bit too stunned to find coherent words, "hey, what the f-fuck! those were like super expensive!"

gojo rolls his eyes, the kind of look that has a bit too much attitude for someone who's practically begging on his knees for a taste of you, "don't get all huffy on me, sweetheart. 'm gonna buy you more, is tha' alright?"

"i'll r-remember that, satoru," you murmur, giving a sharp tug at his white strands, "you gon' have to give me your number now."

gojo shudders, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his tight shirt, "was already gonna," and he's back to pressing soft, kitten licks to your now exposed folds, small circles over your throbbing clit.

you buck your canting hips closer to the heat of his mouth, to where the pink tip of his teasing tongue peeks out of a pretty mouth, "satoru, c'mon. can't you just, fuck—"

you sharply cry out as he presses his mouth forward, a sudden surge of heat jolting through you. burying himself deep, his nose brushing against the sweet, syrup that coats your pussy, and the rhythmic, wet movements of his tongue send shivers through your entire being.

"mhm, jus' as sweet as you look, baby," gojo gasps, swirling and flicking his tongue, teasing you with every deliberate patter of the muscle near your winking entrance. so messy, slick and you're not sure where he ends and you begin as it all glides together carnally.

gojo seems languidly tipsy, just from munching through the gloss of your cunt, far more intoxicated from your taste than any cheap christmas liquor. he alternates between pushing his tongue past the ring of your tight walls, and then wrapping his lips around the searing pulse of your clit, leaving your hips shaking and dragging over his mouth, smearing yourself over his chin.

you're fisting delicate white locks with fierce urgency, and he hisses and then chuckles into your pussy, "tch! ease up there for me, yeah? jus' move your hips like you were doin' before," and you comply, angling yourself better so he can flatten his tongue against your folds, jaw grinding deeper into you "hah, yeah, just like that."

"taking good care of you though, aren't i? wait, say it. say that 'm making you feel good," and he's bullying a long finger into your gummy walls, clingy and sopping, "say 'm making you feel better than a-anyone ever has," and you just mewl as your arousal must surely be dripping down his forearms, staining the cuffed sleeve of his shirt as he takes your sweet juices down his throat.

there's stars beginning to twinkle at the edge of your vision, and you know you must be close, for your heart is practically dancing a heavy beat against your ribcage, and you suddenly push his mouth away, watching as a clear strand of spit or your slick forms a taut bridge between his mouth and your folds.

"w-wait, satoru, s-stop."

gojo's head lifts, eyes blinking as if coming out of a faze. but then, like a switch, something sharp flickers behind his gaze and concern floods in. his thin brows furrow slightly, glossy lips parting as he reaches out, as if to steady your hips, "you okay, sweetheart? what's wrong?"

your heart stutters, pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. you try to steady your breathing, but the tremour in your fingertips betray you as they gently slide through your hair, the silky strands tangling around your hand.

"nothin' wrong, 'toru. but i was gonna cum," and gojo's face, still flushed and soft with arousal, splits into a shy, amused grin.

"hah, i know. that's what i wanted," he's close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your aching cunt, but you shake your head again.

"feels unfair, wanna see you too. wan' you to cum in me,"

you watch, almost in awe, as a low and guttural sound escapes gojo satoru, raw and unfiltered. gojo runs his tongue over his lips, his eyes dark with something dangerously close to hunger.

"you sure?" and his voice is hoarse, unsure despite his roaming gaze. you nod, your hands digging into his shoulder, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desparate to feel the warmth of his skin underneath.

his shaky laugh of disbelief only makes you more aroused, whining for him to hurry up, and before you know it, he's standing up, towering over your boneless form on the sheets.

"how could i deny you anything?" he murmurs, echoing your earlier words. gojo's hands reach for the hem, the fabric shifting as he pulls it over his head, revealing a milky expanse of toned skin, smooth and taut over a set of abs that should easily land him on a gq list.

his waist is slender, defined in all the right places, and the soft taper of muscles make your breath catch. but the soft white trail of hair that reaches under his waistband makes your cunt clench.

"y'seem happy with the view, don'tcha?" gojo's voice is teasing, the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, but you can hear the impatience threading his tone now too. he's not as in control as he lets on, his hands now making quick work of his belt, leaving your mouth dry when he finally pushes his black boxers down.

you should have known that his cock would be as pretty and unfairly gorgeous as the rest of him. he's circling the strawberry-red tip, glowering and throbbing, right over your gathered slick, coating it and smacking the mushroom head in a thwack! over your poor clit, leaving you jolting as he laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly once more.

"jus' look at me, yeah?" his drawl is slow, lazy and so ruined. at the first inch of his throbbing cock that slips through your walls, he looks utterly undone. a mess of sharp edges softened by something far more primal and raw.

gojo's head tips back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as the moonlight cascades over you, "hey, sweetheart, 's not too much, yeah?"

hazy blue eyes bore into you, and for a brief moment, in the time it takes for the lightning to strike the earth, you swear that his eyes glow. almost radiant and jewel-like, with cerulean fractals shimmering as if they're emitting life of their own. perhaps its simply the electrifying stretch of inches that's rendering you to hallucinate, whining as your nails find purchase in milky skin and rippling shoulders.

"i-it's big, 'toru," you pant, feeling him almost shudder at the clipped name again, as he grips the base of his cock to bully the final inch in, sighing in contentment as he finally bottoms out, with a wet pop!

gojo looks feral like this, heaving a breath through his mouth as though the air is being taken from him from every second he spends stretching you out on his fat shaft, "hah, 'm glad, i'm so glad i met you tonight, sweetheart. fuck, fuck, y'feel i-incredible."

he's pushing your thighs further back, running his hands over the plush skin, leaving bruising red prints that won't disappear tomorrow as you moan, wanton into his open mouth, letting gojo run his lips down your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

you're practically now folded in half under the bulk of his weight, feeling stars collide in absolutely astrophysical ways, impaled further on the long and thick length of his cock, "in so deep, s-satoru."

seems that gojo is a man of little mercy, for he seems only all the more invigorated by your squeals, drawing his torso back to watch the hypnotic smack of skin on skin, of your slick and creamy froth creating fresh rings over his pistoning cock.

he's entirely out of control, as you feel your body go limp from the pleasure shooting through every nerve and pore.

depraved.

you don't realise you might have let that slip out loud, so dizzy in your cockdrunk haze because gojo's suddenly ramming himself roughly in you, as though he was desperate to have his cock kiss your cervix, to feel for every divot and nook of your cunt's walls.

"d-depraved, hah. people call me, fuck, p-people call me a lotta things, sweetheart," and gojo's so good with it, letting your pussy have not even one moment to take reprieve, having you feel each vein and bulge of his cock, "but depraved is n-new."

the hand that was dancing over your thighs flies to your swollen, aching clit. practically glistening for his attention, and his attention you did receive, "right, t-there! 'toru, mmph!" you're trying to splay your legs wider, giving his quick hand more room to swirl tight circles where you needed him most.

your double-vision gaze lingers on the ripple of his muscles, the way his arms flex and shift as he seems intent on angling you just right for him to drill his cock over and over, at some freakish and feverish pace, "y'so good, gojo," you purr, and your nails curl against his arms, pressing just enough to leave tiny crescents in his skin, the faint dampness of his exertion clinging to him, "s-so strong!"

something shifts. the glow is back, electric blue flooding his eyes like crackling storm clouds. it's almost unnerving, this unearthly brightness, as if he's some ancient god wrapped up in human skin, and you've just stumbled into a divine revelation.

gojo stills for the briefest moment, the thick head of his cock snagging on your puffy folds as he draws himself almost entirely out. the absence of motion makes you whine, an airy and impatient sound escaping your throat. that hesitation feels like a tease, like a string that's been pulled so taut, before he finally dives forward, capturing your mouth in a messy, heated kiss. sloppy in its disregard.

"s-so strong, huh?" gojo's voice is rough, shaky, as though he's trying to centre himself but your tight pussy holds him in hypnotic sway, "y-you think so? think i'm the strongest?" his lips brush yours as he speaks, and there's something almost boyish and charming in the way that he seems to be fishing for a compliment, despite the low heat in his voice.

you pull back from his wet, spit-stringed lips. just enough to wrap your hands around his neck and push him closer, deeper into you as he gutturally groans, "if i s-say yes, are y'gonna keep showing off?"

gojo's laugh is short, breathless, "y-yeah, wanna see?"

he makes quick work of pushing himself back into you, pumping himself so far in that your slick must be painting and sopping the white hairs at the base of his cock almost translucent, "o-oh my god, 'toru, fuck, oh my god!" the stretch has your head spinning, as if the skies are parting above you, and you're melodramatically left to see the light of divinity as gojo bucks his hips harshly into you. as if he's too far gone, needs to prove himself to you with a good fuck.

"you h-have to say it," gojo stutters, his words tumbling out so quickly, like rough gravel, "say it, fuck, c'mon. say i'm — say i'm the s-strongest. you have to, hnghh, god. please, jus' agree, okay?" his voice is cracking, that cocky veneer entirely shattered under the weight of his rambling desperation as he practically rummages through your sopping insides, "y-you feel it right, i mean, you can feel me — i mean."

a high whine escapes your throat as his pace becomes almost olympian, and you wonder faintly how you haven't managed to sprain a muscle or break a bone yet, how he hasn't managed to shatter something with the sheer pace and force of how gojo satoru fucks, "hah, 'toru. i'm —"

"close? g-god, i hope so. 's what i want. nothing, like n-nothing feels better than this right?" his words are falling out of him in a messy, pussydrunk rush, his eyes flickering between your face and down to where your pussy lips are bulged around his shaft, "so good, right? the b-best thing you've ever —"

you truthfully don't even hear the rest of his words, blood absolutely roaring and rearing in your ears, your ribcage as you feel the tight coil snap, letting out short, slurred snaps of his name when you cum. as he doesn't quite let up on smacking his hips right against your ass, "s-satoru, 's getting s-sensitive, oh, fuck. fuck!"

he's suddenly whining, with pleading and erratic blue eyes chasing after you, sloppily pushing down so he can gasp and pant into your open mouth, before capturing you in a heart-stopping kiss as he finally gets milked dry by your pulsing and fluttering walls. in awe of how creamy white is practically leaking out of you, dripping a stringy trail over the flesh of your thighs.

you're agape at how utterly fucked he looks right now, though you're certain you do not look much better as fat tears prick at your eyes, streaming past your ears from the overstimulation, "s-still fillin' me up, 'toru. god, do ya always cum this much?"

at first, you don't even get a response from gojo who just sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, almost as if he's trying not to cry out, but then he's back to circling your clit with a rough hand, "makin' me sound like some kinda whore, s-sweetheart. 'n and i told you. don't do this m-much."

and now he's slowing down, pleasurably painful bucks of his hips keeping glossy, white seed in you. ensuring that it coats your entire entrance, "an' it's not my fault that she," and here, he gives your clit a small smack! grinning like a madman, "n-not my fault that she's so, hah, addictive."

each tight circle of his hand on your clit sends you hurtling into yet another orgasm, one that has you begging gojo for mercy, repreive, for more. an orgasm that has him whispering the sweetest nothings into your ear, "d-don't worry, gotcha like this. gonna let you rest n-now, jus' gotta relax for me."

by the time he's slipping his still somehow hard cock out of your creamed cunt, you can feel exhaustions heavy and caring hands caress you, rendering your body limp and boneless. your eyes heavy and hazy, but you can feel a soft ghost of gojo's kiss over the shell of your ear, "h-hope y'still here in the morning, sweetheart. don't leave, yeah?"

the morning sunlight filters through the blinds, and despite the ache in your limbs that cricks your bones, you drag yourself out of bed. christmas day, after all. you've thrown on gojo's dress shirt from last night, snug enough to flutter around your hips, but oversized enough around the shoulders to let you drown in it.

it's cozy though, and even the chilly air feels refreshing against the warmth clinging to you. gojo is still sound asleep, and you had smiled at how he took little puffs of air as he was passed flat out in bed. but you always like to be up early on christmas, and there's something about the holiday that makes you feel like you need to earn the right to nap later.

you wander around the bedroom for a bit, stretching your legs as your muscle protest in earnest. eventually, you decide to make your way to that kitchen. breakfast, right.

it seems like a good idea, especially considering the last thing in your stomach was a questionably sour vodka. so you pull open the fridge, expecting something befitting of this apartment. perhaps a slab of wagyu beef, a tin of caviar, a thick block of pistachio-cream dubai chocolate. you'd even settle for sushi.

instead, you're left staring back at a stack of candy canes, some strawberry yoghurt, a carton of milk and some fast food wrappers. despite your protesting stomach, a deep amusement washes over you. it doesn't surprise you that gojo would have a fridge stocked with food you'd find at a child's birthday party and a greasy diner.

still, breakfast is in order and because you can't help it, you pull out a candy cane and start unwrapping it. you're just about take a bite when you hear the unmistakable pad of footsteps. you turn, face to face with someone who would clearly not be out of place on a vogue covershoot.

gojo hasn't tossed on a shirt, and the sunlight filters over his chiselled physique before your sight is stolen by the loose sheet wrapped around his waist. delicious. you try to snap your gaze back to his face, but it's hard to not track your gaze down his torso, like a cat eyeing a particularly irresistible sunbeam.

"good morning to you too," gojo says, a grin curling his lips, "what are you doing?" his voice is still thick with interrupted sleep, laced with a morning rasp that forces you to ground yourself and stop falling prey to the god, eros and his machinations.

"breakfast, 'm starving."

"don't bother," gojo says, shaking his head, "we can go somewhere nice for breakfast. like real, actual food. don't think you want half-eaten yoghurt."

you nod enthusiastically, mind turning back to the peeling seal of the strawberry yoghurt with a spoon sticking out of it. but then, something else catches your mind's attention. a little curiosity piques, one that you cannot help but ask him.

"wait," you begin, snapping your teeth around the saccharine mint of the candy cane, "y'know what's crazy. like, i swear your eyes glowed last night. not even in a silly compliment way, but like electricity. i thought i was like, losing it.'

you expect gojo to brush it off with a wink, or maybe laugh it off like you're just teasing him. but instead, the man's face shifts, that cocky smile faltering for the briefest moment. it's gone so fast that you think you almost imagined it. but why does he look...almost guilty?

before you can process that, you realised you've leaned yourself over the counter, and in your absent-mindedness, your elbow presses a button on the answering machine. a small beep, and suddenly, a voice blares through the room,

"hey, gojo-sensei!" comes a high-pitched, distinctly teenage voice, an excited boy who sounds a little crackly over the speaker, "so, we found this grade one curse yesterday...and uh, we totally got rid of it. we were gon' call you, but you didn't pick up. but i almost got my arm torn off. wait, no! that sounds dramatic, i got shoko to look at it anyway. so what we're all wondering right is that we don't have to hand in any homework now right? as like reparations?"

the voice crackles off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. you stand there, absolutely dumbstruck, staring at the answering machine like it's about to burst into flames or start singing christmas carols.

gojo, meanwhile, has the most awkward look on his face, clearly caught between embarrassment...and what? panic, amusement?

"satoru, what the fuck?"

he looks at you for a moment, but instead of speaking, he lets out a long and exasperated sigh before pulling out one of the counter chairs, "you're gonna want to sit down for this one, sweetheart."

[luveline]

Hotch request w Jack and new baby!!! Coming back from the hospital and reader is in bed with new baby and Jack while Aaron is in another part of the house (maybe making food in the kitchen) and reader starts crying because she’s in pain and jack is all concerned and sweet and goes to get Aaron??

thank you for requesting, sorry I messed up where everyone was! fem, 1.3k

“He’s gonna stab him!” 

You blink from the spot you’d been staring at, pain momentarily forgotten. “What! Where’d you learn that word?” you ask in surprise. 

Jack leans back against his big velvet pillow, blue with silver stars, looking as though he’s in the lap of luxury. “At school.” 

The cartoon mouse on the TV raises his fencing sword high in the air. 

“He’s not stabbing anyone, they’re fencing,” you say, reaching for his hand to hold. “Stabbing… that’s pretty scary. How did that make you feel?” 

“Well, I’m not gonna stab anyone,” Jack says. 

He’s confused that you’re making a fuss, just old enough to realise you’re poking around for his feelings. You worry lately that you aren’t paying him enough attention because of his new brother, and the word stab isn’t exactly age appropriate. 

But maybe that’s what the boys his age are talking about? You frown more, your hand slipping along his arm to curl behind him. You pull him toward you. “Come on, handsome. Cuddle me.” 

You’re too sore to move, so Jack has to come to you. He crawls across the couch until his arms can wrap around you and his cheek can rest against your chest. Stab is an apt word for the feeling in your stomach. Jack’s arm squeezes at you and the pain worsens, so you move it up your front and curl your arm around him. 

“Is it a bad word?” he asks. 

“No, it’s just like hit or slap, I guess. And I know you’re not gonna do any of that to anyone. You’re too gentle.” 

“Gentle is a good word.” 

“Yeah.” You kiss his forehead, a moment of self indulgence. You love your stepson, and he is oh so kissable. “Oh no, look at the mouse.” 

Charlie sleeps in his swing seat, the soft whirring of its constant motion almost as comforting as the sound of his soft breaths. You watch him for a while, Jack climbing up at your side to press his face to your neck, leg on your thigh, slowly pressing against the tenderness that is your abdomen. “Uh, Jack,” you breathe, trying to pick him up, “you’re gonna have to climb off of me, my tummy hurts too much.” 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, slipping off of you and onto the couch cushion. His foot kicks out as he rights himself, a jamming of his toes against the pain like a spike. 

You take a deep breath. Ouch. 

“It’s okay,” you say, groaning softly as the pain thrums, hand on your stomach as though your touch can make it stop, “just a tummy ache. I– I’m okay.” 

“You got little tears?” he says, his voice going wobbly. You try to blink away tears and end up with a straggler curving down the slope of your cheek. “I’ll go get dad!” 

“Jack, I’m okay,” you say. 

Too late. Jack scrambles from the couch and away from you, up the stairs to find his father. You’re not sure what Aaron’s up to, he’d only said, “I’ll be right back,” twenty minutes ago. You’d guessed laundry. 

You’re glad Jack’s run upstairs when you realise the pain isn’t going away. It’s not bad, not half as bad as your contractions had been, but the whole labour process has sapped you, and you feel weak as a willow branch in bad weather. You shift heavily onto one leg and cross them, uncross them when the pain spikes again, letting out a weird and breathless whine as it turns to a full blown cramp. 

Jack returns with Aaron in tow. His hair is dripping wet, soap suds on his neck and his shirt stuck to his chest. He’s rushed out of the shower to see you. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he rounds the couch. “Jack told me you’re not feeling well.” 

You hold your arms out for a hug. He doesn’t falter, simply does as you want, his hair wringing wet and dripping onto your shoulder as he gathers you in his arms. 

You hold onto him like a lifeline. The cramp curls, and tightens, has you seizing up against him. 

“What is it?” he asks softly. “Stomach pains again?” 

The nurse said it’s your uterus shrinking. Whatever it is, it’s sudden agony. You shudder into Aaron’s shoulder until the pain pangs and fades, leaving your stomach a tense mess. It hurts to move, so you stay clinging to your husband and let him hover over you. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asks.

You sniff. 

Aaron pulls away to take your face into his hands. He holds you with care, his thumbs under your jaw, index fingers running diagonally under each eye, tips at your brows. Just a stolen few seconds for him to check you over. No tears to be wiped away. 

“Still hurting?” 

You shake your head, eyebrows pulled down in a bad frown. 

“Okay. Alright. Motrin?” he asks. 

“No,” you whisper, “can you just stay here?” 

Jack says your name. 

You peek past Aaron’s body. “Jack, sorry.” 

“Are you okay now?” 

You grimace, “I’m gonna be fine, it just hurts sometimes and I didn’t have any medicine today. That’s all. Sorry, I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me,” he denies. 

You can’t help smiling, then. “Okay, I didn’t. Thanks for getting dad for me.” 

“He’s our hero,” Aaron says. He sits down beside you carefully, his voice quiet and his hand gentle as he holds your thigh. “I’m glad he did.” 

Jack climbs into his dad’s lap. Aaron wraps an arm around him, the other at your side, fingers tapping at you. 

You rub your forehead. Tip your head back and take a deep breath. 

“Jack,” you whisper, breathing out, “I’m sorry if I startled you. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“It wasn’t scary, I said that already.” 

“Oh, you did?” Aaron teases. 

“It was okay, I just don’t want you to hurt.” 

“Only baby pains,” you say. 

For a few minutes, you and your small family sit there in silence. Aaron works a hand behind your back to hug you, Jack snuggles into his chest, and Charlie stirs in his swing seat. The quiet calms him, and he goes back to his soft snoring seconds later. 

“I’m sorry about your shower,” you whisper. 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry about my baby,” Aaron whispers back, drawing circles into your lower back, “he didn’t mean to chew you up.” 

“Ugh, I know.” 

Jack raises his nose. “What? Chew? Do babies bite?” 

“It’s an expression, babe.” 

“Oh.” He looks at his baby brother with suspicion anyways. “He doesn���t even have teeth?” 

“Buddy, it’s just a joke,” Aaron says, laughing as Jack slips out of his lap to go and look at Charlie in the seat. 

“Maybe he did have teeth,” you say. 

Aaron ushers you toward him, rests his cheek on your forehead. “It’ll feel better soon. You need to rest, that’s all.” 

