#I just need to figure out how to express that in a way that doesn’t mischaracter anyone
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docdudo · 1 day ago
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Familiar 141 - Young Witch!Reader (Part 2)
“Aww, look at these sparks…” Gaz coos gently, watching your scared little figure curled up in the back of the nest as you try your best to use your magic to keep them away. “For a baby witch? Isn’t that just precious?”
A heavy grunt scares you enough for your magic to just die right then and there, your head whipping to the side where the big bastard of a familiar was sitting. His body looked completely relaxed, arms crossed and eyes focused on your little form curled against the wall.
“Careful, little witch,” Ghost warns, voice low and heavy, making you just stare at him with even more terror. “Might get hurt.”
“Ow, just let the lassie get everything out, she’s scared.” Soap smiles big, laying down on his belly, looking up at you with both hands holding his head up like a teenage girl in love or something.
He was so close to your curled-up legs too, almost asking for a kick in his face.
“We’re such good familiars, baby. No need to try to harm us,” Gaz coos again, crawling a little closer to your little form.
His movement was enough to startle you, magic immediately coming to life as your hands sparked hot red for a second.
Only to die right away thanks to big, warm hands enveloping your little ones and forcing your magic down easily.
“Our strong baby witch,” Ghost rumbles in an animalistic way, his giant hands holding yours close to his chest now that he was by your side. “It’s okay, calm yourself. You can get hurt like this, darlin’.”
“M-My magic…!” you manage to exclaim, a mix of indignation and fear as you look up at his face with big, wide eyes.
“No guidance, no preparation, no form.” Price’s voice immediately alerts you, making you look at the end of the room where the oldest familiar was quietly preparing something on that stupid high table of his. “It is pretty incredible that you have such high-level magic for a baby witch with no Coven, but it’s not good to try and use your magic at any given time like this.”
“I-I can use—I know how to use my magic…!” you protest slightly, now more indignant than anything else, little hands still stuck in the bigger familiar’s grasp.
You pretend not to notice the way he was rubbing your hands gently, not letting go.
“Never said you couldn’t, doll,” Price smirks a little as he spares you a glance from his chair. “Just saying it’s not smart. Might get hurt; even experienced witches lose control of their magic from time to time.”
“And no one’s expecting a baby to have the best control, mo leanbh,” Soap adds, still laying down with a big, dumb smile plastered on his stupid face.
It made you annoyed enough to uncurl one of your legs and… kinda kick his face? Well, not kick, more like push his face to the side as you press your little foot to his cheek. He didn’t seem to mind, though, a stupid grin as he lets you do as you want.
“Such a gentle little witch too…” Gaz mumbles, approaching once again to nuzzle against your side gently. Yeah, no, this jerk has to be a cat or something. “It has been ages since the last time I saw an actual baby witch….”
“They are always so well-hidden deep in Covens. A pity, too, that our last witch dinae take much interest in them.” Soap agrees easily, still not doing anything about your socked foot on his face.
You try to push him more, but he doesn’t really budge.
“Let go,” you grumble at Ghost, trying to free your hands as you glare (such a cute glare, he could look at your baby-ish, cute expression for decades) at him.
“Aww, but baby, what if you try to use your magic again?” And you know the second that you see the pout on Gaz’s lips that he’s mocking you. The audacity…!
“Boys, stop that, you’re going to overwhelm her—“
“G-Get away…!” You raise your voice a bit more, squirming against them, trying to free your hands from the restraining grip and trying to push the face against your foot farther from you.
And then you feel Soap grip your ankle. Gently, but he grips it nonetheless.
And then you’re crying, overwhelmed.
“Oh no, no, no, no, didn’t mean it, lassie!” Soap quickly lets go, getting up on his knees with a worried expression.
Ghost also lets your hands go, almost as if he was burned, and you immediately start to rub your face and eyes, sniffling as you try to contain your tears.
“I’m so sorry, hun, I’m sorry, I was being an asshole, wasn’t I…?” Gaz is also quick to apologize, lowering his body enough to be smaller than you as he bumps his head quietly against your arm, regret written all over his face.
Price lets out a heavy sigh from his chair, rubbing his face with the hand that isn’t working with something on the table.
“I know none of us are used to baby witches, but boys, you have to tone down. She’s not a mature witch; she can’t take your provocations like this.”
“Ah dinae even provoke…!” Soap immediately protests, hands hesitating around you as he tries to calm you down. “Gaz did it…!”
“Oh, shut it, Tav.” He growls quietly, shuffling a bit to your side as you keep sniffling and trying to control your tears.
And then, a black cat jumps onto your lap. A big, fluffy black cat. It confuses you for a second until you remember what familiars are, and you quietly settle down a little, hands hesitantly touching the cat now laying on top of your legs, looking up at you with big, yellow eyes.
The other familiars seem to calm down too as they see you calming down. Ghost is still unmoving by your side, but he doesn’t seem like a ball of anxiety anymore, and Soap also settles down in front of you, sitting on the mattress with a relieved sigh.
“Ghost, Soap, come ‘ere,” Price calls, approaching the nest now with what looks like four gold bands on his hands.
“Oh, we’re doing it already?” Soap asks, eyes big in excitement as he quickly grabs one of the gold bands. “Ah’ll start!”
You watch in almost shock as he quickly slashes a cut on his hand with just his long nails, rubbing his blood over the band before turning to you with a big, delighted grin, his hand coming up to gently, but firmly, pull your right leg closer to him.
“Johnny MacTavish, mah beirn.” And then, the band locks on your ankle, a flash of light blinding you for a second, your magic twisting inside of you in response to what you thought was his own magic coming into contact.
The cat jumps out of your lap in a quick movement, becoming a man in the span of a second and grabbing the other gold band, also swiping his nails against his arm to let his blood drip onto the gold.
“’M so sorry, sweetie, I’ll keep myself in check, yeah?” Gaz smiles gently, pulling your left leg forward with his hand. “Kyle Garrick.”
Another flash of light, another band locked in place, and once again, your magic twists inside you as soon as it comes into contact with his.
“Ugh…” You wince slightly, curling up a bit on yourself at the intense feeling.
“Is she hurting…?” Soap mumbles, unsure, looking at you worriedly.
“Probably a bit weirded out with some of our magic seeping through to hers…” Kyle says calmly, though he is also worried, pushing your hair a little out of your face.
“Even though we’re forcing the bond indirectly, she’s bound to feel some kind of discomfort…” Price nods, offering the third band to Ghost. “It would be way worse if we were actually doing the bond pact right off the bat. That’s for when she’s older.”
Ghost grunts as he bites down on his hand, rubbing the blood messily against the shining gold. You try to scoot away from him, but one of his hands immediately goes for your small back, pulling you close and grabbing your right arm.
“Simon Riley.” Immediately, the gold band locks on your wrist, a new wave of magic coming through you and almost knocking you out.
“Price, be gentle…” Kyle murmurs, frowning a bit at your pinched expression as he quietly tries to soothe you.
“Lass might pass out…” Soap observes, hand coming to your hair to pull it out of your face slightly.
“It’s going to be quick,” Price nods, approaching you and pulling your left arm close to him. He gently pulls it close, and with a small kiss against your palm, he locks the band in place. “John Price.”
The magic running through you is immediately bothered once again, twisting out of the way of a new presence as you squirm and whine in their arms. It’s getting hard to stay awake, your body still too weak and young to take the presence of four powerful familiars tied to you. Sure, it’s a weak bond, not a proper pact, but it would be unreal for a witch your age to manage to endure a bond pact. That’s probably why they chose this option in the first place; like this, you’re all tied together, and your young body and mind will be able to get used to them as time passes for a proper pact in the future.
For now, though, it’s all a little too much as you loose consciousness in their arms, feeling four traces of ancient magic stick to your much younger magic core.
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planetpedri · 2 days ago
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hey queen! Could you do a angst of Pau cubarsi? Pau and reader having an argument before going to his family gathering. Pau’s sister noticed that reader is quite upset and talks with Pau about it. When they return home, they’ll talk about it and everything! 🫶🏼
Coming clean — Pau Cubarsí.
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Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader
Summary: An unresolved argument with Pau had ruined your whole night. Luckily for you, Irene is right there to help you get Pau to come clean.
Word count: 1.17k
Disclaimer/s: arguing , angst to resolved ending.
A/N: it’s 3:45 am and i can’t sleep so here is this! + hi Bea! how about you try to end a fucking post w out it ending in a kiss???🤦‍♀️
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The car ride to Pau’s parent’s house was silent. No music, no talking, just pure and tense, silence. The lingering anger from the argument that had only happened ten minutes ago was still fresh.
Even when you arrived, at least a foot apart, you still hadn’t talked. You separated from each other instantly; Pau finding his cousins and you wandering around aimlessly.
Irene watched as you arrived, she could sense that something was off when instead of finding her or her parents, you milled around the food table.
She pushed off the counter she was leaning against and made her way towards you. When Irene called out your name, you plopped a grape into your mouth before turning to face her with a forced smile.
“Irene! Hi!” Your expression falters when you see the way she was looking at you—pity. “What?”
“Let’s go take a walk, yeah?”
Your eyes dart to Pau, who was busy conversing with his cousins. “Okay, yeah. Where to?”
Looking around, the girl points to the back door. “My mom’s flowers started to bloom, want to take a look?” Subtle. Very, very subtle, Irene.
Lips pulling into a thin line, you nod. Irene spins on her heels and marches her way towards the door. You pass Pau, but he doesn’t bother looking in your direction, though you knew he saw you by the tick of his jaw.
Trying not to scoff, you take a deep breath and follow Irene out the door. The spring air hits you comfortingly and the view of Mrs.Cubarsí’s flower garden brings a genuine smile to your face.
“It’s really improved since the last time I was here.” You comment, bending down to sniff one of the vibrant flowers.
Irene hums in agreement. “So, what happened with you and Pau?” When your head snaps in her direction, she chuckles. “Sorry, I just noticed you two were unusually distant and you looked upset.”
You let out a quiet, “oh!” Before you continue. “We argued. It’s a communication problem.” You wave your hand as if to dismiss the problem, but a butter taste lingers on your tongue.
“Okay… tell me about it? Pau is usually an open book, or at least, he used to be.”
You snort at the last part. “Used to be, yeah. Not anymore. For some reason, he’s been holding things back recently, and oh! Yesterday, I went to hold his hand and he—well, he pushed his hand back into his pocket.” You point at the house, though not directly to wherever Pau probably was. “Him avoiding affection? Not normal.”
Irene’s forehead creases in confusion. Pau had never, not once, refused to show you affection. In fact, he was always seeking it out. “Okay, yeah, weird. What did he say when you tried to talk to him?”
You couldn’t help but scoff, “he said that I was ‘reading too much into things’ and that I was, ‘being dramatic’. I’m staring to think—“ Your mouth clamps shut, you couldn’t say that.
Giving you a look, Irene urges you to continue. “Think..?”
“That he’s..” You run your hand over your mouth, “that maybe he’s falling out of love. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help but assume, y’know?”
Frowning, Irene nods in understanding. “He loves you, i’m sure of it. He’s just being difficult. Maybe you two should leave early, talk it out?” She pauses, “or I can give him a talking to.”
Your eyes widen, “no! No. Do not talk to him, i’ll figure it out. Just.. need to figure out what to say first.”
“Let’s go back to the party and you contemplate while we stuff our faces, perhaps?”
“That sounds like a brilliant idea.”
When the gathering was over and Pau was driving you back home, you play with the hem of your skirt. “Pau?” You speak quietly, not sparing him a glance.
Pau turns in your direction momentarily, offering you a short, “hm?”
“Can we talk.. please?”
No matter how upset, or annoyed Pau maybe be, he couldn’t resist the pleading tone in your voice. “I guess.” He answers, “what do you want to talk about?”
“Why you’re upset with me. I mean, before our argument. Clearly I did something to hurt you, or maybe you just..” Your voice fades into nothing, scared to speak.
“Just what?” He doesn’t comment on the parts before that, so you know you definitely did something wrong.
You pick at the lace harder, “I know it’s probably me reaching, but, I just thought that maybe you are like—“ You were tripping over words, too embarrassed to speak them out loud. Forcing yourself to come clean, you take a breath, “maybe you were falling out of love.”
The car lurches to a halt, right at a red light. Pau’s head whips in your direction, “what? No! Jesus, baby, no! Not that! I love you, I do.”
His words of reassurance made you feel a sense of relief, but still, your theories about upsetting him were only becoming easier to believe. “I love you too, but, my question still stands. What did I do to upset you, and how do I make it right?”
As Pau begins to drive again, he sighs. “The other day, when we were having dinner with the guys and their girlfriends, why did you lean away from me when I tried to kiss you?”
You did that?
Genuine surprise takes over your face. “Wait, what did I do? Shit, Pau, I didn’t even realize.”
His bottom lip tugs between his teeth as he turns into your driveway. “Are you sure? Because it felt intentional.” His words had bite to them, whether he meant to or not.
“Seriously, I would’ve never done that intentionally. Is that why you’ve been so withdrawn?” You frown, leaning your head back against the headrest and unbuckling while Pau parks.
He nods shamefully, “sorry, I just got upset. I was being a dick when I should have just talked to you about it. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, to annoyed with himself to face you.
“Pau.” You sigh out, “look at me.”
He does just that, meeting your eyes with a pained look. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. You can’t do this again, though.” You give him a warning tone, “and you owe me, big time.”
Nodding, Pau grabs your hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “After my next game, we should go on a date. Anywhere you want to go, i’ll take you.”
Tapping your chin, you ponder the idea. “How about a movie night? I want alone time, and you will be watching every movie I chose, got it? Oh, and please bring snacks.”
A smile forms on Pau’s lips, causing one to grown on yours. “Anything you want. Make a list, i’ll stop by the store on the way here.”
Sitting up and gathering your things, you nod. “Will do! Goodnight, I love you.”
“Goodnight, I love you.” Pau leans over, meeting your lips in a soft kiss.
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likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pau posts.
DTS , @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @sakashq @joaoflms @hrts4havertz @spidybaby @unx100to !
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kyoghurts · 2 days ago
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春のような微笑み
( a smile like spring )
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you, rumored to be one of the most unapproachable, dismissive people—and even rude, according to a handful of acquaintances—are yet to be proven by your own actions, which are the total opposite of the rumors. perhaps the perception was fueled by brief, impersonal interactions or whispers from those who never truly knew you. sure, your wordings could come off a little harsh, your tone as monotone as a tired teller on a monday morning, or your gaze cold enough to drown someone in antarctica, but those traits don’t define you as a whole. not when they finally saw your frost thaw for the first time.