“Your hair is so wet.” 

“I was in the shower.” 

“Sorry…” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Don’t be.” 

You reach up to tousle his wet hair. “Miss showering with you.” 

“We showered last night.” 

“No, I stood there and you helped me wash my back, that’s not the same.” 

“Well, I enjoyed it.” 

“I bet you did.” 

Your fondness attracts many, many kisses, his nose nuzzling your cheek. You settle under the weight of him and watch Jack where he frowns at Charlie, big brown eyes squinted, waiting for a show of teeth that won’t happen. Aaron brings a hand to your tense stomach, waiting for you to lean back before he begins massaging the tensed muscle there with a slowness that borders unmoving. 

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he says. 

“You can go finish your shower.” 

“I was finished. M’gonna start pressing in, okay?” 

You wince as Aaron begins, but slowly, slowly, the tenseness from your cramp softens. It still hurts, but he makes it manageable. Jack delivered your rescuer, and your rescuer loves a soft touch.

[slvthrs]

can you do a vinnie x fem reader smut where she (reader) is stressed out and vinnie fucks her good on the balcony and they didn’t care anymore if they get caught of what 🙈

ofc my lovesss

BREATHE BABY | v.hacker

— MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD —

stress never stood a chance against a tall blond with an unyielding love for you.

BSF!VINNIE X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, fucking in a pool over the city, vinnie LOVES u, praise kink, hickies n love bites

word count: 2.5k <3

a/n: idfk if vinnie has a pool in his apt, i added one for the plot 😭

Stress was one of the most constant presences in your life. University, friendships, family relationships. It was as if stress was an obsessive ex that you couldn’t get rid of creeping back into your life once it got good. 

The only thing that could keep it a bay was Vinnie, your best friend of 12 years, ever since you were nine years old the boy was like a walking calmer for you. His presence made you relax and he always reminded you when you needed to take a break.

Ever since he moved out to LA at 18 the stress slowly crept back into your life, and you had to adapt again. More friends in uni and new found appreciation of swimming. 

If you weren't studying or with your friends, you were swimming. Sometimes the water made you calm down, it felt as if all your stress floated away as the water touched your skin.

That’s where you were again, the pool attached to Vinnie's apartment. 

It was so odd, the lanky scruffy boy who you became friends with grew into the type of men you would see modeling- and you did.

Everything was so much more intimidating about the boy. His height, the tattoos littering his skin which make your skin turn hot. 

His new found fame which made your head dizzy the longer you thought about it. The idea of the boy you first became friends with turning into this man who had girls falling over him left in right made your stomach flip and you had no idea if it was good or bad. 

You had kept an eye on what he was up to in LA, his friends, his business, that one fight that made you nearly throw up out of fear. 

And of course who he was dating.

It always said he wasn’t seeing anyone but you were never convinced, no one looks like that and is single, you always thought to yourself.

But it wasn’t just him who had changed. 

Looking back, being stuck to one boy's side for all of elementary, middle, and high school was a hindrance.

Once you branched out in university you flourished.

You grew into a new woman.

Your features were sharper, your curves more defined, your entire face had what your friends called, ‘a glow up’. 

Regular visits to the gym and taking care of yourself made you stand out.

Also being more active in your sex and love life made you more in touch with your body. Your last ex boyfriend taught you so much about what you did and didn’t like, you got better and sex and the burst of confidence helped you in tremendous ways.

You walked with more purpose in your steps and it really did seem like you left Seattle and turned into a different woman.

But this new Vinnie made you feel like a little girl again. Floundering in the big kids pool, kicking your tiny legs for a chance to come up and breathe again.

All of your confidence was for show as when Vinnie walked in you returned into that stressful anxious girl again.

You relaxed lackadaisical at the edge of the pool looking over the edge. 

Everything looked so small, everyone down there had their own lives, your worries seemed miniscule compared to what everyone else down there had to go through. 

An ambulance rushed by and the only thought you had was someone was about to get the most devastating news of your life.

It was like a trance the city of LA put you into.

The city of angels. 

“You look deep in thought.” The velvety voice of the boy who the house belonged to piped in.

You turned and saw Vinnie resting against the sliding door of the balcony. His hands were in the pockets of his swim trunks whilst he had an unbuttoned linen shirt barely converting his ink filled torso. 

“I’m always deep in thought Vinne, you know that.” A small huff left your plump lips as you turned and said that.

“I know but especially today.” He explained whilst walking over to dip his feet in the pool, “Is LA freaking you out? I felt like that for the first year I was here.”

He always did that. Trying to figure out what made you uncomfortable and trying to fix that. He was always kind like that.

“No Vin, it’s everything. It’s so weird. You left Seattle as a scared boy and now you seem like someone I’d see plastered on magazines talking about how many girls he sleeps with in a year.” The crude stereotype aside, Vinnie laughed at your remark.

“I’m still the same guy, you know that.” He said and continued a second later, “Besides, look at you. You're like a different person.”

It was your turn to laugh now, “You can come in you know that? It’s like you're trying to stay away from me.”

He smiled, “Thanks for the invite into my own pool.”

Despite the sarcasm he took his shirt off and entered the pool, walking over to where you were floating. 

He towered over you.

“I don’t think I’ve changed that much.” You toyed with your bikini strap, “I’m still the same anxious girl you met.”

His hands rested on your waist, “Sure, but you're more confident, you're more talkative, plus you look so different.” 

It’s quiet until Vinnie breaks the silence again.

“I kept checking on your Instagram now and again. You seem happier.” You both know what he means when he says that.

“I am. Moving out of Seattle was hard but in the grand scheme of things I couldn’t stay there after you left, it felt empty.” You tell him as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“M’ sorry, I had to leave but my biggest regret is that you couldn’t have come with me.” 

You laugh pulling away from him and turing back around, facing the city again, leaning over the edge of the pool.

“Even if you have asked I wouldn’t have come. I love you Vin, but I was always was gonna go to university. You were the unconventional one out of the 2 of us.” You sigh pulling you hair to one side and playing with the ends, a sort of nervous tick you developed after your first months in university.

“I know.” He breathes out, “That’s why I didn’t ask but a part of me always hoped you would come.” 

He comes closer to you, his hands wrap around your waist and now your back is hitting his chest. His head practically rests on top of yours.

You nearly start crying. 

You don’t know why. 

“You think anyone down there is going through the same thing were going through?” It’s a dumb question on your part but you like talking to the blond.

“Are any of them dealing with 2 friends you love each other and have been apart for so long that they don’t know what to do,” He pauses, “Also one of them if famous and the other is the most amazing person on earth? Nah I don’t think so.”

“Mhm that makes sense.”

It goes quiet again.

The wind rustles against the palm trees and if you really focused your ears you could hear the waves crashing along the shore.

“You keep tabs on my insta?” You ask with a smile creeping up on your face

He smiles him self letting a huff of laughter out, “Yeah, I was hoping you forgot I said that.”

“Why, whatd’ya see on there?” Another dumb question, you know exactly what he saw on there.

“You look happier, also you have new friends, ones I would like to meet,” His heart skips a beat, “Also y’know that guys on there.”

You laugh internally and turn around so you can see his face.

“Their some of my friends, I think you would like them.” You know he wouldn’t.

“What about Tyler?” 

Your ex-boyfriend, the one you meet during finals week of your sophomore year. You had dated for nearly 9 months before you broke it off. 

It wasn’t anything serious, he didn’t cheat, he didn’t lie- your lives were too different and you both knew that.

It was a mutual decision but Vinnie didn’t care. Anyone the broke up with you or even hurt you in anyways was evil in his eyes, how anyone could do that to you, he couldn’t explain to himself. 

“Tyler’s Tyler it doesn’t matter.” 

He blinks at you.

“What you want me to bring up all the girls your rumored to be dating?”

“Fuck off you know that isn’t the same thing. Half of those girls I only follow on tiktok and I haven’t been in a single committed relationship with any of them… Why the fuck did I find out about your long term relationship over fucking INSTAGRAM, I’m your best friend what hell?”

He steps back, with his hands in the air like he’s being accused of something.

“I don’t know Vin I just didn’t know how to tell you, everything was too much. I was so worried what you were gonna think and then it got to late. I felt like there was no point in telling you-” 

You ramble and he cuts you off.

“It’s fine, breathe pretty girl, just relax, I’m right here.” 

He pulls you closer to him and the moment you look into his eyes that calming effect he has on you just corses through your body.

Something just clicks inside the both of you and he’s kissing you so gently it’s like hes afraid of breaking you. 

His lips slot perfectly into your’s, it’s like you were made for him, his hands fall onto your ass as he pulls you closer, his eyebrows are knitted together in focus and he’s holding you as if he’s afraid to lose you.

It feels so fucking right. 

You the one that pulls him harder into you, your hands tangle into his hair, deepening the kiss.

Your nails rake the back of his neck and he hums in content. 

Your the one that pulls back, a trail of saliva linking the 2 of you and he looks at you so intently as if he’s studying you.

“Your so beautiful. I don’t think I tell you that enough.” And his lips are back on yours.

Your the one who pulls the strings of your bikini of and his lifting you up so your flush against his body, most likely so he can feel your tits pressed up against his chest. 

He’s grining in the kiss, as his hands grope your thighs and ass trailing up towards your hips. His hands are all over you and your ecstatic they are.

“More” you whisper into the kiss like it’s a secret only the two of you can share or else yoru lives would ruin.

“Please Vinnie I’m begging you.” You know your not telling him what you wnat but you pray he’ll save some of the embarrassment for you.

“Tell me what you want, I’ll do anything for you.” It’s like a prayer or promise of worship.

“Fuck me please, do whatever you want, I just need you.” It’s desperate and it turns Vinnie on so much more.

His fingers link around the straps of your bottoms and he pulls the down, your fully nude under him as he fiddles with his own shorts.

Your legs link around him as he slowly slides his dick in letting you get used to the size if anything. 

You head falls onto his shoulders as you sigh out, your eyebrows knit and you nearly loose your shit. 

He feels so much bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had sex with and your entire body feels like its getting shocked.

The sensation to crynearly hits you before you pull your self together, latching you lips onto Vinnie’s neck as he starts to move you.

It’sa rhythmic pace and it’s a kind one faring his size but you want more. You’ve waited years for this and you want more than him just being kind. 

“Vinnieee,” It comes out as a needy whine as you cry out his name, “More, harder, anything just please needa feel you everywhere.” 

You ramble but he knows what you want. He knows your body, he knows you better than you know yourself. 

His pace speeds up and he tries to keep kissing your but you keep writhing. He finds it adorable but your trying not to cum as quick to draw this out. 

You wanna feel him everywhere, you wanna be able to only see him.

“Vin,” You words are loosing power as he keeps thrusting into you, your thighs are sore and your mind is clouded with the thought of yoru impending orgasm. 

“Choke me please, need to feel you.” His pace falters as he tries to grapple with what you just admitted to him.

The look on your face proves your not joking but he swears he nearly came just by the sentence alone. 

His dick twitches inside you as his hands wrap around the base of your neck, he pulls yoru face up and you look into his eyes. 

You look drunk and delrious and he wants you to have his kids right there on the spot. 

He can’t even tell you what it is, he’s just so much more in love with you.

As his hands add pressure your hands comes to weakly wrap around his, not realy doing anything, just an unorthodox way of holding hands.

Your sense are flooded with just, Vinnie. 

The same boy practically trained to teach you how to breathe when your mind rabbles, cutting your breathe off, and the way he looks while doing it.

His pupils are blown out and his face looks like a mix of lust and love. The whole scene out of a porno but even his eyes can’t hide how deeply he’s in love with you.

When he lets your neck go you inhale so deeply you nearly start coughing and he pulls you closer to him as his thrusts become sporadic. 

Your forehead rests against his as you both cum, nearly blacking out as your vision goes white.

Your panting as he puts you down on the edge of the pool as he finds you a towl and the rest of your clothes floating around in the pool. 

You end up in the bath making sure the get the chlorine off and the residues of sex off the both of you.

Your lying ontop of his as his hands rake through your hair.

“Just breathe baby we’ll take about it tomorrow.” And thats what you do, breathing to the sund of his heartbeats. 

[lynnaredfield3383]

Part One - Bored

Not my characters. Aged up 21. Swearing. Established relationship. Angst.

Katsuki's voice came through the line.

“I won't be home the next couple nights.”

“OK. Be safe.”

Katsuki was suddenly alert. Your voice was normal, but your response was nothing he'd heard before or ever imagined you saying. Did you know? How could you know? As fear crept in and took hold of him, he lost control.

“Look you know what hero work takes, and I wish I could be there with you…”

“Kats, it's fine. Really.”

You chuckle genuinely, refusing to comfort or dispel his uneasiness.

“I can change shifts…”

Bakugo's palms were sweaty now, and his hands were beginning to spark with nervousness.

“I took a shift tonight, so it'd be pointless. Now go get the bad guys.”

There was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again.

“Shit. You mad?” Bakugo asked.

You laughed at this and it actually calmed him completely. He knew your genuine laughs, smiles, and tones. Knew them so well, but why until this very moment had he thought he was bored of those things, of you?

Mad had never crossed your mind. Hurt, disappointed, discouraged, and done. Sure. But you'd never been mad at him. Not for a second. Bakugo wasn't cheating on you, just flirting with some woman at his agency. Though you wish he'd tell you he was ready to move on, you weren't mad. Nor were you going to hold him back. You loved him too much for that.

“Never mad. Never.”

“O-okay. I'll see you tomorrow night then?”

“Not sure. Depends on the case tonight. You know how hero work is, Bakugo. Bye.”

Bakugo had been caught on the fact you used the same line he had regarding hero work, but then he swore loudly as he realized you'd used his last name.

“Fucking fuck! Shit!”

Bakugo called you back, but it went straight to voicemail. So he started running redialing every few seconds.

As soon as you'd said his last name you knew you'd fucked up. Which is why you already left the apt. You moved all your stuff from his place into your new place a week ago. As observant as he was, he hadn't noticed because he'd only been home once in the last 3 weeks. Just to shower and grab more stuff. As soon as you ended the call, you rushed to block him, knowing he would blow your phone up in moments. You'd left the letter a week ago when you cleaned the house top to bottom the way he liked it and hadn't been back since.

“You good?” Shinso, your current case partner asked.

“Yeah, let's go.”

Bakugo was on the floor of the kitchen hot tears flowing down his face as he held the letter tightly.

Bakugo, Sorry I couldn't keep you interested. Never thought we'd end up like this, but it's obvious you have feelings for that woman at your agency. I saw you & heard you two flirting the day I dropped your lunch off. It's okay. I'm glad you found someone that makes you smile and laugh like I used to. Move on, be free, and accept that there are no hard feelings. I didn't give you a heads up because I know you'll fight for us. I don't know why, especially since you've already moved on, but that's just who you are. You never fail. You didn't fail me or this relationship. You didn't. It was just time for us to move on, and that's OK. It happens. Wish you the best always, but you need to know I can't be friends with you right now. Maybe in a few months, but let's see how it goes. Be safe, be #1 & live your life with no regrets.

Y/N

[xotaemintol]

MARKHYUCK X FEMBLACK READER //APT.// <PT.1>

♡ “All you gotta do is meet me at the…” ♡

[She/Her pronouns, plus size friendly. Warning, this fanfiction will contain; heavy drinking, cursing, drunk sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, kissing, unprotected sex, implications of cheating, and more. Part one contains; Heavy Drinking, stripping, and cursing. If any of these things are triggering for you, please look away, thank you.]

[What is APT? 아파트 (AH/PA/TU), is an Korean drinking game. Two players or more stack their hands and chant: “아파트, 파트, 아파트, 파트, 아파트.” as they wave their hands, alternating them between each other. One player picks a number and another counts, as this player counts everyone moves their hands to the top starting from the bottom. The player with their hand on the top takes a shot and the game continues.]

(Please ignore any mistakes 😭 this was deleted 2 times, and I’ve rewritten all of this from memory, so bear with me. I’m also debating on finishing this, but you let me know what I should do.)

Leave it to Jisung Park to cancel plans he made at the last minute. You should’ve known better than to listen to him when he said he wanted to join Mark and Haechan to throw you a small house warming party. Not even 30 minutes later and he had already backtracked.

“Sorry, I can’t make it tonight, another night okay?” He said. You could strangle him. You had ordered enough food to feed four grown men, and just as you expected, he canceled.

But, luckily for you Mark and Donghyuck were on their way. They sent a text to the groupchat reassuring you that they’d be coming tonight, unlike Jisung.

You sigh and grab three shot glasses to sat them on the coffee table. Placing them down you smile. At least you can count on the two of them, so you don’t feel too bad. It’s not even 15 minutes after their text that you hear your doorbell ring, excited, you squeal and rush over to the door as you call out in a singing tone; “Coming!”

You check the small monitor beside the door, just to be sure that it’s them before—just as you assumed, it is. With a large smile on your face you open the door and squeal happily.

“You came!” You hug them both as Mark laughs. “Duh, we told you we were.” Haechan says jokingly in a snarky tone.

You roll your eyes playfully and look down at the bags in his hands. “Whoa, is that just alcohol?” You ask. Mark nods, “I told him we don’t need that much, but he said-“ “What’s a house warming party without enough alcohol to kill a bear?” You laugh and nod your head in agreement as you step aside to let them in.

Mark shakes his head, they take off their shoes by the door and you lead them back inside.

“It’s just the three of us though, we can’t drink all of that.” Mark agrees with you, but Haechan only waves the two of you off. “It’ll be fine, you can keep whatever you don’t drink tonight—think of it as a gift from your favorite man.” You snicker and sit down on the floor in front of your couch.

They look around the apartment for a second before sitting down. “Damn, this might be nicer than my place.” Mark says. You scoff and look up at him with a smile, “You mean your hundred billion dollar apartment? Yeah, right.” Haechan grunts softly as he sits on the couch beside you.

He sits the bags down on the table and begins to empty the contents out. “Might be? Mark could spend ten billion dollars and his apartment would still suck compared to yours.” You watch as he empties the bottles out of the bags. “What? Why?” Mark asks. Haechan look at him with a smug expression and says; “Because, your apartment doesn’t have a pretty woman.” He says simply.

“Yours doesn’t have one either.” “Says who? Y/N comes over all the time.” “Sure she does. She basically lived with me before she moved.” The pair continue to bicker, but your attention shifts to the sheer amount of alcohol Donghyuck bought. Silently, you count the bottles.

‘1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11…’

Your eyes widen and you turn to Haechan saying; “How much do you expect us to drink tonight? Aren’t you both lightweights?!” Mark immediately disagrees, so does Donghyuck. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

_

After giving them a tour of your apartment, you decided that it would be nice to watch a movie while waiting for the food to come. None of the three of you had even acknowledged the bottles of soju sitting on the table. You were too busy trying to figure out what to do next to beat the settling boredom.

“Let’s watch another movie.” You suggest, “There’s nothing to watch.” Donghyuck states. You hum softly as you scroll through the endless movies on the screen. “Terrifier?” Mark immediately disagrees. “Absolutely not, it’s just gore and cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Ballerina?” “We watched that last month.” “A quiet place?” “No, we watched that too.”

You continue going back and forth with Mark until Haechan finally speaks up and says; “Let’s play 아파트!” You turn to look at Haechan and with a confused expression you ask; “What’s that?” He grins.

“A drinking game.” He slips off the couch and sits on the floor beside you. “So, we all put our hands on top of each others and go ‘아파트 파트, 아파트 파트,아파트 파트.’ And then we start move our hands up to the top of the stack and then who’s ever hand is on top has to drink.” You stare at Donghyuck slightly confused, slowly nodding your head with a puzzled expression.

He shakes his head and sucks his teeth. “Mark,” he says, “Come here.” Mark—seemingly already knowing what the game is, sits beside you on the floor and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’ll show you.” Mark puts his hand in the middle and Haechan places his hand on top, Mark puts his hand above Haechans and then Haechan puts his other above Marks.

“Okay, now—since I suggested the game, we say ‘Hyuck’s game, Donghyuck game, game start’ and then we wave are hands like this.”

To demonstrate, they begin waving their hands while alternating which one is on top and which one is on the bottom while chanting; “아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트.” When they stop Haechan’s hand is on the bottom, while one of Mark’s is on the top. “Okay, so since my hand is on the bottom, I pick a number and Mark counts.” You nod and watch. “9.” Mark rolls his eyes and sighs before counting to nine.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.” After counting Mark’s hand is on top again. “Since Mark’s hand is on top he has to take a shot, and then it’s his turn to choose and I count.” He says, “Sounds easy, right?” You nod, this time fully understanding.

“Yeah, easy when he isn’t cheating.” Mark mutters, “There is no cheating, you’re just bad at the game.”

_

After just 20 minutes Mark is 5 shots deep, you’re 4, and Haechan is only 1. You quickly realized after your third shot that Donghyuck is strangely good at this game, and Mark is strangely bad at it. Luckily, it was your turn and you were really starting to grasp how to win.

“아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!” The three of you chant, your hand ends on the bottom and you look over at Haechan with a grin. His poker face is killer. He’s been so calm this whole time, laughing as you and Mark—mostly Mark, filled your glasses to the brim and took shot after shot. But you can’t let him win, so before shouting out a number you think. You glance around you for a second before hesitantly shouting out; “7!”