OR furin boys when they see your soft side for the first time <3
contents. fluff | headcanons & small drabbles. featuring sakura haruka, nirei akihiko, suo hayato, kiryu mitsuki, ren kaji, and umemiya hajime!
notes. title is inspired by the song 二十歳の恋 (hatachi no koi) by lamp! go read this while listening to it ^_^ get cozy and comfy, and enjoy reading this little treat i made. i also based off the reader of myself bc i have the perpetual rbf, unfortunately.
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SAKURA HARUKA’s thoughts would probably spiral, his mind unable to process what he’s seeing. a long, beeping sound rings in his head as he watches you—you—smiling in front of him, your eyes gleaming with a hint of mirth. he’s frozen to the ground, completely lost for words or actions. the moment sinks in, and then—his cheeks flush in embarrassment. what the hell was that?!
things start to change until then, your softness is suddenly at the forefront of his thoughts. everything you do or say starts to make sense.
when you helped a small child who’d fallen off their feet one time, his gaze instantly renders the relaxed expression on your face, and there was warmth in your gesture.
“y-you should smile more often..” he’ll whisper to you when you’re both alone, he’s convinced that you can’t hear him. but really, it does something to your heart, far more than your reactions can show.
NIREI AKIHIKO is completely apprehensive when it comes to you, he’s never personally met you, but the way you carry yourself makes him feel like looking into your eyes would be like inviting a curse. so imagine him turning blank when he finally does, and all he can see is a quiet and grateful look when he instinctively reached out to hold the door open for you one random day while you were running late for your part time job, it felt surreal to say the least.
you were muttering under your breath, cursing your tardiness when you spotted nirei’s familiar figure near the entrance. before you could ask, he’d already moved to hold the door, and you managed a quick, slightly breathless, “thank you so much.” his brain went blank; the quiet, grateful look on your face rendered him motionless, a sense of disbelief washing over him.
imagine also the next day, when you approached him during his patrol and handed him a cold melon soda, his jaw nearly dropped. you didn’t say much, just a simple “thought you might need this,” he stared wide-eyed as you walked away, his heart pounding as he thought, this is a monumental day in my sixteen years of life.
SUO HAYATO is amused, to be fair, he’s turned deaf ears on mumbling rumors. he knows how you operate in just one glance, and doesn’t take your sudden shift in your disposition to be of news. instead, when your eyes light up as he approaches, your body language becoming more open and even chatting more than you usually do, he can’t help but feel a little internal happiness.
he’s a little amused by how you get more animated when you talk, he eggs you on a little, pushing you to talk more, until you don’t even realize it yourself. he can’t help but smile fondly at you, unbothered by how comfortable you’ve gotten, even if you don’t notice it.
hands you a bag of genmaicha without context, the sticky note he left doesn’t help either. it says, “not too fancy or too simple. easy to be around, but has depth that surprises when you least expect it.” and you’re just like “..???” but still appreciates the gesture, hoping you’ll crack this cryptic message once you taste the tea yourself.
(hint: he isn’t really talking about the tea)
KIRYU MITSUKI was subtly wary, both the rumors and you, but it only takes a stray cat to prove all of them wrong.
kiryu couldn’t shake the image of you crouched on the sidewalk, gently stroking the scruffy tabby’s fur, cooing softly like you were coaxing something fragile into trust. you have a thing for cats? he wanted to approach you then. the harsh, cold exterior he’s always seen in you is nowhere to be found, or maybe there wasn’t one in the first place. your resting bitch face just so happened to really intimidate someone without your knowing.
when you looked up and locked gazes, the faintest flush crosses your features, you stood up and brush off the encounter like it was nothing.
by then, kiryu couldn’t help but think of you whenever he sees any stray cats around, even petting them the same manner you did.
REN KAJI and the silence you offer is one he actually enjoys. but oh, when the rest of the furin boys walk ahead as the both of you take your time behind, with the sunset painting your relaxed features in warm glow, he couldn’t help but stare.
it softens the edges around your face, an almost imperceptible smile on your lips. you catch him staring and he immediately looks away. feeling the tips of his ears burn in embarrassment.
he sees in his peripherals the way you tilt your head, a question raised with your eyebrows, enough to acknowledge him without a word.
when he hears you chuckle, ren can’t tell if it’s amusement or something else. but oh, he didn’t know that a chuckle could sound this sweet. not even music could come close to the sound of it.
UMEMIYA HAJIME but instead of a chuckle, it’s a full, hearty laugh — prompted by his ridiculous and stupid jokes while the both of you tend to his plants & veggies
from the rooftop, everything is quieter than usual, only hearing the faint gust of wind and rustling of leaves. the lightness of the moment makes him utter jokes absentmindedly, until you scoff at him, and then he throws in another joke, one after the other
and then he gets startled when he delivers a punchline, startled by how genuine your laugh was. his joke was so ridiculous he had to choke in his own laughter
it feels so much lighter after, a shy smile forming your lips, and hajime feels his heart doing something funny. he clears his throat and pretends to focus back on the plants.
if he could, he wishes to keep this side of you to himself just a little longer. he’ll cherish it every day, and he’s already cherishing it now. a big dumb grin slipping its way while he blushes. he'll probably turn it into a mission to make you laugh like this. it's just so addicting, you look so sweet like this.
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© kyoghurts ⟢ reblogs and likes are well appreciated
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mywitchyblog · 1 day ago
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Message to @alphaltrainreflection
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First of all, bitch, where did I ever say anything about "eroticizing inferiority"? Like, be fucking for real. Show me the receipts. Because unless you’re reading between lines that don’t exist, nothing in my post said anything about power dynamics, submission, or “inferiority.” It sounds like you’re projecting some judgmental bullshit that I didn’t even invite into the conversation. So let’s start there—check yourself before you come into my space twisting my words to fit your weird little agenda.
Second of all, and I mean this with every ounce of sincerity, shut the fuck up. Genuinely, if you don’t like what you see, don’t interact. It’s that simple. Not everyone has to match your narrow idea of what shifting is “supposed” to be. Shifting isn’t some gated community where you get to play security guard and decide who’s allowed in. So do us all a favor, take that rigid-ass energy, and keep it to yourself, bitch.
Let’s be real for a second. You said, “sex freaks who insist on eroticizing inferiority are ruining shifting.” Bitch, nobody’s ruining anything—especially not me. All I said was that I want to get fucked. Plain and simple. If my desire to shift for a good time offends you, you’re free to move along. Shifting means different things to different people, and if sex is part of that, it’s totally valid. If I want to shift to a reality for some damn good dick, who the fuck are you to get all sanctimonious about it? Newsflash: your opinion on what’s “appropriate” doesn’t apply here, darling.
And let’s get one thing fucking clear, because clearly, you need this spelled out: even if someone did want to shift to a reality where they take on a more passive, submissive role, what of it? Why the fuck does that bother you so much? Some people spend their whole lives having to be strong, holding shit together, constantly defending themselves, and staying in control just to survive. Maybe, just maybe, they want to create a reality where they can finally let go, surrender, and trust someone who respects them and won’t take advantage of them. Imagine that—feeling safe enough to let down your guard and explore a side of yourself you don’t get to express in this life. For some people, that’s healing. For others, it’s fun. Either way, it’s their choice, not yours. So back the fuck off.
So let’s talk about this “ruining shifting” nonsense you pulled out of nowhere. Bitch, the only thing “ruining” anything is people like you, stomping into conversations uninvited and acting like you’re the gatekeeper of how others should experience their desires. You’re clinging to this imaginary rulebook about what’s “appropriate” for shifting as if that makes you morally superior, but all it does is make you look insecure, judgmental, and way too invested in other people’s business. Spoiler alert: nobody gives a fuck about your approval or needs it to validate their experience.
Here’s the truth, since you seem to need a wake-up call: shifting is deeply personal. It’s about self-determination and freedom, not conforming to some rigid-ass code of conduct set by random bitches on the internet. If someone wants to shift for spiritual growth, self-discovery, sexual exploration, or all of the above, that’s their fucking prerogative. Shaming them because it doesn’t align with your limited, vanilla-ass view of what’s “appropriate” is straight-up pathetic.
And by the way, bitch, sex is a natural, beautiful, and completely valid part of life. If I want to shift for sex, or if someone else wants to shift to feel cherished, adored, or, yes, even submissive, that’s nobody’s fucking business but ours. Maybe instead of trying to drag others down to your level of insecurity, you could take a hard look in the mirror and figure out why other people’s sexual autonomy bothers you so damn much. Because this isn’t about “ruining shifting”; it’s about you being uncomfortable with the idea of someone enjoying themselves in a way that’s different from what you deem acceptable. Maybe some self-reflection would do you some good.
To every other shifter out there who’s ever been made to feel guilty or “lesser” for shifting for your own reasons, listen up: you don’t owe anyone an explanation, and you don’t need anyone’s approval. Your DR, your fucking rules. If shifting for you is about finding love, intimacy, exploration, or yes, even some good dick, that’s your choice. Don’t let some insecure bitch shame you or make you feel like you’re somehow ruining the experience just because it doesn’t fit into their narrow little box. Shifting is about creating the life and reality you want to live—whatever the fuck that looks like for you.
So, here’s a suggestion: take your unsolicited, holier-than-thou attitude and keep it to yourself. If you can’t handle seeing people talk openly about their desires and goals for shifting, then bitch, scroll past and save yourself the outrage. Because at the end of the day, I’m not here to please you, and neither is anyone else. We’re here to live our best lives, however we see fit, and if that’s too much for you, the door’s right over there.
To everyone who’s out here shifting for what they want, keep going. Own your desires, own your reality, and don’t let anyone’s outdated judgment make you feel like you’re doing it wrong. Shifting is your journey, and if that includes exploring intimacy, vulnerability, or sexuality, you’re not alone. You’re valid, and your experience is just as real and important as anyone else’s.
Consider this your reminder that no one’s begging for your approval. I’ll be over here, unbothered, shifting for exactly what I want, and loving every fucking second of it. ✨
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doeeyeseddie · 2 days ago
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Piaaaaaa "brushing their arm against the other's, hoping the other would finally catch their arm and hold it close" please, we already know they constantly brush arms anyway!
fridaaaa this took me, once again, many months to get to and i sort of only vaguely filled the actual prompt, but i hope you still enjoy it <3
5+1 things, rated t, wc: 4k
[read on ao3]
I.
Eddie’s first day as a probationary firefighter is…interesting. Captain Nash welcomes him with the same warm smile he gave him the first time they talked, then leads him inside and shows him around the app bay.
“We’ll give you the full tour later,” he promises, “after you’ve met the rest of the team. You’re the first one here, if you want, you can change into your uniform now.”
He points towards the locker room – which has glass walls for some reason – and Eddie nods.
He’s just finished buttoning up his shirt when Captain Nash ushers a group of firefighters inside. Eddie runs a hand through his hair to make sure it’s tidy and smiles as Hen and Chimney introduce themselves to him with warm smiles and handshakes, welcoming him to the team.
There’s a third person with them, hovering in the background and glowering at Eddie. He’s young, probably around Eddie’s age, tall and very built, and despite his hostile expression, he doesn’t give Eddie the impression of being an asshole. It’s like the expression doesn’t fit on his face, like he’s not used to wearing it.
Chim grabs him by the arm and pushes him forward, giving Eddie a commiserating smile.
“And this guy is Buck,” he says. “He was our probie before you.”
“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says politely, stretching a hand out to offer a handshake. “You’ll have to show me how things work around here, then.”
Buck glowers down at his hand, and when he finally grabs it, he squeezes it too tightly, like he’s trying to prove something. Eddie squeezes back, amused by the pretense this guy is clearly putting on.
Behind Buck’s back, Hen rolls her eyes, but she’s also wearing a fond look, which only confirms Eddie’s assumption that Buck isn’t half as bad as he’s pretending to be.
From Captain Nash, he knows that they’re supposed to work together a lot of the time, so that’s gonna be interesting. He doesn’t know why Buck is acting like this, but he’s gonna find out, and then he’s gonna figure out a way to work with Buck anyway.
He didn’t come here to make friends, but he’ll be spending 50 hours a week with these people, and he has to trust them with his life for a lot of that time, so they at the very least need to bury whatever hatchet Buck is carrying right now.
Eddie lets go of his hand with a nod and a polite smile, and gives himself a week to figure Buck out.
II.
The days between the accident and the funeral are kind of a blur.
There’s too much to do and think about, too many decisions to make, too many people to call, too much to organize. He has help – Abuela, Pepa, the entire 118, but it still feels too much.
Shannon was 27, she didn’t have a will, they never talked about any of this. How is Eddie supposed to know how she would like to be buried, or if she’d rather be cremated? What kind of music she would want them to play at her funeral? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not for a very, very long time.
But it did happen, and now Eddie is somehow supposed to know all this about her, his wife, the woman he’s only just let back into his and Christopher’s lives, the woman who asked him for a divorce and completely pulled the rug from under his feet just a day before she died.
Sometimes, he feels like he didn’t know her at all.
His parents are here “to help”, which should be a relief but really isn’t. They never liked Shannon and aren’t making a secret of it, even now that– now that she’s gone. So Eddie can’t involve them in the funeral planning, and he can’t even leave Christopher with them because he’s scared that they’re gonna take the opportunity to grab him and run, and someone needs to make sure that Shannon’s memory is honored, but she didn’t have any family except him and Christopher, and Chris is seven, so Eddie has to be the one to make this funeral beautiful, something she’d deserve, but he doesn’t know– there’s so much–
“Eddie,” someone says next to him, snapping him out of his spiral. “Come on, breathe with me.”
Eddie stares at Buck’s chest as it rises and falls with exaggerated breaths, trying to match him. When did Buck get here? He doesn’t remember letting him in, doesn’t really remember what he was doing before he started hyperventilating on his couch.
“Chris,” he gasps when he realizes that also means he’s not sure where his kid is. And of course he’s the kind of father who would do that only days after his kid lost his mom, maybe his parents are–
“Is with Hen and Karen,” Buck says firmly, grabbing his forearm. “He’s gonna spend the day with them and Denny, probably getting spoiled rotten. I borrowed Pepa’s key when we went over there so they could pick him up, she told me you might not open – sorry for barging in here, but I’m glad I did. I know you– I wanted to– Bobby and Athena are running interference with your parents. And I’m here to help you with all that.” He gestures towards the couch table that’s covered in forms, leaflets from funeral homes, and cards from grief counselors. “After Abby’s mom– I helped plan her funeral. So I’ve got some experience.”
Eddie just stares at him, biting the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from crying. He trusts Buck, but he still doesn’t want to cry in front of him, doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone. But he does think that maybe he should give Buck his own copy of a key, so he won’t have to borrow Pepa’s next time.
Buck squeezes his forearm and gives him a small, sad smile. “We’re all here for you, Eddie. I got your back, remember?”
Eddie blinks against the tears in his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat that’s keeping him from saying anything.
Instead, he twists his arm from Buck’s grip and grabs his hand instead, squeezing it in a silent thank you.