Mark begins to count and you nervously move your hands upward. “5, 6, 7.” “YES!” You jump up as Donghyuck’s hand lands on top. You laugh as he presses his tongue against his cheek, chuckling as Mark pats his shoulder. “Bottoms up Hyuck!” You tease.

You quickly sit down and pour his shot, pouring until the alcohol is almost overflowing. “Drink! Drink! Drink!” He laughs in amusement at your cute reaction and takes the shot to his head. Just like the first one, he makes it look easy.

As he sits his glass down you gasp and lean onto Mark in a playful manner, you place on hand on his chest and the other on his thigh. "Watch out Mark," You say in a fake whisper; "I think he's planning something." But Mark doesn't respond. His foggy mind is distracted by the smell of your lotion.

Usually he's used to you being so close, but in his impaired state he feels a little shameless. His desire to get a better smell of your scent is a little stronger than his morality, so, he leans in close to smell you a little more. But, just as he does you turn around and look at him. He flinches back and quickly looks away from you, turning red from his neck up as he nervously laughs.

"Be careful, we can't let him win." You add. Haechan, who watched silently laughs and adds in a teasing tone. "Yeah Markie Pooh, don't let me win." You snap your head over to Haechan and jokingly poke his chest as you glare at him. "I'm watching you, don't get cocky Hyuck." He smirks and looks down at you with his eyebrows raised. "Watch all you want," He says. "I don't mind."

You laugh and roll your eyes as you sit up. "Alright. Let's keep going."

The game continues and once again the three of you begin the chant. This time, Mark's hand is at the bottom and Donghyuck counts. Just as expected your hand ends up on top. "Damn it!"

You grab your glass and Haechan fills it to the brim. You huff and quickly down the drink, "Alright! Let's go." Haechan laughs and nods.

"아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!" This time, his hand is at the bottom. "8." Haechan calls out. Mark inhales deeply and begins to count. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8." You silently prayed for Donghyuck's hand to end up on top—but, conveniently for him, this time it's Mark.

You grab another bottle of soju and fill Mark's shot glass. The game continues like this for another five minutes until it's finally Haechan's turn to drink again, but before taking his shot he looks at the two of you and says. "Let's make this more fun." "How?" You ask. His grin tells you that he has a mischievous idea in mind.

"Let's strip after every shot." He suggests. "What?! No!" "Okay." Your reaction is completely different from Mark's. In your mind, the added element of stripping would add a million times more thrill to the game. Currently, there isn't much at stake other than a hangover for everyone. But stripping, adds a certain type of excitement and risk that would make this game even more fun.

As you turn to Mark you ask; "Why not?" Donghyuck leans over your shoulder and repeats after you asking in a teasing tone; "Yeah Mark, why not?" Mark rolls his eyes but before he can respond you say; "C'mon Mark, it'll be fun!" Mark looks at the both of you for a second, the mischievous look on Haechan's face and the excited one on yours spell danger, but—he agrees either way.

"Okay, fine." "Yes!" Haechan takes his shot and this time, instead of continuing the game, he begins to peel his shirt off his body. As he does so you watch with wide and surprises eyes. As he does so you watch with wide and surprises eyes. You grin as he tosses his shirt aside and reach to touch his chest, but he covers his body with his arms and stops you.

"Uh, uh! This isn't free ma'am!" He says jokingly, "But for you..." He moves his arms and allows you to freely touch his chest. You laugh as your hands roam his chest saying; "I love this game." You look over at Mark and grin. "Sorry Mark," Your hand pauses for a moment and you give him a fake pout. "But I hope you lose."

"What?! Why?" Mark asks with a laugh, you grin and shrug your shoulders saying; "I gotta see how much you have in common with Spider-Man." He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but Haechan laughs at your joke.

"Whatever, let's keep playing."

Again the chanting starts. "아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!" Now that the stakes have been raised, every time the word leaves your mouth your hands feel sweater and your heart seems to beat a little faster. A mixture between excitement and anxiety fill your drunken body, and when your hands finally stop—with yours at the bottom, you almost jump up in excitement as you yell out; "YES!"

They laugh at your excitement, but as soon as you throw out a number, Mark's laughter stops. Donghyuck counts and your hands begin to move. "3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10." "DAMN IT!" Mark curses as his hand ends up on top, but you can't help but cheer. "Yeah baby! Strip! Strip! Strip!" Haechan laughs loudly at your reaction and at Mark's loss as he pours him a shot, only filling the glass half way this time.

Mark huffs loudly and takes it, he slowly drinks it down and then slams the glass on the table. "Take it off! Take it off! Take-" You stop and cover your mouth as he glares at you playfully. You retreat to Haechan and lean your back against him while chanting a bit quieter, "Take it off, take it off." Haechan now following along behind you to further antagonize Mark.

Reluctantly, Mark slowly strips himself of his shirt—only to reveal a white tank top underneath his T-shirt.

“Aw man! What the hell?” You roll your eyes in annoyance and sit up. Mark can’t help but laugh at your reaction. “What?” He teases, “Were you that excited to see me naked?” With zero hesitation you say yes. “Why are you wearing two shirts anyways?” “I always wear an under shirt.” You roll your eyes and look away from him.

“Yeah, alright.”

The game continues and this time Mark’s hand is at the bottom, the two of you stare at him—waiting for him to shout out a number. You can tell he’s nervous from the way his eyes dart around. His cute smile as he thinks gives you butterflies.

“Uhm, 12!” You laugh and shake your head as you begin to count. “1, 2, 3…” You slowly, the anticipation is killing Mark, but entertaining for you and Haechan. “7, 8, 9, 10, 11…” You laugh, knowing that it’ll be on Mark again and finally say 12. Mark groans loudly as Haechan bursts into laughter.

“Take it off! Take it off!” This time, you’re fully expecting him to take off his shirt. But of course not. “Socks count as clothing.” Mark says. You whine and roll your eyes. “What?! How! That’s not even fair!” Haechan stops you and says in a calm tone. “No no, let him take of his socks.” “After that, he’ll have to take his shirt off.”

You look at Donghyuck and softly gasp in excitement. “You’re right!” Mark laughs in disbelief at the both of you and takes both his socks off.

As the game starts again you feel even more determined. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the room suddenly feels a bit hotter. Tension rises with every second but it only makes the game even more entertaining.

Your hands stop again, but this time Haechan’s hand on the bottom.

In a relaxed manner Haechan calls out his number; “7.” Both you and Mark, are expecting him to have set up Mark to take his shirt off, it only makes sense. Nervously, Mark begins to count, but unexpectedly, your hand ends up on top. “NO!” Mark laughs as he claps his hands. “Ha!” Donghyuck joins him and pours your shot.

“Whatever, youll end up taking it off either way.” You take off your shirt and then drink the alcohol in your glass. When you sit it down the two of them are shamelessly, staring at your breast.

“If you’re gonna stare at least don’t make it so obvious.” You joke. “Hey, it’s not my fault your heart is behind your breasts.” Haechan says, you laugh and playfully shove him as Mark sits silently, turning red as he tries his hardest not to stare.

“Okay, let’s go.”

This time, the chanting is a lot slower. The game feels more fun, but you also feel a little anxious. Sitting between the two of them like this isn’t completely out of the ordinary, you’ve changed in front of them more times than you can count on your fingers and toes—but something about this, the energy and the heat radiating of their bodies makes it feel different.

“아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트…” repeating the process, only this time you’ve picked the number—Haechan counts and your hands move. Your breathing becomes deeper and slower. Finally, your hands stop and to your luck, Mark’s hand is on top .

You high five Donghyuck before pouring Mark’s shot, only filling it half way. “Drink up.” Mark shakes his head and picks up the glass. He takes a second before sipping it down, and when it’s all gone he sits it down then slowly slips his shirt off.

He tossing his shirt next to yours, before he can say anything your hands are already on his body as if they have a mind of their own. He doesn’t even stop you. Instead he watches with a smirk on his flushed face

“Are you happy now?” He asks, you nod and look at him. “Very.” You respond. He leans his head back and smiles with his tongue pressed against his cheek, “You act like you’ve never seen us without a shirt on before.” Haechan says. “Yeah, but usually y’all act like I’m a criminal for looking.” Mark grabs your hands and raises his eyebrow at you. “You’re acting like one.” He says playfully.

You laugh and put your hands up. “Can you blame me?” “Yes.” Again, the game starts. “아파트 파트, 아파트 파트, 아파트 파트!” The pace picks up again as excitement builds and your hand is on the bottom. “13!” Mark counts, his speed also picking up. “9, 10, 11, 12, 12!”

The two of them cheer loudly as you hand lands on top. “Let’s go!” Mark shouts, they high five and laugh—but after you’ve taken your shot they both realize what comes next and their excite smiles slowly fade.

“Oh, wait. You don’t have to-“ Before Mark can finish you stand up and begin unbuttoning your pants. “Rules are rules.” You shove your pants down, trying not to let your underwear get caught—when they’re down to your calf’s you place your hand on Haechan’s shoulder to keep your balance.

You struggle to get them off your leg, it only hits you now just how drunk you are. Luckily, Mark notices and helps you. He looks up at you as he slowly slides the pant leg down your calf, the look in his hazy eyes is a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. Your own reflection almost the same thing.

You look down at him a little longer, staring into his eyes as the tension stirs—quickly becoming sexual. It’s only when Haechan clears his throat that you look away. You chuckle anxiously and stumble a little as you place your other hand on Marks shoulder so you can get the other leg down. But just as Mark did, Haechan helps you get it off.

Placing one hand on your foot and the other on your knee, just above your shin he looks up at you with a look similar to Marks. A confident one, one that’s equally as sexual. His hand slowly slides down your leg to push the fabric off your—now, warm skin. When it’s bunched up at the bottom he pulls it all the way down then tosses them to the side with his own shirt.

Slowly, you sit down with the help of Haechan and inhale deeply.

“Should we keep going?” He asks, you nod your head and then look to Mark who seemed to be waiting for your answer before giving his own. “You aren’t gonna quit now, right?” Mark shakes his head. “What about you?” Haechan shakes his head as well. “Okay, good!”

You clap your hands together and put them in the middle, they quickly follow suit—in your stomach the heat you felt becomes a scorching sensation. As you move your hands the tingling sensation in the depths of your body becomes stronger.

“9.” Mark says. As he slurs his words, Haechan counts to nine. Mark moves his hand, then you move yours, then Haechan, then Mark, then you, then Haechan, then Mark, then you again, and finally Haechan.

Standing up Haechan licks his lips and slowly pulls the strings to his feet sweats loose. As they come undone you feel a soft throb between your legs, you watch shamelessly. Too intoxicated to pretend that you hadn’t ever thought about a moment like this. He slowly shoves them down his thighs, his face turning red as the bulge in his underwear is put on full display.

The moment you notice it you feel a sensation similar to having to pee, that heat quickly turns into a wetness.

Neither you or Mark make a comment about the erection in his boxers. At this point, you’re sure Mark must be on the same page. It’d be pointless to point it out.

“Should we keep going?” Mark asks, before Haechan could answer you respond for him. “Why would we stop?” Both your words are slurred. “Exactly, I’ll be damned if I’m the only one exposed tonight.” Donghyuck sits down and you laugh a little. “See, this is why I’m glad I don’t have a penis.” You comment, “What does that mean?” Donghyuck asks.

“Exactly what I said.” You look at him, but his expression makes you look away immediately. His eyes are low and the grin on his face makes you feel unbelievably horny. “But anyways…” You clear your throat and sit up. ‘Relax.’ You think to yourself. But the feeling between your legs is so intense already.

“C’mon, you said we should keep going.” Everyone places their hands in the middle again, but now, there’s no chant. You move your hands and when your hand is on the bottom, you give a number and silently pray that it doesn’t end up in you being completely bare. “1…2…3…4…5…6..7…8…” To your luck, Mark’s hand is on the top. This time, he doesn’t reach to grab his glass; instead, he stands up and unbuckles his belt.

Again, you sit mesmerized. Admiring the way his hands look as he yanks his belt through the loops, even in your drunken state you can still recall all the times you’ve thought about being on your knees in front of him as he took his pants off.

His belt hits the floor with a loud clanking sound, but you don’t look away to see where it landed; you’re too busy watching him remove his pants in a rushed manner. You lick your lips as you see the band of his boxers. Just like Donghyuck, when he’s finally removed them you can see that you were right. He’s in the same boat. The erection in his boxers is as clear as day…..

[baronessvonglitter]

All Through the Night

Agent Whiskey x f! junior agent!reader | WC: 4.4K

Summary: after it's made clear that you're not welcome as a Junior Agent for the Statesman organization, Whiskey takes you under his protection for an unforgettable night

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, mentor/mentee relationship, forbidden relationship, vandalism, nightmares, 'only one bed', first time, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, no use of y/n

JACK DANIELS MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

When you're first introduced to your mentor Agent Whiskey, you're not sure if you'll get along with him. With others he seems friendly, casual, laid-back, flirtatious even. But with you he takes on a sterner tone, as if he's closed off, and from the moment you're paired up as mentor and mentee, he treats you with nothing more than solemnity. Throughout your training he doesn't praise you as you honestly wish he would, just gives a curt nod, arms crossed, mouth set in a firm line, eyes giving nothing away.

It doesn't really help that you come from a rival agency, igniting all kinds of rumors. None of the other trainees get close to you. You find it pointless to try to change their minds. You've been alone most of your life, so why try to make friends now? Especially when you're in competition with each other.

You rise through the ranks quickly, an apt pupil and adroit agent. With each test you pass with flying colors, you expect something more from Jack Daniels himself to show he's proud of your progress, even just a smile, a pat on the shoulder, but he remains as unmoved as ever.

The day comes when you're given your official agent name, and in a flurry of excitement you rush to claim yours, only for your expression to turn quizzical when you hear what your new alias is. "What the hell is a Gimlet?" you finally ask as you burst into your mentor's office.

Jack glances up at you quickly, obviously in the middle of an important call, and tells the other line he'll call them back. You pick up on the ghost of a smile that passes his lips before he catches himself and turns serious again.

"Sorry," you tell him. "Is everything okay?"

He nods. "Classified information," is all he says. But you see the look of worry in his eyes, the way he casts his gaze upon you, you can't tell if he wants you to stay or needs you to leave.

"Was Gimlet your idea?" you accuse him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nope. Wasn't my idea." As usual your heart does a triple beat at the sound of his deep voice, the Southern twang. Lately you've realized you've developed a little crush on him, but your education and your training are paramount at this point in your life. You can't be thinking about him this way, even though it's a hard feeling to suppress.

Uninvited, you sit on the edge of his desk, waiting for him to command you to get off. He doesn't. "Sounds like a Lord of the Rings character.. Gimlet.." you do a raspy little monster voice, and Jack crooks his eyebrow, looking like he wants to explode in laughter. "Sorry we can't all be as cool as Whiskey," you grin. "Oh, see that frown? Now that's what I call a Whiskey Sour."

He glares at you with mock severity and you take this moment to try to mess with him a little, to get him to open up.

"No-go on the Whiskey Sour, got it. How about 'Ten Gallon'? 'Billy the Kid'? 'Butch Cassidy?'" Teasing him is so much fun simply because you know he's an easy target, and it's as close as you've come to flirting with him.

He sighs in defeat. "You're thinking of 'Gimli.' From Lord of the Rings."

You shake your head, a smile bursting onto your lips. "Nerd."

"You really want me to lose this fight, don't you?"

"You've already lost, Roy Rogers." You playfully flick the brim of his hat.

A noticeable blush shows on his face as he straightens his hat, and as he clears his throat he adjusts himself in his chair. "So. You're using all the western ones, huh?"

"It's on theme, wouldn't you agree?"

He holds back a smirk. "Don't you have a codebreaking class to be in soon?" He stands up from his chair, adjusting his the waistband of his jeans, inadvertently drawing your attention to that area. Maybe you're imagining it, but it looks as though he's trying to hide the bulge evidencing his excitement.

Reluctantly you take the hint, getting off his desk. "So you're not going to tell me what that call was about? Shouldn't I be in the loop?"

Jack looks like he wants to spill the beans, his lips part as if to speak, and you can't help but imagine how soft those lips would feel against yours, what the slide of his tongue into your mouth would taste like. "All I can tell you is we're bumping up security on you. It's one of those 'the less you know, the better' type of deals, sweetheart."

It's the first time he's ever used a pet name for you and it sends the butterflies in your stomach in a frenzy. "Are you sure?" you ask, taking one more step towards him.

You hear him exhale, his dark brown eyes flickering with doubt. The moment between you feels like it could change everything. "I'm sure," he says at last.

You nod and start to leave, glad that at least a little progress had been made in that you got him to crack a smile.

"It's a cocktail," he says, and you turn back to look at him. "A gimlet.. it's made with gin, lime juice, and sugar."

A smile grows on your lips. "Sounds delicious.. but I really would prefer something cooler like 'French 75' or 'Absinthe.'"

"Adios, Junior Agent Gimlet.." Arms crossed, he signals it's time for you to skedaddle.

As you leave he can't help looking at your ass, the gentle sway of your hips. He's imagined all kinds of things since the day you were partnered with him, and he's managed to sequester those feelings from the way he's supposed to treat you. Times when you sought him out for his esteem, his recognition, he only fractioned it, hoping to keep the boundaries between you, make it easier on him to deny what he feels, but it's only made it worse.

Truth is, he's not only proud of you, but you've managed to get to him like no one has before. It's not just a protectiveness he feels towards you, but something deeper has grown. He hates to admit this to himself. And now, just before you made your animated entrance into his office, he was informed about a problem the agency was facing, one he couldn't share with you, at least not yet. Hell, even telling you to be careful would just set you on alarm, so he has to pretend everything is fine while you're unaware. While he's well aware you can handle your own, he just wants to keep you out of harm's way.

The rest of the day you can't help noticing that he's there, nearby. He's there when you're at lunch in the dining area, when you're studying in the library, when you're at weapons training. Not that you mind at all. You approach him towards the end of the day as you're headed back towards your dorm. "You're my security detail, aren't you?"

"You figured that out pretty quick."

"You're not exactly stealthy," you smirk.

"That stings, darlin'. But I'm not supposed to be stealthy. Just need to keep you safe."

"You're still not going to tell me why?"

He just shakes his head as he walks you to your room.

You sigh. "Are you going to stay out here all night? Like a guard or something?"

"If that's what I have to do."

It should bother you that you don't have much privacy, that your every move is going to be monitored. You assume it has something to do with your previous agency, but there's a small part of you that lacks the courage to address it. Looking at Jack, you wonder if he suspects you of wrongdoing, or if he's simply following orders.

"Good night then," you shrug. "Just remember: you'd be bored without me." Playfully sticking your tongue at him you slip inside your room.

"I'd go insane without you," he whispers just as your door clicks shut.

Not a few seconds later, he hears you calling his name, and he rushes inside to find you frozen, staring at your ransacked room. Upended furniture, your personal belongings thrown and scattered around. Drawers emptied and tossed aside. Your bed torn apart, your mirrors broken.

Questions form in your mouth but die on your lips. You have no idea who and even less idea of why. Jack immediately jumps into action, calling for a full sweep of the room for any evidence the intruder or intruders may have left behind. Meanwhile, feeling helpless, you stand out in the hallway, arms folded over your chest as the security team hurries in to investigate. You're asked to come in to check if anything was stolen, but seeing the few precious items you have still intact in your hiding place, you come to the conclusion that whoever did this was just out to scare you.

"Do they usually do things like this?" you mumble as Jack waits with you in the hallway. Some of the other junior agents are peeking out to see what's going on, and upon seeing your death glare they go back inside their dorms. "Seems petty to initiate someone by doing something so cruel."

"Sweetheart, I don't think it was no initiation," he says. "I'm pretty sure you don't think that either."

It finally catches up to you, the loneliness you've suppressed, the emotions you've had to swallow because you wanted your work to be your life. The friends you didn't make have now all turned to possible enemies. It's the loneliest feeling you've ever had.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," Jack tells you, and to your surprise he kisses your forehead. "I'm here. And I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You nod, grateful for his assuring words. "I thought I didn't care, but I just hate feeling so unwanted here," you swallow the tears that threaten to fall, having kept strong for so long.

Watching you like this is a dagger to his heart. You're usually so upbeat, so full of sass, and this incident bringing you this low really breaks him. He wipes your tears away. Your fear is normal, and even though he can't promise to remove it completely, he wants to at least make you feel a little better. "This is why I don't want.. just the thought of you being in danger.."

Your eyes grow wide as you stamp down the hope that he's speaking from anything more than a mentor standpoint. "Danger is what you're training me for.. why don't you want me near it?"

Jack clenches his jaw. He doesn't want to admit what goes against all rational thought, against all logic. He's protective because of how he feels about you. When did he become such a weak fool? He inhales and exhales slowly, hardening his features to hide his emotions. "I just don't like the thought of you getting hurt."

All you can do is absorb this information and store it away to think about another day. "I don't want to stay in there. The whole room feels.. violated." You cross your arms, shivering.

His mouth is dry as he asks, "Do you want to come spend the night in my room? It's safe, no one's getting in there. I'll keep watch the entire night."

Blinking, you grasp what he's offering. "Only if it's really okay with you."

"Your room is so you," you compliment, looking at the decor as Jack brings you inside his room. "Very masculine. Very John Wayne." The walls are decorated with buffalo prints and mounted longhorn steer antlers, and above you there are wooden ceiling beams, which draw your attention to the adobe fireplace in the corner of the room. Both woven and cowhide rugs lay at various places on the floor. You take from him the bundle of clothing and hygienic necessities you brought from your room and go into his restroom to quickly change and wash up for the night.

"So, where should I sleep?" you ask, emerging from the restroom.

"You take the bed," he says gruffly. "I'll take the sofa," he says, already making himself comfortable.

"You're sure?" You start to feel bad for disrupting his peace.

"Of course I'm sure. Where else you gonna sleep? The closet?"

You laugh a little, starting to feel more at ease. "In that case.." you tentatively climb into his bed, done in western prints, the headboard made of brown leather.

He watches you get into his bed. There's a certain gracefulness to the everyday action. Damn if everything about you doesn't arouse him. He has to take a deep breath to keep himself grounded. But it's his bed you're getting into, your skin touching his sheets, your head resting on his pillow. He clenches his jaw.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" you ask.

"I can stay awake all night if I have to. Make sure you're safe."

"Whiskey, you don't have to do that.."

A little smile crosses his lips. "Then I'll sleep once you're asleep."

"Once I'm asleep just get in with me. This is your room and I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed."

His heart beats double-time at your suggestion. There's no way she can possibly mean that he tells himself. "I'm fine here," he says, nearly choking on his words.

You nod against his pillow, which has his scent. "Well if you change your mind.. this mattress is heavenly." You close your eyes and shift your hips so you can lay on your side.

Damn it. That isn't something he needs to hear. He doesn't need your voice to sound so damn alluring like that. The way your hips roll as you shift position is sending his mind to places he doesn't need to go right now. He takes his eyes off you just to alleviate the flow of blood to his dick, which is already pretty hard.

It's late when he realizes you're finally deeply asleep. From where he rests on the sofa he watches you sleep, admires your beauty in the dim light of the room. He doesn't realize he's also fallen asleep until he hears you cry out in your sleep, your body tossing about. He jolts awake and goes to you, wraps his arms around you as if to shield you from your nightmares. "Sweetheart, wake up," he says gently. "I've got you."

You wake, shivering, your nightmare still looming large in your mind's eye until Jack's soothing embrace eases you back to reality. "It was so real," you mutter, taking a gulp of water from a glass that he offers you. "Would you.. would you get in with me? I just need to be held right now."

He hesitates only a moment before getting in on the other side of the bed. You slide over to make room, then scoot back towards him, allowing him to pull you close with his arm around you.

And damn it if he doesn't love the way you feel against him.

Not asleep yet, you let your body get into a comfortable place, basking in the warmth of his body, your hands resting on his, settled just below your chest. Without thinking about it, you trace the outlines of his fingers, his hands much larger than yours. His other hand is just above your hip, warm, pleasant.

Actually, 'pleasant' is too gentle a word to describe it. It's an intimate touch without being too forward. So many intrusive thoughts come to your mind. And in this rare moment of closeness, you let them win.

Closing your eyes you take a deep, silent breath as you take his hand from your hip and lead it lower, beneath the hem of your pajama shorts. Jack gives a little growl, indulging in the feel of your soft, smooth skin against his fingertips. "We shouldn't be doin' this," he whispers as his hand stills. You can feel the thumping of his heartbeat against your back. "We're breaking a lot of rules right now, just bein' here like this."

You can't help feeling a little guilty. You got yourself into this mess and all he did was try to pull you out. And now you were just a huge inconvenience, apart from also being a huge temptation. "No one would know but us," you tell him, turning on your side to face him. "I know you're my mentor, but I'm not a child. I want this."

He's quiet a moment, looking into your eyes, and for a moment you fear he will reprimand you, turn you down. It would be the worst embarrassment you can imagine. But then he leans in and kisses you, softly at first then with more pressure, and your lips part for his tongue as yours presses against his.

His hands make their way down your body, trailing across your skin as if you're the most delicate thing he's ever seen. Your hips rise up, inviting his touch, and damn it if he isn't ready to just rip your clothes off. Your body buzzes with exhilaration as Jack presses kisses down your neck, your chest, all the way down to give a kiss on your hip. "Is this okay?" he asks, breath shallow as his eyes search yours.

"Yes," comes your whimpering reply, and your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the border where your pajama shorts meet your thigh, and he slowly pulls them down. You arch your back, lifting your hips to help him, and your panties and shorts come off in one go as he slides them down your thighs until he removes them completely.

"I want to see all of you," he whispers, and you nod, pulling up your top, completely exposed to him. You watch him with wide eyes, awaiting his reaction.

Jack licks his lips, looking as though he could devour you. But he takes his time, his fingers slowly tracing up your torso, gently cupping your breasts and grazing his thumb across your nipples. Your sweet little gasp sends sparks firing in his eyes. "You're so sensitive to my touch," he whispers, as if witnessing a miracle. He laps his tongue over each bud, pursing his lips around it and groaning in need as you moan, lifting your hips to his. Even through his night clothes he can feel your heat, your moisture. "I need to taste you," he growls.

"Wait," you whisper. "I need to tell you.. I've never done this before."

This is something he doesn't expect. You always seem so sure of yourself, so direct in what you want, that he never would have thought you'd be inexperienced. "You really want me to be your first?" he asks, growing excited at the prospect of being with you.

"I want this.. with you," you assure him. "There's no one I trust more."

That's all he needs to hear from you. You're giving yourself to him, trusting him. "That means the world to me," he tells you. And with that, he doesn't hesitate. His hands move down your waist, across your hips and between your thighs. Spurred on by your shuddering sigh, he traces your slick folds with his fingertips until you beg him to finally touch you deeper. He eases two fingers in and out, his thumb tracing circular motions over you clit, barely restraining a growl as you eagerly clamp down on his digits. He watches, rapt, as you bite your lip to keep from moaning. He wants to give you more, to make you see stars while he's showing you what it can be like between lovers.

You feel like a god damn queen the moment he slips further down between your legs, gently raising them and getting himself settled. Heart hammering wildly, you gasp as you feel his tongue on your clit, gently sweeping over the sensitive flesh as he continues to work his fingers in and out. On a gasp your fingers grab his hair, causing him to growl and cup your butt with both hands as he resumes his attention on you, tongue flicking over your clit, along your folds, dipping into your crease, lapping up your sweet honey as if he's never going to have another meal ever again. Your blood grows hot and you're unable to even think of anything else but the burgeoning pleasure, and just when you think you might explode from need, the sweet, pulsing feeling takes over. You cry out loud, quivering as Jack makes you come.

He pulls away slowly once you're done, pressing gentle kisses on the insides of your thighs, working his way back up your body with his lips. "You okay there, darlin'? Need a minute to collect yourself?"

You nod, laughing a little, on the verge of giggles because your body has just experienced something so wonderful. "I'm good.. I'm perfect.." you manage to say, and there's a light in your eyes that affirms this.

"You are perfect, we are in agreement on that," he smiles, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face, still flushed from your orgasm.

"Jack," you whisper, using his given name for the first time. "I'm ready.. I want you."

There's a delicious urgency as you help him remove his night clothes. His masculine build exceeds anything you have fantasized about him. His chest is broad with a sprinkling of light brown hair on his chest, and more of that curly hair leads from his navel down to his cock, which he encourages you to touch. It's thick, warm, heavy in your hand, growing more firm with each little stroke you give him.

You both have a need required to be met, but Jack wants to do this slowly, to build it up and make it the best possible experience for you. He has a strong desire to tear into you but he restrains himself, opting instead to kiss you softly, pressing himself to your warmth. He wants you to be a complete puddle for him to take care of once he's finished with you.

As he explores your body you explore his, running your hands over his muscled arms and back, savoring every part. You whimper as he pulls you closer, and your heart gallops. Before he loses himself in the moment, Jack reaches into his bedside drawer for a condom and carefully puts it on, then goes back to kissing you, gently nudging your thighs apart to make room for him. "If you want to stop, tell me," he says to you, and you reply with a kiss, eagerly bringing your body to his and he has no other thought in his head than to make you his once and for all.

Your eyes lock with his as he presses forward, easing himself in just a little at a time. Jesus, the pressure is so sweet, he's only an inch or so in and already he's stretching you. "I'm gonna take it easy with ya, cowgirl," he whispers, pulling out then easing back in, wanting you to be as wet as possible so you can take all of him. Your sweet, sharp little intakes of breath let him know you're feeling good, that you need more, and with each stroke he goes in deeper, until you're completely filled with him, as if you've needed him this way forever, as if you'd been born just to be his.

"You feel so good," you tell him, placing a kiss upon his neck, the skin of his throat rosy with the labor of holding back.

He sighs. eyes closed then open again because he wants to see you laid out beneath him this way. "God, you feel so right.." He moves his hips against you in slow, fluid movements, and in turn you take more of him into you, giving him a home within you. Jack's lips move over yours, then nuzzle your neck, tracing circular patterns over your breasts and back again, while your hands explore his broad shoulders, his brawny arms and the steady pacing of the pistoning of his hips driving against yours as the euphoria within your heart swells. "There's my good girl.. ah, such a tight fit.. but you're so nice and wet for me.."

"More," you gasp, nails lightly scratching on his back, and he gives you just that, taking your breath away as your bodies move together, quickly, towards your common goal. The electricity grows between you, the sweet, sweet friction doubles in your efforts, eliciting desperate moans and sweet gasps. Jack can feel the tension growing within you, the excitement building up to its greatest height. Jack whispers, "That's it, my sweet darlin', come for me.. oh I can feel you squeezin' all around me.." You whisper his name in a frenzy of desire, whisper it like a prayer as you feel the pleasure climb higher and higher. Without warning you shatter beneath him, crying out as you come.

Your sounds are the most divine music ever played. He can no longer hold back, gaining momentum as he brings himself to the tipping point, burying his face in your neck when he comes, releasing with a satiated exhale. You hold onto him, both of you trying to catch your breath, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. He looks up and smiles at you. "You doin' okay, darlin'?" he asks. His body is still but he remains inside of you, wanting to keep the feeling a little longer.

"I think I can die happy having experienced that with you," you sigh, tracing the outline of his jaw.

"You're too sweet," he shakes his head, grinning like a fool as he kisses your lips. "And I'd be more than happy to do that again and again.."

"Oh?" Your heart jumps for joy. "I suppose I could find time for that to happen," you tease him.

Jack smiles and nibbles on your neck. "Good, because I can think up a few other things to try."

You blush, despite still being naked and entangled with him. "What kinds of things?"

"Things like new positions, new places.. maybe once you're comfortable you'll let me tie you down and give you a little tease.." he smirks. "You know, just a few thoughts," he says casually with a gleam in his eye before kissing you gently.

"Holy hell," you whisper, utterly turned on again as you return his kiss. "I can't wait.."

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER TWELVE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash, jealously

playlist: spotify

MIDDLE SCHOOL

Middle school lunch periods were their own kind of battlefield.

It wasn’t just about eating—it was about where you sat, who you sat with, and most importantly, what that said about you.

For years, you had it easy. You were nice, friendly with everyone, and you had your usual spot at the table with the people you’d known since elementary school. It was predictable. Safe.

But things had changed.

Ever since that day behind the school—when you stood up for the four girls that everyone either ignored or avoided—you had started sitting with them.

And honestly? It was a lot more fun.

Still, old habits died hard.

So, on your way to the cafeteria, when you saw a familiar face from your old friend group—Hyejin, someone you used to talk to all the time—you smiled and waved.

“Hey!” you greeted, slowing down as she turned to you.

She looked you up and down, her expression unreadable for a moment before she pouted dramatically. “Oh my god, I totally forgot my lunch today.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Hyejin sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Yeah… My mom was in a rush this morning, and I didn’t have time to grab anything. It’s fine, though. I’ll just wait until I get home…”

You frowned. Lunch wasn’t just a meal—it was important. How was she supposed to get through the rest of the day without eating?

Without thinking twice, you unzipped your lunch bag and handed it to her. “Here, take mine.”

Hyejin’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? No, I couldn’t—”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” you assured her with a smile. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”

She hesitated just long enough to make it seem like she wasn’t going to take it—but then she did, her fingers curling around the bag.

“Are you sure?” she asked, tilting her head in that sweet-but-not-really way.

You nodded, already stepping back. “Enjoy! I’ll see you later.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and headed toward your new table.

Where things were very different.

Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi were already deep in a conversation—more like gossiping aggressively—when you arrived.

“I’m telling you,” Ji-Yeong said, her chopsticks waving dramatically, “I heard that Minho got caught passing notes in math class, and the teacher actually read them out loud.”

Se-Mi gasped. “No way. What did they say?!”

“I don’t know, but Minho looked so embarrassed, so obviously something scandalous.”

Sae-Byeok, sitting across from them, rolled her eyes. “Or he was just passing answers like a normal person.”

Se-Mi scoffed. “Boring. I choose to believe it was dramatic and life-ruining.”

You laughed, sliding into the open seat next to No-Eul.

She barely looked up from her lunch, but the second you settled in, she paused—then frowned.

“…Where’s your food?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Your lunch,” she said, glancing at the empty space in front of you. “You always bring one.”

“Oh.” You scratched the back of your head. “Yeah, I, uh—gave it away.”

No-Eul stared at you for a long moment. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Hyejin forgot hers, so I just gave her mine.”

The entire table went silent for exactly three seconds before—

Ji-Yeong groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto the table. “You idiot.”

Se-Mi shook her head with a knowing smirk. “Sweetheart, you do realize she totally played you, right?”

You frowned. “What? No, she wouldn’t—”

“I guarantee she had food,” Sae-Byeok muttered, picking at her rice. “She just didn’t want to eat whatever her mom packed.”

You opened your mouth to argue—but then hesitated.

Because… okay, yeah. Maybe the way Hyejin had acted was a little too dramatic. Maybe she had hesitated before taking your food. Maybe she had done this before, now that you thought about it.

Ji-Yeong groaned again, shaking her head. “You’re too nice. It’s painful to watch.”

Se-Mi grinned. “It’s kinda cute, though.”

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was tricked. Whatever. I’ll survive.”

No-Eul, who had been quiet the whole time, suddenly pushed her entire lunch toward you.

You blinked. “Uh—what are you doing?”

“Eat.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I can’t take your food—”

“You gave yours away,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “So take mine.”

“I—No-Eul, I can’t—”

“Not asking,” she interrupted, picking up her chopsticks and grabbing some rice. She held it up expectantly, like she was waiting for you to open your mouth.

You stared at her.

She stared back.

A silent battle.

Sae-Byeok sighed. “Just take it before she force-feeds you.”

Ji-Yeong leaned in, whispering loudly, “She will do it.”

Se-Mi nodded. “I’ve seen it happen. It’s terrifying.”

You groaned, finally giving in. “Fine. But we’re sharing.”

No-Eul didn’t argue. She just nodded, calmly dividing the food between both of you like it was no big deal.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And as the others continued gossiping—Ji-Yeong dramatically reenacting Minho’s supposed humiliation, Se-Mi adding exaggerated details, and Sae-Byeok rolling her eyes but secretly enjoying the chaos—you couldn’t help but feel… warm.

Like maybe—just maybe—this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

PRESENT DAY

Free days were rare.

Between recording, touring, interviews, and everything else that came with being one of the biggest rock bands in the world, getting a full day off was practically unheard of.

So when one finally came around, Ji-Yeong had immediately declared that they were spending it doing absolutely nothing—which, in her mind, meant forcing everyone to sit through an obnoxiously long K-drama marathon.

“You guys,” Ji-Yeong said dramatically, flopping onto the couch, remote in hand, “this is cinema. This is art. This is—”

“Bullshit,” Sae-Byeok muttered, arms crossed as she sat stiffly in the armchair.

Ji-Yeong gasped. “How dare you.”

Se-Mi, already sprawled across the other couch, smirked. “You did make us binge an entire show about a chaebol heir with amnesia last time.”

Ji-Yeong huffed. “And it was amazing.”

No-Eul, sitting beside her, sighed. “Let’s just start it before she throws a tantrum.”

Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply through her nose, glancing at the stairs. “Where’s she?”

The room went quiet for half a second.

“…Oh,” Se-Mi muttered, blinking. “She never came back down, did she?”

Ji-Yeong frowned. “She said she’d watch with us.”

No-Eul sighed, already standing up. “I’ll go check on her.”

“I’ll do it,” Sae-Byeok said immediately, pushing off her chair.

No-Eul paused, raising an eyebrow. “I got it.”

Sae-Byeok crossed her arms. “So do I.”

A beat of silence.

Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi exchanged glances.

“…Are we doing this?” Se-Mi whispered.

“Oh, we’re definitely doing this,” Ji-Yeong whispered back.

No-Eul tilted her head, watching Sae-Byeok carefully. “Why are you so eager to check on her?”

Sae-Byeok scoffed. “Why are you?”

“I asked first.”

Sae-Byeok clenched her jaw. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.”

“No?”

Sae-Byeok hesitated for half a second too long.

Ji-Yeong’s grin widened. “Ohhh, interesting.”

Se-Mi leaned forward. “Very interesting.”

Sae-Byeok shot them a glare before turning back to No-Eul. “Fine. Go.”

No-Eul didn’t say anything—just nodded once before heading upstairs.

Sae-Byeok exhaled, sinking back into her chair, arms still crossed.

Ji-Yeong smirked. “You wanna talk about it?”

Sae-Byeok shot her a look.

Ji-Yeong grinned. “Fair enough.”

You weren’t intentionally avoiding them.

It was just—

You had work to do.

Even on your so-called “days off,” there were emails to answer, schedules to manage, and a hundred other things that needed your attention.

So when No-Eul knocked on your door and stepped inside, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re really not coming downstairs?” she asked, leaning against the doorway.

You sighed, barely looking up from your laptop. “I’ve got things to take care of.”

No-Eul didn’t move. “You always have things to take care of.”

“That’s kind of my job.”

No-Eul narrowed her eyes slightly, studying you. “You need to relax.”

You scoffed. “I can’t relax. You guys have interviews next week, rehearsals, a flight to Japan coming up—”

“That’s next week,” she interrupted. “You have time.”

“Not enough.”

No-Eul sighed, stepping further into the room. “We can survive one day without you micromanaging everything.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s not micromanaging. It’s making sure things don’t fall apart.”

No-Eul tilted her head. “You think we’d fall apart without you?”

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I meant.”

No-Eul stepped closer, her voice quieter now. “Then what do you mean?”

You hesitated.

Because how were you supposed to explain it?

That this was all you knew—keeping things running, keeping things together. That if you stopped, even for a second, you felt like everything would slip through your fingers.

That if you let yourself relax—really relax—you weren’t sure what would be left.

No-Eul was still watching you, waiting.

And for the first time, you felt like she saw it.

The exhaustion. The weight of it all.

“…I don’t know how to,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

No-Eul’s gaze softened.

And then—

She moved.

Before you could react, she was cupping your face, tilting your chin up slightly so you had no choice but to look at her.

Your breath caught.

“No-Eul—”

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” she murmured.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t—”

But then she kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed.

It was slow, deliberate, like she was proving something.

Like she was telling you, I see you. I’m here.

Your hands curled into the fabric of her hoodie, gripping it like an anchor.

For all the times you had held yourself together—this was the first time you let someone else do it for you.

And just as the weight in your chest started to lift—

The door creaked open.

Both of you froze.

And standing there, in the doorway—

Sae-Byeok.

Her expression was unreadable.

But her hands were clenched into fists.

And her eyes—

Her eyes were burning.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚎 || Stanley Pines ll

Also called the seal people, the sea people or the mermaid – a selkie is a marine legend that tells of people who are half fish, and half-human. In the water, they are seals, but on land, they shed their skin and take on human form. And for some reason, they are irresistible to ordinary humans, who are apt to fall in love with the seal people

A/n: I am not happy with this

Stan couldn't help but roll his eyes as he tried to zone out on whatever Ford was blabbing about, docked in some small town in Ireland his brother received some tip that a creature was lingering here. One that Ford has never seen.

A Selkie

He really didn't care, as long as had an actual bed to sleep in he was happy.

....but did it have to be in some tiny ass town that wasn't even on the map, leaning into his hand an irritated sigh left his lips he didn't even notice you approach him.

"Top your beer off?"

Stan had to do a double take, he couldn't tare his gaze away. You looked like you stepped out of a painting. From that radiant smile, to how your eyes seemed to shine even in this dimly lit tavern.

Though the one thing he did notice was how you did not fit in here at all. Maybe it was you lacked the Irish accent or it could have been you looked nothing like the patrons you served. A scowl then formed on his lips.

'Idiot...you could be from anywhere...and decided to just move here.'

"Uh...sure..." Stan cleared out his throat, it was like all of his confidence was sucked from him. "Thanks."

"You're not from around here are you?" You teased leaning across the bar top.

Swallowing thickly, Stan let his eyes dart to your cleavage then quickly looked up as his cheeks flushed for a moment. "Uh.."

Humming, you smiled sitting up dusting off your apron. "You're cute."

It was strange, to be able to find a connection with a man after one that stole your hide. He was charming, he made you laugh. It was a strange feeling, while you longed to go home part of you longed to stay with him.

"So you're what...a Selki? My brother is lookin for one."

Tensing, you frowned letting your feet skim the waters. "Are you going to tell him about me?"

"Nah...I'm enjoying this too much....besides the longer he keep's searchin the longer I keep talkin to you." Stan gave you a smile as you glanced away for a moment your own smile tugging at your lips.

"Thank you Stanley." You muttered as you let your head rest against his shoulder.