Buck squeezes back and keeps holding on.
III.
Buck gets to go home earlier than anyone expected, but Eddie has been to his new apartment, so he isn’t surprised when Buck texts him a picture of his couch with a sad face. It’s not ideal, but at least he has a bathroom downstairs and a girlfriend who can help if he struggles with anything.
Until he doesn’t have that girlfriend anymore.
Eddie doesn’t find out until after his shield ceremony, days after, actually, once his parents have finally gone home to Texas.
Buck says he’s fine, obviously, but Eddie starts going over every day he doesn’t have a shift anyway, because he knows Buck and can see how much he’s struggling with the whole situation, with the uncertainty of when and how he can return to work.
He brings Christopher most of the time. They’re not having the best summer either, Eddie still worries that he’s not doing enough to help Christopher deal with his grief, when he can barely keep his own head above the water of grief, guilt and fear.
Carla is doing what she can, watching Christopher whenever Eddie’s working, she found him a grief counselor and is even looking into more permanent therapists.
None of it changes the fact that they’re grieving. 
But when Christopher gets to hang out with Buck, he lights up every time, and so does Buck, which makes this a two birds with one stone kind of situation. Hanging out with Buck helps them both, too, makes their grief not the first thing on their minds for a little while.
Buck can’t move much, so they play board games and try to find one they all enjoy equally – it’s not easy, since Eddie likes luck-based games (he plays poker with his abuela and tía whenever he can), Buck prefers trivia and games relying on knowledge, while Christopher likes strategic games most.
But everyone gets to pick sometimes, and when they don’t want to play board games, they switch to video games instead.
Eddie knew that Buck and Chris get along well, they have ever since the first time they met, when Buck drove Eddie to Chris’ school after the earthquake during Eddie’s second week at the 118. But with how much time the three of them are spending together now, he can see them growing closer every day – and he loves it.
Buck is his best friend, and he genuinely cares about Christopher in a way that feels completely independent from Eddie.
One evening, while they’re playing a few rounds of Christopher’s current favorite video game after dinner, the kid falls asleep between them on the couch.
Buck smiles down at him and lowers the volume of the TV, which means he loses even more clearly to Eddie, but he had the win in the bag anyway, he’s sure.
Buck rolls his eyes at him when Eddie celebrates his victory with big, silent gestures, but he’s smiling, too.
Eddie grins at him, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind Chris, and Buck twists a little to face him. His leg, resting outstretched on the couch table in front of them, moves with him, and Eddie slides Christopher’s glass of water out of the way in a practiced move.
“I know you’re here to keep an eye on me,” Buck says, “and I should probably be annoyed. I– I was kind of annoyed, at first. But it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s here, right?” He nods down at Christopher. “And I guess you’re okay, too.”
“Wow, thanks,” Eddie says, but he knows his glare isn’t convincing. “To be clear, we’re all keeping an eye on each other.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Buck reaches for Eddie’s hand, still on the backrest between them, and squeezes it – just for a moment, like he’s trying to get Eddie’s attention, like he doesn’t already have it anyway. “Thanks.”
IV.
Everything sucks.
It’s the uncertainty that gets to Eddie most, the not knowing how to help, how to stay safe, how to keep his loved ones safe. How long this is gonna last.
Every day, they have to see people die from a virus they know nothing about, and can’t do anything against.
And afterwards, they can’t even go home.
Christopher is part of a high risk group, and Eddie risks exposure at work every day, so obviously, he can’t endanger him by living with him. Chimney feels the same way about Maddie, and Hen also wants to keep her family safe, which is how the three of them ended up at Buck’s apartment, where they’ve been camped out for the past three weeks.
It’s generous of Buck to let them all stay with him, but the loft is not made for four people to live there, and they’re all feeling it.
Eddie loves his friends, but spending every minute of every day with them is starting to wear on him. They all try to give each other space, using the balcony as an extra room or going for runs outside, but there’s only so much they can do. 
He hates being separated from Chris, it makes him feel like he’s breaking his promise to never leave him behind again. Christopher says he understands, but Eddie worries anyway. He trusts Pepa, who’s working fully remote and offered to stay with Chris, and they talk every day, but it’s not the same as being there.
Whenever he talks to Chris on the phone, he feels better in the moment, but worse the second they hang up. While they’re talking, he can almost pretend that things are normal, but it all comes crashing down afterwards.
He hasn’t hugged his son in weeks, and he has no idea when he’s even gonna see him in person again.
Buck joins their calls most of the time, at least for a few minutes, and he sits next to Eddie on the bed now, shoulders slumped where they’re touching Eddie’s. In a world where he has to keep his distance from almost everyone, except the patients he’s treating and the people he’s living with, touching and being touched by Buck is a real comfort.
“This won’t be forever, Eddie,” he says, almost desperately. 
“But for how long?” Eddie asks, and it comes out sounding a little wobbly.
He’s not embarrassed by it anymore – Buck’s seen him in all kinds of situations, and they’re currently sharing a bed, so he’s seen him cry anyway.
“I–I wish I knew,” Buck says. “I wish I could– fix this.”
Eddie wipes at his eye and laughs a little. “The whole pandemic?”
“If I could, yeah.” Buck shrugs.
Eddie presses even closer to him for a moment, a gentle pressure of their shoulders, arms and thighs against each other. “I wish you could, too. But even if you can’t – I’m glad you’re here.”
“Of course.” Buck smiles at him and places his hand on Eddie’s thigh, palm up.
Eddie smiles back and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly.
“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I think it’s our turn to make dinner tonight – you ready?”
“Ready when you are,” Buck says, but he doesn’t let go until Eddie does.
V.
After Chris has gone to sleep, after Eddie has finally stopped crying, after Buck has wrapped his knuckles and cleaned up the worst of the mess in Eddie’s bedroom – the shards, the pieces of drywall, the fallen furniture, he makes up the couch for Eddie to sleep on. Eddie wants to help him, to tell him that he’ll just sleep in his room, but he can’t seem to move from his seat at the dining table.
Everything feels like too much, his hands hurt and his head worse, and he can’t stand the thought of Buck leaving. He’s exhausted, but he knows he won’t sleep if Buck goes home now.
But he can’t ask him to stay, not after Buck already dropped everything because Eddie couldn’t keep it together. He probably had plans, and Eddie ruined those too.
He can already feel the hot burn of tears behind his eyes again and drops his forehead onto his arms, folded on the table in front of him.
Buck’s hand lands on his back, warm, then travels up to squeeze the back of his neck gently.
“You ready to sleep?” he murmurs, and Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. “Come on, you must be exhausted.”
Eddie shrugs and Buck’s thumb brushes along his hairline.
“You don’t have to go in there, I can get you anything you need,” Buck says quietly. “And I’ll be right next to you in case you have a nightmare.”
“You’re staying?” Eddie asks, lifting his head. Buck’s hand stays where it is.
“Of course, Eddie,” Buck says, like it’s that easy.
And maybe it is that easy, Eddie thinks when they settle in next to each other in the living room, Eddie on the couch and Buck on a makeshift bed next to it. He’s pushed the couch table to the side to make room for it and it looks like he’s dragged Eddie’s mattress here, so at least Eddie doesn’t need to worry about him sleeping on the floor.
They’ve been by each other’s side through so much shit, maybe it’s not such a surprise that Buck wants to be here now too. He’s just not sure he deserves it.