Cheeks turning pink, Stan gave you a smile as he gave your side a squeeze. "Ah shucks, you don't gotta thank me dollface."

"You're getting awfully close to the barmaid." Ford glanced at his brother as he jotted something down in the new journal.

Tensing, Stan scowled as he stubbed out the cigar as he turned away from Ford. "Why don't you worry about that creature you're lookin for...I got shit do."

Shrugging on a black coat, he started to walk off the dock only to pause hearing his brother.

"We're leaving tomorrow Stanley so try not to get drunk."

'Tomorrow?' Stanley swore under his breath as he quickly rushed off into the night. He didn't think they'd be leaving so soon, not when he was just starting to fall for you. Sure it may have been a month but Ford usually stayed longer.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the house looming in front of him. He knew that bastards schedule by now and where you'd be. Cracking his neck he stepped towards the door.

"One last house Stanley...then you're done."

"Stanley! Stan!" Chest heaving, you rushed towards the man as he stood at the end of the dock, he was holding something behind his back as you did your best to catch your breath. "You're leaving...weren't you."

"I was gonna...I swear...I just had to give you something. Away from those guys." Stan cleared out his throat. "Here."

Eyes going wide, tears swelled as you clutched your coat to your chest. "How did you."

"A good con artist doesn't relieve his secrets" Stan gave you a wink.

Holding the cloak, you stood on your toes placing a kiss to the corner of his lips. Waking towards the dock you slipped the fur around your shoulders only to hesitate as you looked back at the man, your heart aching. You never meant to fall in love.

"Ah go ahead doll face....I'll be fine." Stan cleared out his throat as he watched you vanish in the water. A seal poking its head up for a moment only to dice back down.

"You alright Stanley?" Ford stepped up beside him as he looked at his brother.

Rubbing his eyes, Stan cleared out his throat nodding his head. "Ya I'm fine..let's get going."

Frowning, Ford tipped his head then sighed as he followed Stan. "Right."

Hours passed as Stan kept his gaze on the waters, hoping to at least get a glimpse of you though he couldn't help but snort at Ford's rambles on missing his chances on speaking with an actual Selki, he had half a mind to tell Ford he not only talked with one but also slept with one too.

But he couldn't...not when you meant so much to him.

"Uh Stanley?! Can you come here for a moment?"

Hearing his brother's panicked voice, Stan rolled his eyes as he walked towards the back of the ship only to see Ford pointing some gun at....was that a seal?!

"Whoa!? What the hell are you doin?" Jumping in front of the barking seal, he pushed the gun away as Ford let out a scoff.

"Do you-"

"Please tell him to put the gun down?" Your voice muttered as you peered out over Stan's shoulders glaring at Ford.

"You..."

Turning around, in where the seal once was stood a very naked you. A pout on your lips though Stan had to shake his head as he quickly shrugged his coat off wrapping it around your body. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be?"

Shaking your head, you gave him a smile placing your hand on his cheek. "I tried Stanley but it's lonely...I want to be with you...if you'll have me." You whispered as your head rested on his chest.

Holding you close, Stan kissed your head then smiled as he cupped your cheeks. "Doll face, if I ever say no just toss me over the side of the ship."

"While all of this is well and good...can someone explain to me why there is a naked woman on the ship?"

Glancing up at Stan, you then turned the attention to Ford. "I'm Y/n....and I am the Selki you've been looking for."

Grasping your hand, Ford gave you a smile only to give his brother a glare. "It's nice to formally meet you, we'll talk about this later Stan-...where are you going...I AM NOT SLEEPING ON THE DECK TONIGHT?! STANLEY?"

Your laughter followed by the sound of the door slamming shut was his only response.

[transformers-spike]

HELLO I have been unable to stop thinking about smaller dick dom humanformers Starscream :,)

- On the basis of TFP even if his dick is smaller, his fingers are super long and agile. He finds spots inside you that your fingers could never reach - making your own attempts at playing with your hole pale in comparison to the way he plays your body like an instrument. He’s very smug about being the only one to be able to bring you that kind of pleasure (if he’s mean, he won’t let you use toys on the regular. Then again, he’s right there, so it’s not like you need them.)

- Carding his long fingers through your hair as you blow him, and since he’s on the smaller side you can feasibly swallow most of him down - he praises you generously in that low, raspy voice with a hiss of pleasure, and in subspace I can only imagine the rush of pride you feel at pleasing him

- When he finally does penetrate you, you’re super sensitive from being thoroughly fingered - just what he wanted

- (Thinking of that dancing Starscream gif here) He absolutely knows how to work his hips. He uses his equipment exceedingly well, your eyes cross when he hits your sweet spot perfectly. You don’t have the brainpower to think about how he doesn’t fill you all the way when he’s grinding against your g-spot like that.

- He can be rougher with you because you take him with no discomfort - which opens up a lot of exciting possibilities as a dom. Pushing your face into the mattress, hips up as he slams into you from behind. You can just lie there and enjoy what he gives you.

All in all everyone’s satisfied and I want him to dom me now pls. Starscream finger me until I cry campaign

Anon I need you to know you exploded my peanits with this ask

Thank you so much for understanding the appeal of small penis humanformers TFP Starscream, I assumed it was such a niche thing no one would, but low and behold I was fucking wrong

It didn't strike me until now how good he must be at using his hips, the hip swivel is criminal:

Humanformers Starscream is also most definitely into bondage, especially tying your hands behind your back and having you sit in his lap like a good girl/boy - and he's free to touch you where he pleases, including pinching your nipples until they ache

If you're willing to be more adventurous, then he'll very gladly make you wear an open-mouth gag to throat fuck you properly (not like he reaches your throat... his small size is very comfortable to take in)

He can very easily switch between degradation and praise - which makes him an apt dom

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

pervyroomate!Satoru who can't believe his luck when you answer his online ad for a roomate: "What made you seek out a male roommate, honey? Ain't cha scared the big bad wolf is gonna get ya in your sleep?" You scoff with a heavy eye roll. "Fuck no." He can't stop the smile slowly forming on his pretty face. 'Ya should be.' He thinks, already imagining how'd look naked and squirming beneath him as he made you cry on his cock.

pervyroomate!Satoru that despite his amazing mouth-watering muscles, he mostly watched as you move your belongings into his spacious 2 bd apt: "What the fuck, Gojo? You specifically demanded I not hire movers as you're 'stronger than any of those limp dick fuckers.'" You can't see how he leans against the wall amused, arms crossed and intently staring at the way your small cotton shorts gets lost between your plump brown ass cheeks as you struggle takin boxes to your new bedroom. "Sorry, the views just so damn spectacular. Lookin so fuckin good, baby." Your cheeks warm in embarrasment as you abandon the heavy box, rush into the room and slam the door. Satoru only chuckles, fixin his raging boner as he heads downstairs to get the rest of your stuff.

pervyroomate!Satoru does anything he can in the upcoming weeks to rile you up by any means: "Gojo, put on some goddamn clothes for christ sake. My girls are gone be here soon and none of em wanna see that fuckin shit." You grumble as you sit on the couch and turn on the Netflix app. He laughs heartily, dramatically ploppin down next to you. Its impossible not to notice how his naked chest ripples, how low his black briefs sit on his hips. His hypnotic ocean blue eyes linger on your thick cocoa thighs before meeting your gaze. "Fabrications. Your BFF cornered me in our kitchen just the other day.. Damn near begged me to dick her down. Wanted so bad to tell her I'm savin that for you." He leans in close to your stunned face to whisper his last sentence and gets up, heading to his bedroom. Your left starin at his spot on the couch with wide eyes and wet panties.

pervyroomate!Satoru purposely switched out the dark shower curtain a few months into you moving in with a clear one, finding any reason to disturb your alone time: "Hey y/n, need to brush my teeth real fast." Doesn't bother knocking, quickly stepping in before you have time to cover your wet body. His eyes seem a shade darker as he scans up and down your soapy, naked frame. A small 'fuck' escaping his pretty lips as he stares unashamed. "Gojo, what the hell?!" You screech, arms quickly covering your glistening breasts as you cup your other hand over your pussy. You could literally melt on the spot at the way she clenches at his intense gaze. "Get the fuck out!" The damn pervert looks on for a moment longer, actually having the audacity to palm his cock a few times. "Okay okay, baby, damn. Why you gotta be like that? You showed me yours, don't you want me to show you mine?" He asks with pouty lips as he finally backs out the bathroom, arms raised in surrender. You stop shielding your tits to throw a bar of dove soap at his stark white locks. He only chuckles, quickly shutting the door to avoid impact. "Fuckin creep, Gojo!!"

pervyroomate!Satoru flirts with you relentlessly, crossing every boundary and every line over the next few months: "You gettin the snacks, babe?" Satoru calls from the front room. You roll your eyes at the pet name before you feel a stinging SMACK! to your plump behind. "Ow, Gojo! You fuckin asshole. Quit it!" You swat at the childish nuisance but he dodges your attack easily, leaning against the kitchen counter a few feet away. Fuckin guy has spent the better part of the day smackin your ass while yelling 'Smack Ass Friday!' like a damn teenager. "Awe, come on pretty! Love watchin how your ass bounces when I do it." He coos at you before swerving a bag of doritos you quickly chuck his way. "Boy, I don't give a fuck. You touch it again and you're goin down." It's insulting how lightly he takes your threat; walking right up, grabbin a handful of each ass cheek and smashing your hips together. His half hard dick feels chubby as fuck against you, girth of him makin you gasp and clutch as his shoulders. Your insides clench at the feelin of him pressed against you. "Fuck, I been waitin to go down on you. Name the time and place sweetheart." He tells you sweetly, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip, kissing you on the cheek and retreating to the living room. Damn this man must love leaving you speechless, heart and pussy fluttering to his dirty words.

pervyroomate!Satoru notices how much you love how he smells: whether it's his natural scent or cologne. You take his shirts without his permission too often, only wantin the ones he'd previously worn. Loves how he comes home late one night and catches you in one of his stolen white t-shirts. Neckline pulled up to your nose, tittes jiggling wildly underneath as you play with yourself. He stares between the crack of your bedroom door, hand swiftly squeezin at his dick as he watches you mindlessly rub yourself over your underwear. y/e/c eyes shut tight, quietly moaning his name like a fuckin prayer. "Toruuuuu! Fuh-uuuck Satoru, love how you smell. Mmmm, soooo good. Want you so m-much, need you to fuck me Toru!" His mouth hangs wide open as he humps his hand faster atop his light blue jeans, absolutely entranced how you frantically rub at your throbbing lil pearl. "Ahhhh! Oh my god, Toru please!" He's so greatful for a front row seat to witness you cum like a fuckin virgin. Fuck are you one?Can't help his deranged whisper as he commits the scene to memory. "That's it, baby. Cum for me. Fuck.. I know that lil pussy's so gushy for me right now. Can't wait to see it up close, gonna make her cream all over me pretty girl." Head pushed back into your fluffy pink pillow, pretty y/h/c hair splayed out makin you look like a goddess in the throes of passion to him. "Wanna cum on your cock, Satoruuuu!" His shirt rides up on you, showing him how your tummy pudge jiggles as your body convulses into an arch. You bite your lip to muffle the rest of your pleasure. It's okay. The sight is enough for Satoru. He paints the inside of his new jeans immediately, free hand cupped over his mouth as his eyes roll back, his hips repeatedly jerking his clothed spasming cock into the palm of his hand.

pervyroomate!Satoru who asks you the nastiest shit just to see you sexually flustered: You're in bed reading, back against the headboard with Satoru's head in your lap. Your hand carelessly cards through his soft hair, nails lightly scratchin at his scalp. So cute the way he whines at you to continue everytime you accidentally pause as you get to a good part in your book. "Hey baby?" His voice so innocent that you know for a fact the next words outta his mouth are gonna be filthy as fuck. "Yeah?" "How come you only call me Satoru when you're on your back, fingers in that pretty lil pussy?" His tone is laced with the genuine wonder of a child asking a simple question. Your jaw might as well be on the floor. "G-Gojo!" Shocked exclamation half accusatory, half scolding. "What? I really wanna know, y/n. Sound as pretty as you looked in my shirt when you moan it like you did the other night; made me cum so hard listenin." He's lookin up at you upside down but you're absolutely mortified, using your book to hide your face. What do you even say to him right now? "Aww, baby don't be shy. I do it when I think about you too. Cept I usually have a pair of your panties up to my nose." He shares with you happily and unapologetic, pulling the book from your fingers to toss it to the floor. "I wanna hear you say it like that again." Turning on his belly to leer at your clothed pussy through your tiny bottoms. Your breath picks up in anticipation, starin as his fine ass leans foward and gives a slow lick from slit to clit. The urgent, intense sensations has you squealing out his name as you slide both hands into his hair. "Satoruuu!" Slidin your shorts to the side, admiring your moist plump pussy lips. "Fuck baby, say it again. Just like that." He commands you, latching onto your sensitive lil button. All you can do is comply, buckin into his mouth as you wail 'Satoru' over and over to the damn heavens.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Croissant 🥐 with frank ? : )

Could you do maybe a drunk reader x frank?

hear me out,

Reader gets locked of her apt so Frank takes her in his and maybe a little fluff?

a/n: i haven't had the time to write anything in two months. thank fuck lovely requests such as yours were there to help me get back into the groove ৎ୭

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Oh no…” you uttered as the cold clang of your keys ceased to kiss your searching fingers as they virtually turned your bag inside out, “oh no, no, no, no!” 

If only you hadn’t been in such a rush earlier to get to your best friend’s birthday party on time, maybe then you wouldn’t have been in this very situation.

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly tore your gaze away from the abyss of your purse and offered the barricade of your locked front door a brief glance before your cheek smooshed against its smooth surface. Slowly, and with a muffled whine escaping your lips, your frame slid all the way down till you were sitting crisscross applesauce against the entrance of your apartment. 

Your head lulled as you fished out your phone and as the brightness swiftly switched on, your inebriated gaze rapidly narrowed to a squint. Your fingers struggled to hit the correct keys as you tried to google locksmiths in your area, though they didn’t manage to spell it correctly till the echo of a pair of heavy boots creaked on the staircase. 

“You alright?” a deep voice washed over you.

Peering up from your phone, a flutter in your belly suddenly tickled and mingled with the dizziness already turning your world upside down, as your sight landed on none other than your unfairly handsome next-door neighbour. 

“Frank,” an intoxicated smile crept up on your lips, “hello.” 

“Hi,” he briefly blinked, swiftly picking up on the state you were in, “are you okay?” 

Gazing up at him as he effortlessly managed to find his own set of keys in a pocket of his dark jeans, you ceased to offer him an answer and instead blurted, “would you happen to know how late locksmiths do their thing? You just look like the type of guy who’d know that kind of stuff.” 

“Uh…” his dark brows furrowed, “you’re locked out?”

“Bingo bango,” weakly, you sarcastically pumped your fist in the air, “yes sir, I am indeed.” 

Your eyes briefly flickered to the grimy hallway floor as a thought dawned on you. If they couldn’t get here tonight, then you’d probably have to sleep out here. 

As Frank’s own key twisted in the lock of his front door, you expected him to just disappear and not get further involved in the chaos he’d accidentally walked in on, but instead, to your amazement, his bulky frame twisted back in your direction as an offer left his lips.

“I actually happen to know a guy who can help out, but it’ll probably be a few hours till he can get here. Do you wanna wait for him in here? Can’t promise it’ll be before the sun comes up.” 

A giggle then burst from you and your head bowed as you wishfully joked, “you haven’t even bought me dinner yet and you’re already inviting me to stay the night?” 

“Oh, no,” his gaze grew wide, “that’s–, I mean, that’s not–, I wasn't implying–”

“I’m just fucking with you,” the chuckle continued to rumble out of your lungs even as you then said, “help me up, will you?” and you reached up your hand for him to grasp. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[strawwritesfic]

Male!Loki x Female!Light Elf!Reader: With Dying Colors

Summary: Not everyone gets the chance to change their fate. Loki Odinson does so by accident, and finds the place he has been searching for all his life.

Rating/Tags: G (Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War; Not Canon Compliant with Loki; References to Loki's Gender Fluidity; Mild Hurt/Comfort; Mild Language; Florence Nightingale Syndrome; Homesteading; Depressed Thor; Background Platonic Relationships)

Word Count: 11,465

Requester: Anonymous

Request: "Hey could I plz request a Loki fem reader? Loki somehow manages to escape Thanos (cause we’re all still in denial of his death) but gets separated from the rest of the Asgardians on the way to Earth. Severely injured he chances it and uses magic to escape and lands in the forest somewhere. He wakes up in a warm cozy cabin all healed but remembers bits of his time here…being fed, washed and nursed back to healthy [sic] by a woman. Reader is an earth witch/half light elf who was banished for her human side and takes care of him but now he doesn’t want to leave cause he starts falling for her. Coincidentally her forest meets up with the forest near the Avengers Compound so she sends them updates on his health, but she also protects him cause Ross wants him locked away in the Raft. She’s more powerful so no one really dares trespass on her land."

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: Wow, it sure has been, like, half a minute, right? This took me a long, long time to write. I had to add scenes; I had to research homesteading; I had to do some adjustments after discovering I was writing a completely different theme towards the end...I've been working on it so long that my own mother started throwing shade at me for it. I don't know for sure if I'm back-back, but I am making an concerted effort to get back to doing things I love. I did my best to complete every aspect of this request, and I think I managed it in a reasonable fashion, save for not telling the story via flashbacks. As the author, I do have some veto power, and I just didn't think the story warranted that.

Ao3 Version Here

With Dying Colors

Lights. Ever-swirling, ever-flashing, ever-sparkling lights. An array of dancing colors surrounded Loki Odinson. He could see the endless shifting of them even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The lights danced around him—no. A more apt description would be that the lights rushed around him. He could feel them all moving so rapidly past him that his long, dark hair blew out behind his head, though there ought not be any wind in space.

If this was dying, death was not so nearly as horrible as he'd feared.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Upon further rumination, dying was plenty painful. Thanos must have decided crushing Loki's windpipe had not been punishment enough. Now the Mad Titan sought to crack Loki's skull open with Mjölnir. For Odin's sake, Thanos had already cast Loki to the floor like refuse! Must he suffer further indignities before being allowed to pass?

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Evidently so. The lights having faded into a void of black, Loki pressed his eyelids still tighter as the pain lanced through his head.

—just get it over with already, you overgrown prune, is what Loki intended to say. But he didn't even get the first two words out in understandable form. Trying to do so made him feel as though someone had stuffed his throat with shards of broken glass. A metallic taste filled his mouth, accompanied by some sort of warm liquid. He coughed the molten stuff out from within his burning chest.

"Shhhhhh," someone nearby murmured.

Whoever they were, they weren't Thor. That the voice belonged to a woman made that obvious; Thor had never shared Loki's predilection for swapping genders like clothing. Another of Thanos's monstrous children, perhaps?

Something wet prodded Loki's pounding forehead, and he lurched away—or attempted to. Once again, he found himself with little control over his own body. His shoulders whacked against a hard object that similarly could not be Thor. Even his brother wasn't that flat and unyielding.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Oh, for the love of—" the same voice said crossly.

The cool, damp thing near Loki's face vanished. He heard a squelching sound, then rapid footsteps crossing a floor—a distinctly not metal floor.

Bang! Bang! Ba—

A door opened.

"Miss [Name]," barked a new voice—not an Asgardian accent, Loki noted, and belonging to someone wholly unfamiliar to him, "if you don't—"

"I would request that you keep your voice down, Mr. Secretary," said the woman from before, albeit in a much cooler tone than the one she'd used with Loki.

A thump. Boots on wood, if Loki was not mistaken. His head hurt so badly even the softest noise felt like another blow, but he thought he could identify that much. Whoever this man was, he was now in the...room? Home? Escape pod? Loki finally had to know.

Though his eyelids felt welded shut, he pried them open to find himself somehow miraculously no longer aboard either the Statesman or Sanctuary II. Instead, the sight that greeted him was that of a small room. Night dark as pitch pressed against the windows, leaving only a multitude of candles burning on seemingly every surface to light the place. Their trail his eyes followed all the way to a doorway where two figures stood: a pale-skinned biped with a mustache towering over another biped entirely swallowed in shadows.

"And I," said the mustached one, "request that when I summon you, you come to see me. And if I have to come retrieve you, I request that you open the door at once."

"Mr. Secretary, I would remind you that I am under no obligation to follow your 'summons' at all."

"The Accords clearly state—"

"I may have signed your Accords, but I am not one your chess pieces to be moved at your whim. There were provisions put in place for people like me."

"People like you. Not people like him."

The man pointed in Loki's direction without taking his eyes off the woman. Had Loki been able to speak, he might have had a snide response prepared. But he couldn't, and he didn't, and the smaller figure stepped in front of the finger to shove the man's arm down.

"Please try to remember whose territory you are on, Mr. Secretary. Those provisions do allow me to act in self-defense," she said.

"Self-defense! Aiding and abetting more like." The man let out a scornful laugh. "That man is an intergalactically wanted war criminal!"

"Some might say the same of you in the near future, Mr. Secretary." The woman made to step away, but the man reached out to grab her shoulder before she could get very far.

"I have every right to take him into custody," he said.

The woman wrenched her bare, [color]-skinned shoulder out the man's grasp. "He is in no condition to be moved, especially not to your godsforsaken rock. Do you also have the right to watch him die?"

Though the man said nothing in response, Loki could see a mutinous glitter in his eyes despite the flickering candlelight surrounding all three actors in this little drama.

"He won't receive proper medical care at the Raft. We both know you taking him would be as good as a death sentence."

"I couldn't care less if the little bastard dies!" the man burst out. "How many of our good men and women have died because of him? And you think he ought to be allowed to make a full recovery and murder more?"

"How many more might die without him?" The woman's voice had dropped, and yet she sounded so firm that there could be no question that she meant what she asked. The man stared down at her, speechless once more, but this time his eyes had gone wide. "They're already here, aren't they, Mr. Secretary?" she went on in an innocent tone. "The monsters looking for the Stones? How many of your precious Avengers have already gone missing?"

A shock of ice-cold lightning flashed through Loki's very core. Stones? Avengers? Could he really be so cursed? Whatever stroke of luck had seen him use enough dark magic to escape Thanos with his injuries had been no luck at all. He'd only gotten away as far as Midgard, where at least two damned Infinity Stones waited for their master to claim them. Worse, by the sound of things, Thanos's children had already arrived and already won.

As his heart and mind raced, a burst of white light filled the room. The glare of it burned Loki's already aching head and left a smear of purplish blue across his vision. Terrified, able to breathe only shallowly without bringing more blood into his mouth, he blinked as fast as he could to recover his vision. He could do nothing but accept his fate now, whether that be at Thanos's hands or those of the angry man's, but he preferred to retain some semblance of dignity either way this go-round.

When at last he could see clearly again, however, Thanos did not stand in the wreckage of the building. Nor did any of his children, Loki realized, nor the man from before. Only one person remained, and that was the woman. She had her back toward him as another white light surrounded the door she stood in front of.

Then she turned her face to him. Their eyes met across the dark room. Her angry expression melted at once.

“Oh,” she said, “you’re awake.”

Loki didn’t even manage to open his mouth to answer before his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out from pain and fear.

******

Next Loki woke, he found himself in an airy, well-lit room. Day had broken, and clear sunshine beamed through the many windows on the walls. It was the same place he had woken in previously. The extinguished candles clustered across every visible flat surface were proof enough of that. He could also see the same door from before. Only one other shut door led away from where he lie. Nothing moved around him. Birds chirped outside at such a decibel that he could hardly believe he'd slept through their incessant racket.

Except that he still hurt. Bor, he hurt. But Loki had not lived this long without knowing, generally, what sort of situation he had gotten caught in. Throbbing, stabbing, straining, burning, he pushed himself into a seated position against the stack of pillows behind his head. His gasp for air when he made it felt like a knife lodged deep inside his throat. There would be time to catalog his injuries later, perhaps, and less of a chance of that if he didn't seize this opportunity to take note of where he was.

What he saw surprised him somewhat. Though tidy, the one-room structure held a lot of clutter. In between all the candles sat hunks of rocks and crystals, some polished, others rough. Many were Midgardian in nature, but others Loki could tell at a glance weren't local at all. Piles of books in varying conditions littered the polished wood floor. Every window held at least one plant, each different, each in obviously robust health. Perhaps strangest of all was the mound of pillows and knitted blankets a few feet away from his resting place—the only messy thing in the entire place.

Not that it mattered. This homey little cottage would not last long with Thanos on the way, if he had not arrived during Loki's second bout of unconsciousness. Rather than sitting around and admiring the cleaning job, he needed to be finding a way out. His leg screamed in pain as he forced it out from underneath the sheet and put his foot on the floor. He ignored it. What was a little pain now compared to what he would feel when Thanos got ahold of him again?

"You're not strong enough yet for that sort of nonsense," someone said.

He sucked in a breath so swiftly that it triggered another coughing fit. The taste of blood flooded his mouth once more. His head spun with pain. Something rustled softly over by the door. Then Loki heard footsteps for a second or two before he felt a hard object against his mouth. Before he could gather his wits about him enough to shove the object away, a cold, bitter liquid flowed across his tongue and into his waiting throat. Loki spluttered as much of it entered his lungs, and yet even as he did the pain in his chest subsided somewhat.

Once his breathing evened out, the concoction stopped pouring into his mouth. The hard object vanished. Loki inhaled tremulously.

"I told you that you weren't strong enough," said the same voice from before. Now that he thought about it, Loki recognized the voice as belonging to the woman who had kept him safe the last time he'd been awake.

It was she that sat beside him now. His eyes met hers consciously for the first time—beautiful, sparkling, [color], and indignant. Definitely indignant. How women across so many realms and cultures could master the same look was a mystery for the ages. She didn't give him a chance to ask. With a snort, she stood and bustled over to the door through which the mustached man had burst before. After she'd gathered a weaved basket into her arms, she stepped over to a nearby kitchen hung with shining copper pots and bouquets of drying herbs.

"That was hardly my fault," Loki said into the silence. "You startled me. I didn't realize I had company."

The woman smiled at him over her still-bare shoulder. "You don't. You're company. And from the stories I've heard, Loki of Asgard ought to be a little more difficult to catch unawares."

"You'll forgive me if my near-death experience put me a little off my game."

Again, she said nothing. The sink turned on without a touch as you unloaded dirt-encrusted vegetables from the basket. Interesting. Though the room held many trappings of the bog-standard Midgardian witch, Loki had never seen a Midgardian perform any sort of magic, mundane or not.

"And to whom should I direct my thanks for saving my life?" he asked pointedly.

"Me. Mostly."

"Yes, and who is me?"

She paused in unloading her foodstuffs to give him a pursed-lipped look. Then her head whipped back away from him again she replied, "[Name]."

"[Name]." The sound of it tasted interesting on his tongue. "Thank you, [Name]."

"Don't thank me. I wouldn't say you're out of the woods yet."

Loki lifted a hand to his ruined throat. "So I've noticed. And may I ask..."

Well, now that he thought about it, he had a plethora of questions. A given name hardly got him anywhere. But before he could select a single query from the dizzying array crowding his mind, you supplied an answer him:

"I don't know."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know what happened. The cards have been cryptic." Was that a note of annoyance he heard in your voice? "All I've got from them is something about Thanos and the Infinity Stones. I don't even think you’re supposed to be here."

He hardly registered that last sentence. The mere mention of the Mad Titan made Loki feel very cold even underneath the considerable bulk of his blanket. His voice sounded even raspier when he spluttered, "Are they—has he—"

"He's not here."

              "How would you know?"

"I'd know." You dropped your now-empty basket onto the gleaming wood countertop. Perhaps you spotted the horror in Loki's eyes as you turned to him, because you went on, "And if I didn't, my next-door neighbors would let me know."

"Neighbors?" Loki squeaked. Clearing his throat only made his vocal cords throb.

You didn't remark on that, just nodded slowly. "They're the ones that brought you to me a few days ago."

At last, something that Loki could latch on to! Even the vaguest of clues as to his location would aid him in working out a spell. He'd escaped from Thanos once; he could do it again.

"And where, exactly, might your neighbors have found me?" he asked.

You opened your mouth. Loki leaned forward in anticipation. Before you could utter a single word, however, someone knocked on the door. The noise was a far cry from the incessant, head-rending banging of earlier. Still, he noticed that your normally [color] skin paled several shades at the sound.

"That's probably them now," you said.

That didn't quite explain your change in color or the jittery way you rushed over to the door. Loki's eyes followed you there. Too late did he think to pull the blanket over his head to hide himself. In his current condition, it would have been a struggle to do so before you opened it to reveal —

"Steve? Natasha?"

At least you sounded as horrified as he felt by the sudden appearance of two Avengers on your doorstep. They could be no other, though they didn't look quite right. The former had dark hair now, as well as a beard, and the latter had turned blonde. But who else could it be? Who else would show up at Loki's weakest point?

His alarm increased as you threw your arms briefly around Natasha. The alarm swiftly turned into suspicion when he noticed she made no move to throw you off.

"I don’t understand," you said, as you released her and allowed the two to enter your home. "Why are you back? Where's Tony?"

"We're not sure," Steve answered.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than did his and Loki's eyes meet across the room. Loki noticed that Steve's gaze had changed just as drastically as his appearance in the intervening years. Much of the sadness was gone. Now there was just some blazing hardness dampened not at all as he took in Loki's injuries. Loki knew that Natasha was looking at him, too, but he was too busy with his staring contest with Steve to pay her much mind.

Oddly, he felt no satisfaction whatsoever when Steve broke their stare off to return his attention to you:

"How's your patient?"

You didn't miss a beat. "Not well."

"Can you leave him?"

"No."

"Is moving him an option?"

"Absolutely not."

"Better question." Loki started painfully at the sound of Natasha's voice right next to him. She'd come to stand beside his bed, arms crossed, the look in her eyes even colder than Steve's had been. "Do we care what happens to him?"

Of course. Of course Loki had escaped the greatest threat the universe had ever seen—for a given value of "escape," he had to admit—only to die at the hands of the so-called heroes his brother had considered his friends. At least Steve's presence was likely to ensure Loki's death came swiftly. If Thanos's children were already scouting out the planet, perhaps Natasha would even be doing him a favor.

"Rhodey wouldn't have told us he was here if what happens to him didn't matter," Steve said.

"If he can't help us, I fail to see what benefit there is in keeping him alive."

"Help you with what?" you cut in, voice as sharp as steel.

Natasha stepped away from Loki. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Relaxing his muscles made the blood rush through his body so hard it made him dizzy—but it did not distract him from hearing Steve's answer to your question:

"We're going to Wakanda. They can remove Vision's Stone there without killing him."

"We hope," said Natasha.

"It will work."

"Sounds great." You didn't sound like you agreed with your own sentiment. "What do you need either of us for to do that?"

"They'll come, [Name]. We'll have the last of the Stones with us. They'll all come. Maybe even Thanos himself."

"You'd be a huge asset," Natasha added.

"We could use all the help we can get. And that includes Loki."

Suddenly, all eyes were on Loki. He licked his lips. "And why should I bother to help you all?" he rasped at last.

No one looked surprised by this question. Steve's eyebrows lifted slightly before he said, "It's your universe at risk, too. And from the sound of it, you wouldn't have made it very long if Tony and Rhodey hadn’t brought you here."

"Oh, yes, thank you.” His lip curled; he hoped that Steve could not hear his wildly beating heart. "Thank you so much for the rescue. And just in time to be obliterated along with the rest of reality! You shouldn't have."

"We're going to do our best not to let that happen. What about you, [Name]?" he asked as he turned back to you.

Loki felt rather than saw your gaze on him, searching and gentle. He found that he could not lift his head to meet your eyes. Then, in a soft tone full of regret, you said:

"I can't."

"If we lose this, there's a good chance he'll die anyway," said Natasha.

"He'll die for sure without anyone here to look after him."

She opened her mouth, but whatever nasty remark she planned to make next, Steve silenced her with a hand on her shoulder.

"We understand," he told you.

You nodded.

Without another word, the two Avengers left the cabin. You watched them go until Natasha pulled the door shut behind them. Silence buzzed through the room like electricity. You did not move. So long did you stare at the door that Loki half-expected it to burst into flame; the same could be said about the length of time he spent staring at the back of your head. He opened his mouth, found it dry, licked his lips, and tried to speak evenly:

"If you hurry, you could still catch up with them."

You shook your head, turning to head back to his bedside.

"Truly," he said. "I can make it on my own. Why, I only feel mostly like dying now instead of completely like dying."

"And you only feel that good because I've been here to take care of you." From the silver pitcher on the bedside table, you poured some smoking, purple concoction into the nearby cup. Then you sat down on the edge of the bed and held it out to him. "Speaking of, drink this."

A delicate sniff of the cup thrust toward him indicated that this was the same bitter brew you'd forced down his throat earlier. He did not take it. "I am a god. I can take care of myself."

"If I leave, you won't make it until tomorrow. This stuff doesn't keep, and you can't make it yourself." When Loki made no move to take the cup from you, you rolled your eyes. "Same thing if you won't drink your medicine."

He wrinkled his nose, but accepted the glass. Instead of swallowing the foul-smelling stuff, he cradled it in his hands. "Why are you doing this for me?"

"I don't think even one life should be given up if I have the power to save it. That's all," you said.

"Even if they could die anyway?"

"Even if they could die anyway." You cocked your head to one side, regarding him quietly for a few moments. Then you stood again. "Drink up, and get some rest. Hopefully the rest of the world will still be here the next time you're awake."

A sudden surge in pain obliterated Loki's desire to retort. Steeling himself, he lifted the potion to his lips and gulped it down as quickly as he could. The relief came over him almost at once, so heady that it made his head spin. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. Before he could wonder if this was Thanos's victory, natural sleep overtook him. Perhaps dying this way would be easier, he thought, than what might face him later in that tiny cabin.

******

The potion’s effects only did so much for him after that dose. Loki slept fitfully, plagued by a leaden weight in his stomach that even sleep could not dispel. His dreams ended in exploding planets, in melting cities, in scorching pain. All the magic sedative coursing through his system did was drag him along from one cataclysm to the next. Try as he might, he could not tear himself into the hellscape of his reality—not until a loud clang issued from somewhere nearby.

“Owwww!” Loki snapped as he forced his eyelids open. At least this awakening did not hurt as badly as the last two had. The clear, watery light of morning only worsened his headache a little as opposed to a tremendous degree.

And he knew where he was. That helped. Though the panic searing the inside of his rib cage did not abate, he doubted that anyone observing him would be able to tell that at a glance. At least he managed to refrain from throwing himself out of the bed this time. This allowed him to maintain some dignity as he searched for the source of the noise.

And there you stood in the kitchen. One of those copper pots sat steaming on the island. As though you could sense his eyes on you, you looked up from your stirring.

“Congratulations. The rest of the world is still here,” you said.

How little he cared about this backwater rock when Thanos could set the entire known universe on fire should he succeed in wresting the last Infinity Stone from Steve's all-too-human fingers. Biting back this retort, Loki struggled into a seated position. He was pleased to find himself recovered enough to do so on his own.

“So I see,” he said at last, once he noticed you watching him. “So did your friends…” he didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence. He didn’t quite know which question he wanted answered, or what answer he wanted to hear either.

You shook your head. “I won’t hear back from them unless they get back.”

“Not even your precious cards could tell you?”

“Even if they could, I wouldn’t ask. All I can tell you is that you and I are still standing.”

‘In a manner of speaking.’ Loki took a moment to glower at his weak legs. “Yes. How much longer will that be the case, I wonder.”

“There’s no use fatalizing about it. Would you like some porridge?”

The gears in Loki’s mind took several seconds to adjust to the abrupt change of subject. Unfortunately, the moment he gave any real thought to the sweet aroma wafting from the pot, his stomach rolled so badly he couldn’t open his mouth to reply. Who knew what sort of muck might pour out of it, given all the strange things you’d forced down his throat during your short acquaintance?

“I’ll add something to your medicine to help with nausea.” A note of sympathy had crept into your voice. “We need to get something solid in your stomach before too much longer.”

Making breakfast, gathering food, healing him—what good would all of this effort do in the end? Probably you just wanted a distraction from the inevitable doom you both faced. Thor’s ragtag bunch of misfits had defeated Loki, but he was in no condition to consider himself a threat the same level as Thanos. The Avengers didn’t even have Thor anymore.

Loki’s eyes suddenly burned, and his throat felt all over again the pressure of Thanos’s enormous fingers. The thought of what might have happened to his brother in the aftermath of Loki’s escape would not bear thinking about. Time to focus on other things.

There wasn’t much else to focus on but you, however. He watched as you doled out a serving a mush into a waiting wooden bowl. You ate it quickly. Then you took your pot and carefully spooned the rest of the food into a line of glass jars sitting on the countertop.

Loki noticed that you moved differently than other Midgardians, now that he could stop and take the time to observe you at length—more graceful, more intentional, with no wasted movements whatsoever. Mortals could be taught to replicate such movement, but they could never achieve the same kind of ability as beings superior to them.

Only when you’d easily hefted the heavy object over to the sink did he finally say, “You’re not human, are you?”

You looked over your shoulder at him, expression guarded. “Half,” you said at last, then shifted some hair away from one of your ears. Doing so revealed that ear to end in a perfect, delicate point.

“You’re a light elf,” Loki said wonderingly.

“Half,” you said again, before returning to the chore of cleaning your dishes.

“What are you doing so far from Alfheim?”

“The whole half-human thing? Yeah, it didn’t exactly endear me to my family there.”

“But why here? There are light-elf communes in the realm.”

“Those jackasses at the North Pole declined to house me as well. One human per pole, apparently. And half-humans count.”

“There’s an entire galaxy out there. You could have gone anywhere.”

“By then, I’d figured out I was better off on my own.” Water continued to run over your hands and bare forearms, but these had stilled. Your gaze was fixed on some distant point in time. Then it snapped back to his face. “It was a long time ago. I went to SHIELD, traded a few goods and services for secrecy. And Howard Stark let me build a place near where he was stationed. I’ve been here ever since.”

“That sounds…lonely.” Lonely in a way that Loki understood; lonely in a way he’d always felt growing up, although he hadn’t understood why—lonely in the way he’d been after he had discovered his true heritage.

You shrugged flippantly. “It worked pretty well up until the Accords. Now I’ve always got Ross breathing down my neck.”

“The Accords?”

“It’s an Avengers thing, or at least Ross wants it to be.”

“So you—”

“Are not an Avenger.” Finished with cleaning, you tipped the pot onto the counter upside down, dried your hands on the waiting towel, then turned to face him. “I’ve never been one, and I’ll never be one.”

Loki found his body loosening somewhat after this revelation. Strange. He hadn’t noticed he’d been so taut to begin with. “And yet they came to you for aid,” he pointed out.

“I do aid them, sometimes. But not because some Midgardian law says I have to. Like I said before, if I have the power to save one life I’ll do it, whether or not my neighbors believe that life is worth saving. If anyone can get rid of Thanos, it’s them. But they couldn’t save you.”

“Is a single life worth saving if they can’t?”

“I guess that’s up to the person whose life it is.”

“And the life Thanos leaves them with.”

He noticed then you had gone very still. You cocked your head to one side and regarded him down your nose. “Do you regret it? Being saved?”

Loki inhaled sharply. How could he answer that question? For all the aggravation and fear he felt about his present circumstances, to reply in the negative would be terribly rude. Your bedside manner left much to be desired. Your skill in healing, on the other hand…

The sudden disintegration of half the plants in the room saved him from having to voice his thoughts. Your eyes locked onto his. Neither of you breathed a word. Somehow Loki still knew your thoughts to be the same: The Avengers had at last done the unthinkable. They had failed.

******

Some things Loki grew accustomed to over the years following what came to be called "The Snap." He grew accustomed to the new, permanent roughness of his voice. He grew accustomed to the slight limp from his injuries becoming more pronounced when the wind turned cold. He grew accustomed to eating food only available seasonally, to working for that food, to sharing a smaller space than he'd ever lived in before. He grew used to braiding his lengthening hair each day. He even grew accustomed to the smell of the chicken coop.

That day, the stench was worse than most others. An unexpected rainstorm had blown in overnight, and left everything damp or dripping, from the branches overhead to the edges of the roof. Loki shook his hood back as he made to the door, scuffed his worn boots on the welcome mat, and entered the cabin.

"Breakfast," he announced, somewhat breathless after his run for cover.

You stood already working at the stove. He placed the basket he carried in an empty space near your elbow. After a quick glance at his sodden figure, you reached under the piece of cloth he'd placed over the eggs, pulled two out, and cracked them over the skillet. Only once the food was sizzling did you offer him a warm smile.

Instead of saying anything, Loki swallowed and did his best to avoid your gaze.

"Thanks," you said into the silence.

"I had no issues with gathering eggs for you this morning. I wanted to check on Gunnhild myself."

"How is she?"

Loki hummed noncommittally as he went to a drawer for cutlery to set the table. He couldn't quite put words to the worry he felt nowadays over so much as Midgardian hens of all things. Perhaps he felt obligated to keep alive as many beings as he could after Thanos had taken so much. After finding one of his ladies so lethargic the evening prior, he'd spent a long, sleepless night fretting over her condition until he could trek to the pen under the pretense of helping with the morning meal. Truth be told, Gunnhild had seemed livelier then, but still, his thoughts continued to linger over her when he sat down in one of the two heavy wooden chairs.

The sound of a plate being placed in front of him snapped Loki from his musings. He did not know if he liked the understanding look you shot him as you slid into your own seat across from him. His stomach twisted painfully until he looked away from your face again.

Add that to the somewhat shorter list of things Loki had not grown accustomed to since the Snap.

"I'll put a little something extra in the feed today. She'll hardly know she had a respiratory infection."

More and more often lately, Loki found himself unable to meet your eyes, and when he did force himself to do so, his insides would suddenly feel hot. Had he been a younger or more ignorant being, he might have been inclined to blame the numerous concoctions you forced him to drink (some days with more arm-twisting than others) even this much time after his near-fatal injuries. You seemed to have magic for every aliment known, for chicken and Jotun alike. Why not a philter as well?

But he had been alive long enough—been in love often enough—to know the truth. These physical sensations had nothing to do with your talents, and everything to do with his...isolation? Rescue? Maturing?

He had never believed himself to be one of those fools capable of falling head over heels for someone for no greater reason than that they had nursed him back to health. What a pathetic way to return the kindness you had shown him—all the panaceas grudgingly swallowed; all the staggering walks contemptuously taken; all the nights you'd slept in a makeshift nest of quilts when Loki disdainfully refused to leave your bed.