“I’m sorry,” he says, staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at Buck. “You had plans– I’m sure you didn’t want to–”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Buck says firmly. “Of course I’ll come whenever Christopher calls. O–or if you need me. I’m here, okay?”
“I keep thinking about her,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the heels of his hands to his burning eyes. “Mills. Last August– I should’ve– if I’d picked up the phone earlier–”
“This isn’t on you.” There’s rustling and then Buck is gripping Eddie’s forearms, trying to gently pull his hands away from his face. “I d-don’t know what Mills was going through, but I know that you couldn’t have known how bad it was. It’s sad, and it’s unfair, but it’s not your fault. And I know you’re feeling all these things now, but Eddie– I’m so happy you’re still here. I need you to– know that. Okay?”
Eddie finally lowers his arms, but instead of letting go fully, Buck just grabs his right hand and holds on. His eyes are wide and scared, and Eddie has scared too many people he loves tonight.
“Okay,” he says, even though– well. What makes him special? Why should he be the only one to get out? He’s not a better person than any of them, he doesn’t have a right to happiness or whatever he’s been deluding himself into believing he could have. 
But he knows that he can’t tell Buck that now (or ever), knows that it’s a dark road to go down.
Maybe for tonight, with Buck by his side, he can keep the thoughts at bay for a little bit longer. After that– he has no idea. But Buck is still holding his hand, and Eddie may not deserve him, but he trusts him.
He thinks it may just give him enough hope to get through this night.
+ I
“This was nice,” Buck says, holding the door for Eddie as they leave the restaurant. “You, uh, you really didn’t have to pay, though.”
“I wanted to,” Eddie says with a smile, glancing right towards their cars and then left to where the beach is only a short walk away, and finally back to Buck’s face, finding him already looking back. “How do you feel about taking a walk?”
Buck grins, turning left. “Let’s go.”
They’re not on a date, or at least they haven’t called it that, but Eddie has been thinking that it feels like one all night. Technically, they’re two friends trying out a new restaurant together. They drove here separately, no one pulled anyone’s chair out, they talked the same way they always do.
But Eddie spent half an hour picking something to wear tonight, Buck is wearing a shirt that looks new and gorgeous and fit for a date, and every time their eyes caught across the table, Eddie thought that maybe, Buck wouldn’t pull away if he reached out and took his hand.
It’s not the first time Eddie has thought that. Ever since Buck and Tommy broke up, it’s felt like maybe they’re heading towards something, familiar touches lingering and turning into something new, gazes catching and then holding instead of looking away.
Buck was upset for a little while afterwards, but he admitted to Eddie that it was more about another failed relationship – and his first one with a man, after he thought he’d finally figured out what was missing, than about Tommy as a person.
He went on a couple of dates, with men and women, but nothing ever stuck.
Eddie was going through his own stuff at the time – he eventually came out to Buck a week before Chris finally came home, and Buck hasn’t been on a date since.
Sometimes, Eddie wonders (hopes), if the two things are related.
Still, neither of them has called tonight a date – yet.
Eddie glances at Buck’s profile while they’re walking, and wonders what he’s waiting for.
Yes, it’s scary because Buck is the most important person in his life right after Christopher, but it’s also not, because this is Buck. Who has been by Eddie’s side through the worst, most painful, most humiliating times of his life, and is still here. Buck, who Eddie trusts with his life, and his son, and his heart.
Buck smiles at him and Eddie smiles back, heartbeat picking up. He’s doing this, he’s gonna tell Buck how he feels. Any minute now, he’s gonna be brave enough.
“Hey,” Buck says, “it’s just me.”
“I know,” Eddie says, and his heart thumps against his ribs. He lets his fingers brush against Buck’s on their next swing and watches as Buck bites his lip, smiling down at the ground. Hushed, like a confession, he adds, “Are you nervous, too?”
Buck looks back up at him then, eyes glittering in the dark. “Y-yeah. I am.”
They’ve reached the edge of the beach by now and bend down to take off their shoes without having to talk about it.
When they start walking again, they’re even closer than before, the backs of their hands, their elbows and shoulders all brushing with every step.
Eddie keeps stealing glances at Buck, and almost every time, Buck is already looking back.
There aren’t many people at the beach at this time of day, so they don’t come close to anyone else, and all they hear is the sand beneath their feet and the waves crashing a few feet away. The moon is big enough to be reflected on the sea, a beautiful sight, but Eddie still can’t look away from Buck for long.
“So, this is, uh, kind of romantic,” Buck blurts out after a few quiet minutes. “Right? I–I’m not misreading that?”
“No,” Eddie says. “I mean– you’re not misreading it.”
“But you’re nervous.”
When their knuckles brush again, Eddie stretches out his fingers and catches Buck’s, holding on. Buck’s own fingers tighten immediately, and it gives Eddie the last bit of courage he needs.
“Well, yeah. Buck–” He stops walking, and Buck follows, turning so he’s facing Eddie. He’s close enough that Eddie can see his expression despite the dark, and he looks terrified, hopeful, nervous and excited at the same time, all of which Eddie feels, too. Eddie takes a deep breath. “I’m nervous because– nothing…no one’s ever been this important.”
A smile spreads out across Buck’s face, slowly deepening the crinkles around his eyes. “So this was a date?”
“Did it feel like one to you, too?”
Buck’s smile widens. “Yeah, i–it did. And I’m–I’m nervous too, of course. Eddie, if we do this, there’s no going back for me. I can’t– lose you. You and Christopher, you’re too important.”
He pulls on Eddie’s hand a little, and Eddie takes another step closer, drops his shoes in the sand and places his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb resting against his collarbone.
“It’s the same for me,” he says quietly. He shivers when Buck grabs his waist, the warmth of his hand seeping through Eddie’s shirt. “I– We don’t know what’s gonna happen. But, Buck– I love you. I love you so much, I have for…way longer than I was aware of it, and I just don’t see that going away. And I don’t think it’s fair to us to deny ourselves when I really think we could make each other– so happy. I know I can make you happy, and I want to prove it to you every day of my life, Buck.”
Buck is just staring at him with a dazed expression, his lips slightly parted, and Eddie suddenly can’t stand not kissing him for a second longer.
He slides his hand from Buck’s shoulder to the back of his neck, watches Buck’s eyes flutter shut and feels his fingers tighten on his waist, and then he’s finally, finally closing the distance between them.
Buck makes a soft sound against his mouth, like he’s still somehow surprised this is happening, but he gets on board very quickly, and Eddie stops thinking entirely.
When they pull back breathlessly, Eddie’s hair is a mess – he can feel the loose strands on his forehead – his lips are still tingling, and Buck’s got both arms wrapped around him tightly.
“In case that wasn’t clear,” Buck gasps, and lifts a hand to cup Eddie’s cheek. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s chin and caresses his lower lip, and Eddie presses a kiss to the pad of it. “I love you, too.”
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levandright · 12 hours ago
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OUR SHARED RHYTHM | P.SH
pairing : idol!sunghoon x figure skater!reader content / warning(s) : fluff, idol au, extremely supportive partner sunghoon, est relationship word count : 0.6k
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synopsis . just sunghoon being your biggest fan ever, and being a good supportive boyfie <3 ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!! the idea for this was by @kozumesphone :3 really love how it turned out and hope you'll love it too!