The sudden lack of people in the world had not put the responsibility of his rehabilitation on your shoulders. You had taken that on willingly well before the Snap. But he did believe that, had Thanos not succeeded, you might have happily ended up without such of a chore of a lingering houseguest. Every morning he woke began anew a day you could decide Loki had overstayed his welcome. His only consolation was that, surely, these feelings would fallow once he no longer came in contact with you.

But then surely, too, his body would fall apart without your aid. So Loki kept his mouth shut. Cohabitating with you while keeping his growing romanticism a secret was difficult; he shuddered to think of the alternatives left to him in this half-empty universe.

Once again, you interrupted his thoughts, this time with a wry observation of: "You're overthinking something again."

His rough gulp hardly helped his case any more than the following, "I am not."

"You are."

I should think I know my own thoughts better than you do."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Loki of Asgard isn't nearly as difficult to read as he thinks he is. Your mouth gets these deep wrinkles at the corners, and..." Trailing off, you frowned before you leaned forward to grasp the hand he had resting on the table. "Is that what this is about?"

You must have seen his split-second grimace when you'd referred to him in that mocking way of yours. If you'd noticed that, he had no doubt you'd spotted the way he stiffened when you touched him like that as well. Be that as it may, you kept your fingers lightly resting against his as you went on:

"We need to talk about it."

“I don't have the faintest idea what it is there is to discuss," he answered firmly.

You laughed. The sound made Loki's chest ache. "You do."

"I assure you I do not. And if you're going to insist on this level of condescension, I'd much prefer to get some work done than sit around listening to your riddles. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Why don't you go ahead and admit that you were eavesdropping when Natasha visited last night?"

If your iron grip hadn't been enough to keep Loki rooted to his chair, your question would. He felt blood rush to his face, try as he might to fight the urge to blush. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, knowing all the while that he would not hit quite the right note to express his feigned incredulity.

You did not answer. Neither did your hand loosen. A staring contest ensued, though it did not last long. Loki knew better than to argue when he spotted the familiar gleam there. What would be the point in lying anyway, when this Borforesaken rasp had so ruined his famous silver tongue? After another moment or two of internal debate, he finally wilted.

"If you already knew I knew, why not say something sooner?" he asked.

"You'll need to learn someday that those who eavesdrop often hear things they don't like."

"And those who refuse to eavesdrop often hear nothing worth hearing at all."

"You could simply quit lurking around and speak with us face-to-face."

"And risk the conversation turning to naught but insults targeting me? You'll have to forgive me for preferring to 'lurk' for what morsels of information your friends deign to offer you in secret."

"There was no secret."

"Oh?" Trapped as he was with his hands bound to the table, Loki's only escape was to avert his eyes to the rain-streaked window near the table. "If it was common knowledge, why not bring it up yourself without having to pry it out of me?"

You let go of him and held your hands up in a galactic sign of surrender that he could only see out of the corner of his eye. "I did not wish to upset you unduly."

"Upset me? Is that what you think? You think that I'm upset that my people have established a settlement in this Realm and are attempting to move on?"

"Aren't you?"

"Obviously not!"

Once more, Loki felt instead of saw your probing look. He folded his arms across his chest and carefully avoided so much as turning his head in your direction. This seemed to succeed in getting you to drop the subject; you said nothing else. Then you pushed your chair away from the table with an almighty screech and a firm, "Let's get you packed, then."

He couldn't help rising to his feet after you in his panic. "What?"

"Let's get you packed," you repeated. "New Asgard awaits the coronation of its king."

"Let it wait! Forever, if it must!"

"Why should it? Natasha's told me all about how badly you want to rule."

"Wanted. Wanted. That was a different time. A different me!"

Loki's heart had not hammered so hard since the moment of the Snap. Distantly, he realized that the exertion did not cause him as much pain as it used to. But would it be enough?

You did appear to notice his desperation, for you paused in some gesture that seemed to have caused his toothbrush to float out of its cup. Silence fell. He realized you were waiting for him to explain himself. Of all the cruelties you had enacted upon him, this perhaps might have been the cruelest of them all.

"New Asgard—" His breath hitched. Loki licked his lips and tried again, "New Asgard little needs yet another descendant of Odin on the throne. Let Brunnhilde keep the crown. I want it not."

Though admitting as much made him in ache in a way Thanos's assault had not, Loki knew the years since that assault had changed him. Between his inglorious defeat on this very planet, the series of humiliations leading up to Ragnarök, and his near-death among the Asgardian refugees, he had learned to see himself more clearly. Leadership did not suit him as he'd once convinced himself it had. And besides, what good would it do for what remained of the spirit of his childhood home? Being among his people again would only remind him more sharply of what he'd lost—their true ruler amongst the most grievous of those losses.

"Then what do you want, Loki?" you asked softly.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Thought hard about his answer to your question.

It came without as much thought as he'd expected. So few of his responses were even possible anymore. But those that were surprised even himself. He wanted to learn the subtle ways of Midgardian magic. He wanted to memorize the patterns of the stars in this Realm. He wanted to eat vegetables and fruits and grains grown by the power of his own hands. He wanted to look after his chickens until they died at venerable ages. And to do all of that, any of that, there could be only one reply:

"I want to stay here," he whispered, so quietly he did not even know if he wanted you hear him.

But hear him you did. A dazzling smile the likes of which he'd never seen before spread across your face. Then, without giving Loki a chance to grasp the meaning of such an expression, you rushed forward and threw your arms around him in a suffocating embrace.

"Then stay," you breathed in his ear.

The surprise he felt at your sudden closeness dissipated rapidly. Soon, Loki wrapped his own arms around you in turn. He did not know how long the two of you stayed tangled up like that before you finally released him. But when you did, you looked so smug that he couldn't help but add:

"It's not as though I have any choice in the matter. I'd die in a week without your care."

"Oh, that." The smug smile transformed into a smirk. "I've been giving you placebos for months now. You're as mended as you'll ever be."

His jaw dropped nearly to the floor, causing a glorious peal of laughter to tumble from your mouth.

"You whined so much. What else could I do?" you asked by way of explanation.

"You fox!" he said, though he couldn't find it himself to be truly enraged. It was the sort of thing he'd have done to his brother, after all. Who would have thought he'd have found a kindred spirit in the middle of nowhere on Midgard of all places?

You neared again, now gazing directly into his eyes. "But you love me."

"That," Loki said as he cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb over the [color] skin there, "I believe to be unequivocally true."

******

More time passed, on the Podunk little rock Loki had once schemed to make his own just as slowly as it did in the greater, emptier galaxy. Seasons passed. The half-obliterated woods around the cabin grew thicker and greener every summer. Native creatures once sparse in the area returned in larger numbers.

There were no servants to lay out his clothes, nor banquets with food-laden tables as far as the eye could see. But there were fruits and vegetables brought forth by his own hands, homespun tunics created with care, and fresh eggs in abundance from his ever-increasing brood of chickens. There was bright sunlight by day and warm candlelight by night. But best of all, there was you.

Well, most of the time you kept close to the cabin you both called home. Nearly five years to the day since the Snap, Loki stood alone in the kitchen. He hardly ever wandered far afield those days. What reason had he to do so? Surely Ross had not been the only Midgardian eager to see Loki pay for his crimes, and Loki was hardly a welcome visitor at the Avengers headquarters on the other side of the forest—which was the second most common place to find you, and where you'd traipsed off to during the still-dark hours that morning.

Loki found himself worrying over his pot of stew more than he'd have liked to admit now that it had grown dark once again. Not about the stew, not this time; he felt he had accomplished making a perfectly edible, if not very exciting, stew with produce from the garden you and he had canned that fall. Given that he'd hardly been offered much opportunity to create purposefully edible meals as Asgardian royalty, no one could deny this to be a culinary accomplishment on his part.

You hardly ever kept him waiting this long for you to return from the large, ugly compound. He could not begrudge you going to see friends. On the other hand, he knew how the remaining Avengers still felt about him. It was the same way he felt about them. If any of them had the silver tongue he had had once...

Before he could spiral into the possessive behavior he inclined toward despite your frequent admonishments, he heard the sound of footsteps—barely. Light elves moved so lightly he would not have heard your approach had he not been listening so closely for it. The door swung open shortly after this noise, and you stepped inside the room already filled with lit candles.

"I'm home," you said cheerily, and unnecessarily.

"So I see." Loki gave the pot below him a pointed stir. "Did you enjoy your time with your...friends?"

"If you're going to be a sourpuss, I won't give you your surprise."

"I hardly want whatever gift the lovely Natasha might have sent along with you."

"It's from me. Do you want it? Yes or no?"

He knew better what you meant by the appraising look you shot him: Play along, or pay the price. "Please," he said as flatly as he could. Though you never used your considerable powers to hurt, he knew that an outright refusal on his part would probably wind up with him sprouting a pair of donkey ears for the foreseeable future, or something equally annoying and hard to explain when your neighbors inevitably came by to mock him.

You grinned despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm. One of your fingers made a series of shapes in the air. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, your familiar basket appeared next to Loki's elbow. A simple blue-and-white checked towel covered its contents.

"Open it," you said when all he did was squint at you.

It wasn't moving, so Loki took that to mean lifting the fabric would not be dangerous. Nestled underneath sat a pile of off-white mushrooms with brain-like knobs atop the stems.

"We went a little over during the meeting. I knew you'd have already started dinner. When I stumbled on these little guys on my way home, I picked them up for you as a treat."

All fear of Natasha finally convincing you to give him up died away for the moment. Loki pressed his lips together in a smile. "They're the perfect addition," he said, pulling the recently-cleaned cutting board toward him and starting to chop.

Your smile grew as you walked around him to gather bowls. "You're welcome."

"So what went on that took so long? Rewatching footage of Captain America's glory days?"

Instead of chastising him for his snide tone, you simply answered: "I thought you said you didn't want to be involved in anything we got up to."

"I don't."

"Then let's not talk about it anymore."

Loki spilled the sliced fungi into the pot with something of a startled expression. You would normally find something of note to tell him after a two-hour conversation with the Avengers, and yet you had nothing to relay after being with them all day?

"[Name], what are you hiding?"

"Is the stew ready yet?"

"You're trying to distract me."

"No," you drew the word out as you sat the last utensil on the table. He caught a flash of mischief in your [color] eyes. You bared your teeth in a wicked grin. Then you sauntered forward and looked him up and down before you slid your hands up his shoulders to interlock them behind his neck. "This is me trying to distract you."

You pressed your mouth to his without sparing him a moment to retort. Loki did not forget the thread of the conversation, per se, but kissing you back seemed of greater importance than pursuing the matter. Who cared about the inconsequential scheming of those who had already lost everything? Certainly not him, not when, egged on by his enthusiastic response, you smiled against his lips and surged forward. He had no choice but to let you push him onto the nearby counter to allow you space to work.

"Still curious about what I got up to this afternoon?" you asked during a brief pause.

"Not in the slightest," Loki said honestly. He cupped your face to pull you closer to him again.

By all rights, it ought to have turned out to be a very good day: a stew with fresh mushrooms; your eagerness to touch him, even simply as a distractoin. Loki might have been perfectly content to remain distracted had something not slammed open the door just as something besides dinner began to heat up.

You whirled to face the intrusion—but you moved no further, frozen, it appeared, by the massive shape moving through the doorway.

"Thor?" you asked.

"Thor?" Loki echoed, bewildered.

The shape crossed into what little light the multitude of lit candles allowed, and still Loki could not believe it. Whoever had burst in could not be his brother. His brother was dead, not to mention Thor would never let himself go to such a degree. This being looked thicker and flabbier than Volstagg on his worst days. They also had stringy hair and a scraggly beard that obviously had not been washed in some time.

"You followed me?" You sounded outraged, which typically spelled trouble for the offending party.

Thor—or whoever the shape was—did not spare you a glance, terrified or otherwise. Their eyes remained fixated on Loki's face, and as Loki met their gaze, he felt a spark of recognizing flare hot and painful somewhere deep inside his stomach.

"I had to see it for myself," the apparent stranger rumbled.

And that was all it took. Loki slid off the counter and stepped around you. A torrent of emotions constricted his chest. The room around him spun. After a minute or so of thick swallowing and struggled, he managed to open wide his arms and step in Thor's direction.

"Brother, you're alive!"

Thor did not meet Loki's cheer with any of his own. "So this is where you ran off to hide."

Loki felt his smile slide off his face. "Pardon me?"

"I thought you were dead. I mourned you."

"As I did for you. I thought surely Thanos—"

"I should have known your vanishing was nothing more than yet another trick!"

"Well, I confess to using a smidgen of magic to get me here, but—"

"We needed you. The galaxy needed you. I needed you!"

With every statement, Thor's voice grew louder and louder. Rarely since his brother's exile had Loki seen him so enraged. He stared as the noise washed over him, and allowed his arms to drop to his sides. These stayed there when Thor took another step in Loki's direction.

"Perhaps it was a lie. Perhaps you always intended to aid Thanos in achieving his wicked goal."

You stepped forward to put yourself between the two men. "Hey. He was in no condition to fight. If he'd gone to Wakanda, he would have died for sure."

"As he had me believe he already had for five years. My brother chose his own life over half the galaxy." Thor's eyes flicked disdainfully between you and Loki, a gesture at odds with the bright red of his face. "But I should not be so surprised. Loki has always been a coward."

"Don't you—"

"[Name]."

Loki spoke the word softly, but his tone must have gotten through to you. Now you spun to gape at him. He merely held his hand out in a quelling gesture and told Thor:

"You're right."

It had taken a long time—eons, really—for Loki to accept the truth about himself—a long time and nearly dying more than once. If he could go back and change things, he would. How different would things be for everyone if Loki had never spent that time being coddled by the Grand Master, or masqueraded as Odin for so long, or agreed to invade Asgard, or even led Laufey through the secret passages to the palace? Always he had served himself. What argument had he that a different choice would not have saved untold lives just as Thor claimed?

But as things stood, Loki could not even change Thor's thunderous expression with his admission.

"You have changed, Brother, and not for the better."

"Perhaps I have changed," Loki conceded. "But is this not what you have always wanted for me? Living quietly, not causing trouble? Happy?"

"Happy at what expense, Loki? At least I am still trying. I am still fighting!"

"Are you? Judging by the state of your facial hair, I'd hazard a guess that's a more recent development."

"Loki," Thor growled through clenched teeth.

"You say I've changed for the worst? Fine. No one is inviting you stay for dinner and to get to know the new me or the person I've chosen to stay with."

Silence rang audibly through the dark cabin, punctuated only by the bubbling stew. Thor inhaled slowly. His shoulders migrated to up around his ears. Loki braced himself for a tirade that would have made their father proud. Instead, Thor's voice was flat and emotionless as he said:

"As usual, I will clean up your mess, Brother. And if in doing so, you are the one lost, perhaps this time I will not feel the grief of it."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than did Thor leave. He slammed the door behind him with such might that the whole cabin shook and several candles blew out. The sound of Thor's heavy footsteps faded quickly into the dark woods beyond.

"Loki?"

He had not realized he'd been staring at the place Thor had stood until you spoke his name. All he did in response was blink. Your warm hand enveloped his own, though this did nothing to quell his sudden tremors.

"Loki."

Words failed him. For the first time in his memory, Loki could think of nothing appropriate to say. Pain did not hold his tongue, nor injury, simply the fact that nothing would come to mind; nothing seemed to matter. But speak he must, or he risked standing there in the dark forever.

"How long?" he asked.

"What?"

"How long, [Name]?"

The fingers around his tightened.

"How long have you known my brother was alive?"

At last, he wrenched his hand free and turned to look at you. Tears sparkled in those eyes that had only a little while ago been gleaming with affection. That told Loki enough. He no longer needed you to answer.

"All this time," his mouth felt thick and clumsy, so he tried again with little improvement: "All this time, you knew. You knew Thor lived, and yet you allowed me to go on assuming otherwise!"

"If you'd just let me explain—"

"What is there to explain? I've spoken to you of the guilt I've felt over his death. You, of all people, knew what he meant to me. You could have freed me from all of that, yet you did not! What, did you believe I'd choose him over you? That I would flee to New Asgard the moment I realized my last remaining family member lived?"

The words were not as sharp as they once could have been. The tone itself was no longer smooth as velvet. They rose and fell like an overused axe. But the blow landed. You flinched.

Loki found he did not much care whether you did so because his words were true or his hysteria had been laid plain his voice. His throat throbbed where Thanos's fingers had once crushed it. Perhaps Loki should have let him. Dying that way would have hurt less than now, here, by the phantoms of everyone he had ever hurt.

You said his name again. He shook his head. Almost blindly, he stumbled through the shadows to the door, yanked it open, and stepped outside. Loki stood there on the step for a moment or two, breathing in the acrid smell of burning stew behind him before he pulled the door shut. Then he staggered off toward the quiet trees with little idea of where he was actually going.

The cold quickly leached beneath his tunic, but that he could handle. What he was not so sure of was his ability to handle any more heartbreak that night or, indeed, for the rest of his life.

******

Loki returned, for where else had he to go? The idea of turning to the Avengers for shelter he found laughable, and surely Thor wouldn't want him anywhere near New Asgard. Besides, Loki would miss his chickens—and he'd been in enough relationships during his life to know that an occasional nighttime walk did wonders to cool his head.

Wonders, yes; miracles, no. Although each sunrise since the Snap had felt like a miracle to him, the days following Thor's sudden reappearance twisted into a discomfiting slog. Each day followed the same routine: Loki would wake in an empty cabin with a neatly folded pile of quilts on the floor near the bed; he would eat the single roll on the counter; and he would gather his things and move mechanically through the chores that needed done even when he felt as though he were limping through a void. These would fill his time until he returned to the vacant bed to start again.

Two days he followed this routine before it grew too tiresome to ponder continuing for the rest of his life. What if his path led nowhere but to day after day after Borforsaken day of banal work and loneliness? Loki might have been prepared to accede to Thor's claims of his cravenness; he had not been so prepared to consider death at Thanos's hands may have been the better option for him.

And so he turned to the one activity that could stop him from thinking about the end of life: The beginning of it.

The cool spring midmorning appeared perfect for transplanting the pea seedlings he had picked up from their growing space on a windowsill back in the cottage. He knelt on a flat cushion of sorts in the midst of the mostly-bare garden to get to work. All he could hear was the chilly breeze blowing through the surrounding trees, their new leaves still too young to provide any noise of their own. His pale fingers worked the freshly-tilled dirt as he mentally measured the distance between plants.

Perhaps if Thor had had occasion to see Loki like this, elbow-deep in homemade chicken compost, he might have understood things a little better.

"Loki."

He did not turn away from his work at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Can we talk?"

"About what?" he asked evenly.

This was the first time you'd approached him since the argument. Obviously, you'd returned home a number of times, but only after he'd fallen asleep, and only to disappear again before he awoke. Loki half-expected you to leave again. A long pause followed his question before you surprised him by asking:

"Are you really going to make me say it?"

"I think that's the best way to open up negotiations, yes."

"Negotiations?"

Loki carefully piled a small mound of dirt around a recently-planted sprout. It waved back and forth as if to say thank you.

"I'm sorry," you said.

He adjusted the bamboo trellis embedded in the dirt behind his peas.

"I should have told you as soon as I found out about Thor. I didn't know for long. Natasha only told me when she knew he'd be coming to help them out, but it wasn't fair to you to keep it a secret."

Slowly, without moving his head at all, Loki sat up. His filthy fingers curled around his knees.

"I didn't want you to leave. I knew how much Thor meant to you, and I knew you'd go to New Asgard to see him. And what then? Would you ever come back?"

"That's hard to say when I was never given a choice in the matter."

Another length bout of silence. This time, however, Loki could hear something else over the wind: A soft sniffling that nearly had him moving to comfort you—nearly.

"You were right, Loki. I was scared."

"Scared of what?" he asked.

How could you be scared of anything? He himself had witnessed the power at your fingertips more than once, and Steve and Natasha certainly had tales to tell of your prowess. Surely nothing on Midgard existed to threaten the likes of you after all this time.

Now he risked a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. Never before had he seen you distraught. Flustered, yes. Angry, absolutely. Undone, perhaps fewer times than he'd have liked. But he could tell even from a distance that you hadn't slept since your fight a few days ago. Pronounced bags clung the bottoms of your eyelids, and you rubbed your hands together in obvious agitation. The urge to go to you grew stronger still.

"I've never belonged anywhere before you came along," you said in a rough whisper.

All his willpower shattered at the moment your voice broke. He half-rose, twisting toward you, unable to feign absolute disinterest any longer. Perhaps he might have drawn closer to you, had you allowed him. But you held out your hands with the fingers wide to indicate you needed him to keep his distance. Loki did, although he said softly:

"[Name], that's not true."

"I kept trying to find a place, but no one wanted me."

"You have the Avengers."

"They aren't—" You gripped your elbow tightly in the opposite hand as you turned your face away. "They aren't home."

Before he could speak—whether to dissuade you, or ask for more details, or even to put an abrupt end to this tête-à-tête, he had no idea himself—you barreled onward, apparently under the impression that if he did not let you say all this now, Loki never would.

"I've been here for a long time, a very long time. People move into that building. People move out. Sometimes they bother to get to know me. Most of the time they don't. It doesn't matter either way, because they all leave in the end. Steve, Natasha, Rhodey...they'll all leave permanently someday, too."