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the rink smells the same as it always does—crisp and faintly metallic, with the hum of excited chatter echoing through the stands. sunghoon adjusts his cap, tugging it low as he settles into his usual spot near the barrier. his schedule had been packed the past few weeks—photoshoots, rehearsals, back-to-back performances—but he’d made sure to find time for you. he always does.
your competitions are non-negotiable.
in his hands, he clutches a small, slightly worn stuffed toy—a plush you’d once pointed out at a carnival years ago. it’s traveled with him to every one of your competitions, waiting for its moment to fly.
the announcer calls your name, and the crowd erupts. sunghoon stays quiet for now, his cheers reserved for the moment you finish. for now, he just watches, his heart already beating faster as you step onto the ice.
you look calm, composed, the picture of confidence. but he knows better. he notices the subtle flex of your fingers, the quick glance toward the stands. he raises the plush slightly, just enough for you to spot it.
your lips curve into the smallest smile, and he relaxes. you’re ready.
the music begins, and you move like you’re dancing with the ice itself. every glide, every jump, every spin is perfect—at least to him. he’s seen this routine in its rawest form, in late-night video calls where you’d ask for his feedback, exhaustion clear in your voice but determination burning brighter.
now, under the bright lights, you’re a force of nature. his fingers tighten around the plush as you execute your combination spin flawlessly, the audience holding their breath. the precision, the grace, the fire—it’s all you, everything he’s always admired.
it takes him back to those late-night practices, the way you’d always push yourself harder than anyone else.
“take a break,” he’d told you once after watching you repeat a spin until your legs gave out.
“i can’t,” you’d said, brushing the ice off your knees. “not until i get it right.”
you’ve always had that fire, and watching it burn so brightly now fills him with pride.
the final note of your music swells, and you glide into your ending pose, your arms outstretched, your expression radiant. the arena erupts in applause, and sunghoon is on his feet in an instant, cheering louder than anyone else.
and then it’s time.
he leans over the barrier, grinning as he tosses the stuffed toy onto the ice. it lands perfectly at your feet, just as it always does, and your eyes find his immediately. the smile you send his way is brighter than any light in the arena, and it makes every second of missed sleep, every rushed flight, and every hectic rehearsal worth it.
when you step off the ice, the plush is in your hand, and your eyes are already searching for him. he doesn’t have to wait long—you throw your arms around him as soon as you spot him backstage.
“you made it,” you breathe, your voice muffled against his shoulder.
“of course i did,” he says, holding you close. “what kind of boyfriend would i be if i didn’t show up for my girl?”
you laugh, pulling back just enough to look at him, your cheeks flushed from the performance. “you always find a way, even when you’re so busy.”
“i’d drop everything if it meant being here,” he replies, brushing a stray hair from your face. “you know that.”
your grip on the plush tightens as you glance down at it, a soft smile on your lips. “still my good luck charm.”
“always,” he says with a grin. “but let’s be real—you don’t need it. you’re amazing all on your own.”
you roll your eyes playfully, but the warmth in your gaze is unmistakable. and as you lean into him, sunghoon wraps his arms around you, knowing that no matter how hectic life gets, this is where he’ll always want to be—cheering for you, throwing down that same stuffed toy, and being the person who gets to witness you shine.
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perm taglist.@honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!) requests. open!
©levandright
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theflagscene · 3 days ago
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Let’s talk Jack and Joke’s perceived parental roles -
It’s laid out in plain words in episode ten so that there is absolutely no doubt whatsoever, Jack and Joke have taken Toi Ting in and have no plans on returning her to her deadbeat abusive bio-dad. I believe that it going to stay that way, so we’re going to keep to that assumption of her being adopted or fostered by them legally once everything is sorted.
Note: not looking for arguments about the legitimacy of blood relations verses found/chosen family. An adopted child is that person’s child, you do not need to have carried them in your body for them to be yours.
I adore that YinWar have been pushing back against the stereotypes around gay men and queer media in general about what roles a person takes in the relationship, they’ve mostly been focusing on the sexual aspect because that is the part that people tend to get the most hung up on.
Yet I find it wildly interesting how easily Jack and Joke fall into what would be considered the ‘heteronormative parental roles’ when it comes to Toi Ting. It’s not a bad thing! No, it’s actually quite nice to see. They’re not forcing any ‘husband/wife’ ideals into their relationship, they just naturally fall into the roles that are appropriate for them as a couple and a family unit.
Jack is very much in the ‘father’ role, remember, father does not instantly mean masculine or emotionally stunted. He is the protector, he is a trained martial artist and debt collector, he is physically intimidating. He is firm and chastising but also patient and forgiving, he is the one Toi Ting feels physically safe with the most, she runs to him for help, she learns her bravery and defiance from him. He absolutely will pat her back, smooth down her hair and allow himself be to dragged away by the hand to get ice cream. He is playing the role of not just a father figure, but a daddy. (stop giggling at that word, the internet has ruined us all 😝)
Meanwhile, Joke has one hundred percent filled the ‘mother’ role for Toi Ting. Again, not because he’s femme or whatever - side note, there’s nothing wrong with being femme! Joke is a natural carer, he wears his emotions on his sleeve because he never had anyone care about him before. He is gentle and a listener, both things that serve him well as a thief. When Toi Ting comes running to Jack for physical protection, it is Joke that offers emotional protection. He is the one that takes her into his arms and calms her down, he hugs her, reassures her and speaks with clam and loving words to bring her big scary emotions back down to a more manageable level. Joke can redirect her attention and is the one that sits and paints with her, Jack just ‘supervises’, aka is a big dope that’ll ruin the painting lol. But together Jack and Joke are able to offer Toi Ting what she needs, both a mother figure and a father figure, regardless of their genders.
Which leads me into the absolute heartbreak of a scene at the end of episode ten, where Jack and Joke find themselves in the one place no parent ever wants to find themselves. Stuck on the other side of those damnable white doors, unable to get to your child.
Joke has an emotional response, very much a mother’s response. Again, mothers tend to be the ‘emotional nurturers’ so them being more giving with their emotions is to be expected. And I would just like to point out how exceptional War plays that role, he is a mother waiting in terror to find out if his baby is dying or dead.
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The blank horrified stare, the shaking hands and quivering movements, the fact that his legs fail him and he ends up curled up on the floor. Covering his mouth to keep the sobs in, yet unable to stop the silent flow of tears, barely even noticing when Hoy tries to comfort him. Joke doesn’t snap out of his shock until Jack shows up.
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Jack on the other hand has a very ‘fatherly’ response, the pacing, the pinched expression, the heavy breathing and muttering before just exploding with anger, swearing loudly and looking for someone to blame. He can’t break down just yet, he’s too angry, too scared, he’s not the emotional support. He’s the protector, the provider and he hates himself for failing. Yin played that so well, how he kept moving to touch his head, putting his hands on his hips, fidgeting as he paced, forcing the camera to keep up with his near frantic movements.
Where Joke froze, Jack found movement.
Where Joke was quiet, Jack exclaimed loudly.
Where Joke allowed tears to flow, Jack held his pain tightly in.
Joke and Jack are Toi Ting’s mother and father, and that final hospital scene just proved it.
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aylacavebear · 13 hours ago
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Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 29
When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?
Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You
Word Count: 5946
Warnings: Dean being Dean, navigating being an empath, suggestive thoughts, longing, Fluff, Meeting Pamela (Yes, this is a warning), Bonding (This is something specifically for this AU. I do not see this as a "requirement" to fully connect to someone, but for this story, it is needed).
A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.
----------------------------------------- Chapter 29
Waking up in his arms, wrapped in warmth and safety, was something you’d come to treasure. Dean was still sound asleep, his face softened by whatever peaceful dream he was lost in. His brow was unlined, lips parted slightly, and you couldn’t help but wish he could always look this at ease, free from worry.