So intent on listening had he been that he flinched when you looked directly into his eyes.

"You're the only one who's ever stayed.

He could think of nothing more to say than, weakly, "If you're so desperate for company that someone too injured and cowardly to leave is appealing—"

"You are not a coward, Loki."

"This is not about me," he said, then added, "unusual though that may be. For now, we are talking about you."

"I don't know what else it is you need me to say."

Truthfully, he needed nothing. An apology had been all he desired, and you'd returned with that and an admission that he'd been in the right. So slowly, as though he were trying to sneak up on a snoozing Thane Regin with a pair of shears, he stepped in your direction.

"Pretending for one moment that your attachment to me is anything other than imprinting on an admittedly very charismatic invalid—"

You snorted.

"—why not tell me? Why not come to New Asgard with me?"

The hand on your elbow went pale with the force of your grasp. "I am not as Asgardian."

"Neither am I, as you well know."

"I am tired of trying to figure out where I belong. I tried just about everywhere. I will not be cast out again." You blinked at him fiercely. "If you want to go, you should go. Be with your people. Reconcile with your brother. I only wanted to let you know that you are precious to me, even if I acted poorly because of that."

The spell your gaze cast on him snapped. You both averted your eyes. It did not take Loki so long to recover. He found himself drawing in a deep breath of remarkably fresh air before closing the remaining gap between you. When he took the hand dangling your side, you inhaled sharply as you looked up at him. Encouraged, he squeezed your fingers.

"I will reconcile with my brother, when he is ready. But you're my people, [Name]. You ought to know that by now. Maybe I will desire to visit New Asgard someday. Know this, however: As long as you want me, I shall always return to you."

After another pause, you returned the squeeze. "I think it's safe to say I'll always want you. But I might be glad for an occasional break, now I think of it. It would be nice having my bed to myself from time to time."

"Without me to warm it, you won't sleep a wink."

Rather than reply, you broke into a smile as dazzling as the sun hanging over the forest. He felt the familiar warm hook of your palm at the back of his neck, then you pulled his lips down to yours for a long, lingering kiss.

"I love you, you realize," he murmured once you parted.

"Oh, my gods," you said breathlessly through a half-open mouth.

"Yes, I am rather impressive. It comes from centuries of practice. Why, my last partner—"

You cuffed him lightly on the back of his head. "No, Loki. Look!"

So he pulled away and did as you instructed—and what he saw took his breath away as well.

Where his sparse rows of tender pea shoots had been only minutes ago, now a multitude of plants threatened to crowd one another out. Extra trees and their roots intruded on the edges of the garden. Bees, butterflies, and birdsong filled the clearing in which you and Loki stood.

He felt his throat contract, but no words left his mouth.

You, meanwhile, lifted shaking hands to your mouth. "They did it."

"Who?"

"The Avengers."

"Did what?"

"They did it!" Now you shrieked, practically dancing in place. "They figured it out! They got the Infinity Stones! It worked!"

"The Infinity—is that what you were all doing that day?"

"Tony and Bruce made a time machine. We weren't sure that it would work, but..."

"It did," Loki finished for you, somewhat dazed himself.

It was back. It was all back. He did not have to leave this place to know that not only had Thor and his friends done the impossible to bring plant life back to this planet, but that beings of all natures would be returning across the entire universe.

But, of course, the galaxy never had been willing to give Loki Odinson a lingering period of peace and happiness. Every time he felt he stood once more on solid ground, the realms tilted on their axes. This occasion would be no different. No sooner had he realized the sparkling tears of joy in your eyes were reflected in his own than did a shadow fall—literally—across the entire woods.

Above, soaring through the once-radiant blue sky, winged a great, dark ship.

Thanos had returned.

In the span of a breath, you bounded in the direction of the Avengers' home. Loki felt all the blood rush from his face. That he remained standing was itself a miracle. He felt suddenly dizzy. His heart rushed. Black crept into the edges of his vision.

Just before you disappeared into the newly-thickened forest, he managed to croak, "Where are you going?"

You stopped to look over your shoulder at him. "You don't need me this time around. I'm going to go help them fight."

Loki pressed his shaking lips together. He could stay. He could stay, and be as safe as anyone could be when Thanos and his children arrived. With a shake of his head, he crossed to you.

"I'll always need you. We'll go together."

You smiled again. Then you both ran, hand in hand, towards the clangor of battle erupting from not too far away. What would come of this whole affair, Loki did not know. What he did know was that if this was dying, death was not so nearly as horrible as he'd feared.

[sosuigeneris]

Going by your post about daughters in high society being all-rounders, are they expected to learn certain languages, follow literary canons or maybe know specific geopolitical happenings? Is it a specific set of skills & information or is it more on a general knowledge basis?

you should definitely know your country’s language and English. Most competent girls I’ve noticed fall in two categories - either they’re extremely strong in arts (classic literature, art, music, food, essentially creative stuff) or STEM and finance.

as an overall, one normally has a general range of soft skills - the ability to converse with ease, socially confident, “respectful”, poised etc.

There are certain cheat codes to achieve this ^ and make it seem like you’re really an all rounder in the short term. Obviously in the long term you’ll have to work on your skills if you haven’t, but here’s what you can do. 1. Study the most common socially asked questions

How are you?

Where did you go for college/ uni?

What do you do?

Where have you travelled lately?

do you know about ….. ?

do you know XYZ person?

What are your hobbies?

and practice, practice these answers. Here’s your objective : to come across as knowledgeable, friendly and rational. don’t for instance, speak negatively about anyone or any experience. Instead of saying “oh my god this experience was absolutely ghastly” say “this is what I really liked and this is what I felt could be better.” You are seen as a refined woman then, not a bitchy teen. Use a wide range of vocabulary- CORRECTLY. Practice it so that it seems natural to you. Even fairly common words like “apt, apprehensive, sentient, derelict” - can make you seem a lot more polished than “so true, unsure, alive, run down”.

2. Be aware of three of the biggest news stories before any social event. Be it a dinner, party, a baby’s christening, anything. and here’s what will make you stand out - know those 2-3 stories in detail. In the age of people simply skimming over news and not making the effort to dig deeper, knowing something very well is an instant giveaway of being well read. For instance, Trump and the birthright citizenship situation. Something that an average person (especially if they are not American) may not know is that lots of non- American pregnant women - mostly Indian - in the US have begun approaching doctors to have their babies premature before the Feb 20 deadline. Now, when I mentioned that at an event recently in India, people were surprised. I was able to bring value, information to the table that no one else really knew about.

So when you speak, you want to drop a nugget of value. What you don’t want to do is get very high and mighty - you have to drop this information nonchalantly, as if you know everything. Nonchalance will give you bonus points.

3. Listen more than you speak… ATTENTIVELY. You cannot break eye contact, don’t lose focus. Nod slowly, tilt your head slightly, back straight, shoulders and hips turned towards the person who is speaking. Don’t rush and don’t rush them.

practice these small things even with your friends, school, teachers, workplace - to make something a habit, you need to practice it anywhere and everywhere. You can’t just be polished to one group of people, you must be polished to all.

4. Always approach the women/ aunties / mothers first. Compliment them genuinely. And then greet the man. The only times I break this rule is if the man is decades older, is someone I know very well, is a friend of my parents’, or if I know him better than his wife.

5. you won’t be expected to cook and clean and all that, these days it’s not really an expectation. And also, unless you want to attract men like that and you want to be that person too, it doesn’t make sense.

[quixotical-lymbo]

Warnings/Tags: Just some tooth-rotting fluff  Word Count: 500+ words

Wow! You and MK are dating! 

Did he make the first move or you? It depends because of how dense MK can be at times. If you give him a lot, and I mean a LOT, of hints then he'll eventually get it and perhaps make the first move. On the other hand, if he doesn't get it then I can imagine that it's you who took the first step in y'all's relationship. 

Where do y'all usually do dates? Pigsy's shop, the anti-gravity arcade, and your rooms. Basically the entire city is y'alls playground. On rare occasions, MK takes you to the places he's had adventures at to show off and tell stories of the perils he's faced. 

Gifts? Only for special occasions like valentines day, anniversaries, birthdays, or when MK wants to apologize to you for something he did. 

PDA? He won't be drooling all over you, but even if you like PDA or not he'll unknowingly display casual shows of affection without even realizing that you two are in public. It just feels natural for him to be affectionate with you, public be damned. Cheek kisses, hand holding/squeezes, and even a spinning hug that ends with the two of you on the ground laughing are all fair game to him. 

First kiss? Truth be told, MK would be the one to initiate it after the first date. The kiss would be quick, rushed, and show that he's a bit inexperienced in this aspect. Watch out for him knocking his forehead against yours. 

How he would be with a partner: Sweet and attentive, which is very rare considering how distracted MK can be at times. Like, sure he could sometimes forget your anniversary or what flavor of ice cream you want–but MK always makes up for it through groveling and kissing your feet (literally did it one time, but you put a stop to that right then and there). 

MK leaves the spider killing to you. Poor boy can't even think straight when in the presence of one. 

Wouldn't miss the chance to be annoying and chase you around your home/apt. Asking for cuddles whenever he comes back from a long day of training, working, and getting dirty. 

MK seems like the type to have intentionally cringy nicknames for his partner, things like 'your majesty', 'My heart and soul', 'cutie patootie', or worst of all 'pookie'. 

He always has you on his mind, whether at the forefront or back-burner. There's always something during his missions/adventures that reminds him of you and what he's fighting for. 

How he acts around them vs others: MK is very caring towards his friends and even kind/somewhat tolerable towards strangers/potential foes. He's generally a very casual, happy-go-lucky, lovable dude that can be a bit naive at times. Now, with you? He can act the same compared to others, but the finer details suggest otherwise—always making sure you're ok and well fed, a lot more handsy and all up in your grill, making sure to have some time put aside in his schedule for you, and obviously the piles and piles of affection he'll shower on you at random times. 

🍜 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight !!

[utilitycaster]

One of your recent posts talked about the way BH have essentially "run out of plot" in following the Red Moon/Predathos plot and the way that the PCS are being played.

I was also curious about your thought on the interparty dynamics in the end game, particularly with recent developments. One of the issues I've had with Bell's Hells for a while now is the way they don't challenge each other (or at least not in the way previous parties have)

Yeah; they don't. And honestly I think this is a combination of just...luck of the draw of the characters they created combined with that lack of room for those characters to develop because they've been in an environment that hasn't allowed much time and space for anything but rushing to the next task. Like, as mentioned, a lot of characters are kind of here to hang out or have goals that aren't specifically tied to personal change, if they have specific goals at all. That's not a bad thing! Grog, Jester, and Fearne all share that quality and are all fantastic executions of it - and Grog and Jester do change quite a bit despite that because the story gives them many opportunities to do so, and yes, because their fellow party members challenge them. But it feels like the bulk of Bells Hells if not all of it is kind of in that boat.

I remember an early panel in which Marisha said "I don't want to think anymore" and I know Travis has mentioned something similar for Chetney, of wanting to play someone much more chaotic after playing someone so highly controlled as Fjord. Liam also talked about stepping back from being a major decision maker at some point, and built Orym to be someone who had a viewpoint but didn't specifically assert it (as we've just seen). Like, I think most resentment C3 fans have towards C2 is just jealousy and bitterness but perhaps a fairer grievance is that the cast really brought their A-Game to the Mighty Nein with a lot of incredibly complicated, driven, messy characters and due to the smaller nature of the company then combined with the scaled back production of the pandemic focused intently on them; and then nearly all of them made a bunch of fairly go-with-the-flow or chaotic characters as a breather and (not unfairly or unreasonably!) thought they'd be in a story that would give them space to become something else or that would suit them, and it didn't. As someone who likes actual play I think if nothing else this serves as a look into how fantastic overall cast chemistry doesn't translate into compelling party dynamics.

To be clear, I think Bells Hells like and care about each other, but none are really the type to both strive to be better and challenge those around them to be as well. Even their defenders in the fandom are kind of leaning on the party of NPCs line from very early on [which is funny because a lot of people HATED that line at the time; I got hate over thinking it was apt] but the thing is yeah at this point in the campaign, they shouldn't still feel like a party of NPCs. Perhaps this is a personal preference, which, to be clear, does not in any way invalidate it as criticism, but as someone with a bit of a comics background, I've never been terribly into "Suicide Squad"-esque stories but I am into stories of Person Who Has An Opportunity And Rises To The Occasion Despite Not Being The Best Choice On Paper. Ultimately, my issue isn't that Bells Hells come from humble backgrounds and tragedy (this is also...not untrue for the Mighty Nein, incidentally; in fact they had even less endorsement from powerful groups. Molly died 26 episodes in and he just stayed fucking dead because no one had Keyleth's phone number so this is another case of "your defense just makes me think the Mighty Nein achieve this in a far superior manner"); my issue is that, as Laudna put it, they kind of just walk through doors because they're in front of them. I don't need them to become classically heroic; but I do need them to have some sort of intention. And they don't. Why are you walking through doors? "Because they're there" doesn't cut it. You're here because the Exandrian Accord gave you a whole bunch of support so don't play that "i'm just a nobody with nothing" shit anymore, it's demonstrably untrue.

I had this in the tags originally and I decided, perhaps unwisely, to move it into this post because I think it's relevant, but: in case it's not apparent, I think "You! Are! Valid!" culture is fucking awful; this is what that weirdo who thinks I'm from Reddit is mad at, I think (honestly I'm not sure if they're angry, they might just be very unwell). Like, it has roots in something true and helpful; you are valid for things like your race, gender, sexuality, ability/disability, and things that have happened to you in the past. But actually no one is automatically valid for their actions. Being incurious or inconsiderate or incapable of taking constructive criticism, even if this is tied to your past? not valid. Your trauma and pain is valid; what you do in their name very much might not be. And I think a lot of people who love Bells Hells do not like this message (which, Bells Hells don't like this message, hence the repeated "whatever you do is fine" conversations) and kind of romanticize a "NO ONE IS ON OUR SIDE WE MUST DO WHAT IS RIGHT FOR US THERE'S NO GOOD ANSWERS" state in which one cannot be held responsible for action nor inaction and that's a lot of why they respond so dramatically to the increasing sense within the fandom that this party lacks the juice and does judge them for inaction. Like, I've been talking about character agency and how a lot of people's enjoyment of Bells Hells hinges on how they HAD NO CHOICES and I think we're seeing the fallout, which is that a TTRPG story (ie, a medium defined more so than anything else about player choices) about characters who were stripped of choice kinda sucks ass, and anyone who doesn't look to actual play D&D to valid their personal morality (which, in this case, usually is "the world is unfair so I can do whatever I want" anyway) would rather see a story about a character who fucking had a viewpoint and did things with it, even if it were a "bad" viewpoint. I know I'm hard on villain stans because a lot of them are actually people who are like "what if the VILLAIN were the HERO...I am very intelligent," but actually, this is the crux of why Darth Vader was very popular. It's not because people thought he was a good person; it's because he drove the story more so than the heroes much of the time, and people responded to that. Purely reactive characters are boring and to get back to your original point do not challenge each other unless someone else starts the reaction chain, and there just haven't been too many opportunities of the external nor internal variety to do it. It's mostly bad luck and again, a session zero could have fixed this, but it is what it is.

[yxngbxkkie]

Hello! Love your writing! I was reading through the prompts and I think #4 and #7 would be awesome for Chan with y/n.

If you’re still doing drunk confessions. I think 4 and 13 for Channie would be so apt. He would be taking care of reader when they’ve had too much and they just word vom (as well as real vom) their feelings.

Hi!! I don’t know if you are still doing the drunk prompts, but if you are I think #4 "I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back” would be great with Chan. I think it would be really cute to have him saying those words to someone because that seems so him, but whatever works! I just love reading your stuff! 💕

number 4 with channie was requested a lot so i combined all of the prompts together. i do hope you like it!! thank you again for requesting 💓

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

4. "I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back."

7. "Don't tell my sober me that I told you I love you. It was a secret."

13. "Say that again after two coffees at least, and I will be yours."

"Have you seen Channie?" You drunkenly ask your friend, glancing around the packed bar. She stands on her toes and begins to look for him as well, resting her hand on your forearm.

"I think he's by the bar, babe. You okay?" She checks in with you, and you meet her gaze.

You nod your head yes before placing a kiss on her cheek. "I'm good! I'm gonna go find him," you giggle and pat her shoulder.

She gives you a smile as you walk closer towards the bar. You swivel your head around at the sound of Chan's laugh, attempting to pinpoint where it came from.

The man in question sits with Changbin at the end of the bar. A smile comes to your lips as you quickly rush to them. You rest your hands on Chan's shoulders as soon as you reach them.

"Channie! There you are," you grin and slide your hands across his chest. Chan giggles at your affection, his fingers gliding along your arm.

"Were you looking for me?" He questions you with a laugh, turning his head to the side.

You nod your head, letting it rest on his shoulder. "Wanna take a couple of shots?" You ask him with a slight smirk.

"You know I don't drink, sweetheart," Chan sighs, tapping your arm gently.

A pout comes to your lips as you lift your head. "Just one?" You try to convince, hanging on him like he's a tree.

Chan shakes his head and releases a quick sigh. "You know I won't," he sings, moving to wrap his arm around your waist.

"Fine, fine," you whisper.

Changbin leans towards you, tapping your arm. "I'll take a shot with you," he says with a smile, and your eyes light up.

"Yeah!?" You gasp, tripping over your feet as you rush towards the younger member.

Channie saves you from falling over, his grip on you tightening. "Maybe we should stop for the night," he tries to stop you, glancing towards his member.

"No! Just one more?!" You beg, resting an arm on Changbin.

"One more," Chan points before wagging his finger. "And then we go home, okay?"

You nod excitingly and turn to face Changbin. The two of you high-five one another before he orders two shots of tequila. The bartender sets two shots in front of you, and you quickly grab one.

After Changbin pays for it, he raises his shot glass towards you. "Cheers!" He shouts, startling you slightly before downing the liquor.

You slam the shot glass onto the bartop, releasing a low groan. "God, I hate tequila," you cry out with a laugh.

Chan chuckles and rests his hands on your shoulders. "Come on. Say goodbye," he reminds you softly.

You say goodbye to Changbin, and Chan leads you out of the bar. You fish your phone out from your pocket, texting your friend that you left safely.

Chan keeps you steady until you reach the vehicle. He opens the door for you, keeping his hand nearby in case you need help. He shuts the door after you buckle yourself in before rushing towards the other side.

He gives you a small smile after buckling his seatbelt. The vehicle begins to move, and you rest your head against the seat. Chan texts the group chat he has with the members, informing him that he's left with you.

A blush dusts his cheeks as they start making comments about the two of you being alone together. He rolls his eyes before putting his phone away, turning his head to look at you.

"Are you feeling alright?" Chan asks you, his hand gently touching your cheek.

"I'm a little nauseous," you say quietly, trying not to think about vomiting.

Chan pouts and checks the navigation. "We'll be home in ten minutes," he informs you, moving some of your hair out of your face. "Take deep breaths for me, okay?"

You nod your head, inhaling deeply through your nose. You exhale from your lips, keeping your eyes shut. You continue to take deep breaths for the remainder of the drive.

Chan helps you out of the back seat once the vehicle is parked. Another groan leaves your lips as soon as you stand up straight. You lean your head on Chan's shoulder while the two of you walk into the building.

"Almost there, sweetheart," he whispers to you, his free hand gently rubbing your back.

The urge to throw up doesn't hit you until you're standing outside his apartment door. You place a hand over your mouth and smack Chan's arm.

"Hurry, please," you sob.

Chan's movements speed up at the sound of your voice. He quickly unlocks the front door, allowing you to run inside. You rush into the bathroom, falling to your knees before you violently throw up.

Tears stream down your cheeks, and heavy pants leave your lips. Chan combs his fingers through your hair, holding it out of your face. You throw up again, and Chan immediately rubs your back.

"I'm sorry," you groan, resting your forehead against your hand.

He giggles from behind you and gently scratches your back. "It's okay, baby. You're okay," Chan reassures you.

You feel well enough to rest your back against the wall. Chan moves to kneel in front of you, setting one of his hands on your knee. "I love you," you whisper, touching his fingers gently.

His heart jumps in his chest at your confession. Chan flips his hand over and laces his fingers with yours. "You know," he starts, the smile on his lips widening, "I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back."

A laugh comes from your lips, your eyes staying glued on your intertwined fingers. "I shouldn't have told you that," you mumble, tapping his hand with your thumb. "Don't tell sober me that I told you I love you. It was a secret."

Chan giggles and nods his head. "I won't say a word," he zips his lips.

-

The sun abruptly wakes you from your slumber. A groan leaves your lips while raising a hand to block the sun. You shift your body to face the opposite direction when Chan walks into the room.

"Morning," he whispers to you with a smile.

You smile fondly at him. "Morning, Channie."

He places a cup of coffee on the nightstand before crouching down. "How are you feeling?" Chan asks with a concerned look in his eyes.

"I've got a huge headache, but other than that, I'm okay," you tell him, hugging the pillow.

"That's good, baby," he grins and rubs your forearm. Your heart pounds against your chest as the two of you stare at one another. Chan brings his hand to your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "I love you."

Your eyes flutter shut at his words. "Say that again after two coffees at least, and I will be yours," you mumble, opening your eyes again.

Chan giggles but nods his head in agreement. He stands back up and hands you the coffee mug. "Come out when you're ready," he tells you before kissing your forehead.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n