With your arm over his waist, you felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, a comforting rise and fall that matched the quiet room. You wondered, not for the first time, what he might be dreaming about. Whatever it was, you hoped he could have dreams like them often if they brought him this sort of peace.
The soft darkness of your room hid the details of his face, but that didn’t matter. The comfort of your bed paled in comparison to the peace you felt lying there with him, feeling for once that nothing could reach you. You knew that today, the two of you were supposed to go meet this psychic, Pamela, and you had your reservations. 
Bobby wouldn’t have suggested seeing her if she couldn’t help, and you knew that. He trusted her, that much you could tell with how he talked about her the day before on the phone with you. Still, a flicker of apprehension settled in your mind—uncertainty about this “psychic” and what she might see in you.
Taking one last, quiet look at the man who was sound asleep and lost in some peaceful dream, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. Since he’d made coffee the day before, you would do that today. Your wrists still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as the first day. An almost annoying reminder of the ordeal you’d gone through only days ago. 
As you waited for the coffee to brew, and during your first cup, your mind wandered, curious and apprehensive about meeting this Pamela person. Bobby had explained that she was a friend of the family, and even knew the Winchesters but hadn’t seen the boys in years, before Dean graduated. You just weren’t sure how to feel about being around someone who called themselves a psychic. Was she an empath, like you? Did she have premonitions, and that was what she called being psychic? You weren’t sure.
“Someone’s lost in thought,” Dean’s voice, warm and slightly teasing, pulled you back. He leaned in the doorway, his hair still tousled, an easy smile tugging at his lips.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” you asked, meeting his gaze as he came closer.
He shook his head, reaching out to rest his hands on your hips. “Not on purpose,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, the kind of kiss that made your heart skip a beat. 
When he pulled away, you looked up at him, feeling slightly puzzled, not understanding what he meant. He loved that confused expression of yours, the way your brows dipped down, your eyes narrowing, just a little, and you always tilted your head, just a bit. God, you’re adorable. You let out a small huff at his thought to you, which only made him smile wider. The warmth of his affection wrapped around you, and you couldn’t be mad at him.
“You’ve got a lot on your mind this morning, huh?” he asked, his tone a little playful but also a little serious. This was the first time your thoughts had pulled him from his dreams, worrying him slightly. 
“Did I actually wake you up?” you asked since he hadn’t answered you.
He nodded, his tone shifting to a gentler seriousness. “Yeah, kinda. Your thoughts… they just sorta pulled me awake.” His words sank in, making you wonder what all he’d heard or felt. Your mouth opened, about to apologize, but you quickly closed it and refused to think the word, which was utterly difficult. Hearing him chuckle at your momentary conundrum brought a pout to your lips. “I feel bad,” you mumbled, looking down and away from his gaze.
Dean’s thumbs rubbed slow, soothing circles on your hips, then brought one hand to your chin, gently tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Don’t,” he began in a soft whisper. “You have nothing to feel bad about. I’m in this with you, even if your thoughts wake me up at two in the morning.” He gave you one more tender kiss before pulling away to get himself some coffee. You knew he was right and it wasn’t like you’d done it intentionally. A sigh of resignation left your lips as you got another cup of coffee, joining him at the kitchen table. Your mind, just like Dean’s, was elsewhere, though.
Pamela had told him he’d find his soulmate, but he’d have to have more patience than he’d ever had in his entire life. At the time, he didn’t understand what she meant. Sitting across from you now, with everything that had happened, he couldn’t help the small smile that played along his lips. Pamela typically wasn’t direct when it came to the premonitions she told people. There were risks with that. She was good, though, and she was never wrong.
“How about I make us some breakfast, then we can head out,” Dean offered, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you.
Looking up at him, you smiled slightly, then shook your head in mild amusement. “If you want. I also don’t mind just picking something up and eating on the drive.” “Yeah, but this way, I can focus on just driving instead of trying to eat, drive, and sneak glances at you,” he replied playfully, making you smile.
Dean made a simple breakfast for the two of you, which helped soothe the tension your thoughts had brought you earlier. Something about seeing and feeling his emotions when he cooked was different than other times, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. The two of you ate in mostly comfortable silence, with only light conversation. Dean knew you needed a distraction, or you would end up in your head again.
As with all the other times, Dean teased you ever so slightly when he helped you dress, but today, he brushed out your hair. It was a pleasant sensation, even if you were only used to having your aunt do that when you were little. Occasionally, his fingers would brush along the skin of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms. He wasn’t ready to tell you how he knew Pamela, not yet. Plus, he was pretty sure she’d say something when the two of you got there. For now, he was enjoying hearing the thoughts you were desperately trying not to think about due to the light teasing he was doing while braiding your hair. Every time the word ‘tease’ drifted through his mind in that soft whisper, he just chuckled, looking forward to the day you were ready, so he could truly show you what teasing was.
The drive started out quiet, the familiar rumble of the Imapla’s engine and the early morning sun casting long shadows across the road. Dean had his arm draped casually over the wheel, the other between you two, fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against the leather seat. Every so often, he glanced over, a quiet warmth in his gaze. His thoughts whispered through your mind, You’re not alone in this.
After a while, he broke the silence. “Pamela’s place isn’t far. She lives on the outskirts of the town. I guess it has to do with her physic thing, not being able to be around people. It’s kinda cozy, like a mix between a library and a crystal shop.”
You laughed softly at the mental image, trying to imagine someone who could be a psychic and a grounded friend. “So, any other advice for meeting her? What’s she like?” Dean’s lips quirked up. “She’s, uh… well, let’s say she’d got a bit of a mouth on her. Don’t be surprised if she cracks a joke or two about us. But she’s got a good heart, even if she’s blunt as hell.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle, already feeling a bit more at ease. Maybe meeting this Pamela person wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Perhaps she really could help, and she sounded like someone you might be able to get along with. At least now, you weren’t nearly as tense as you had been, and Dean was thankful for that.
About an hour or so later, Dean was parking in Pamela’s driveway, and your nerves seemed to be getting to you again. He sighed, feeling your anxiety tighten around his chest as he opened your door. “Breathe. She doesn’t bite.”
“I can’t help it,” you mumbled, leaning against him as he draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you close.
The two of you walked up the few steps onto the porch, but before Dean could knock, the door swung open. Pamela stood there,  her initial smile shifting to a raised eyebrow, like she’d seen something neither of you two did. “You two haven’t bonded yet?” she asked bluntly, seeing the incomplete connection between you.
Dean just chuckled at Pamela’s bluntness, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant with her statement. “Nice to see you too, Pam,” he replied, his tone light.
Pamela gave him a quick, assessing once-over before turning to you. Her sharp eyes sparkled, but behind them, there was a glint of familiarity and warmth, as if she’d known you long before you ever stepped foot on her porch. She’d seen you in several premonitions over the years, even before you were born, but seeing you now, standing there, made it hard to keep her tears away. “You must be the one Bobby told me about,” she said with a soft smile, even though it wasn’t the whole truth.
Taking a calming breath, you nodded. “He said you could help me with the whole empath and premonition thing,” you replied, trying to get your anxiety under control. “But, what did you mean by we haven’t bonded?” Pamela let out playful laughter at your question. She’s still innocent. “Sex, honey. You two haven’t had sex yet.” And with that, she turned on her heel, heading inside, leaving the door open for the two of you to follow.
Your jaw nearly hit the porch at her bluntness while your cheeks turned a bright red in embarrassment. Dean attempted to hide his faint discomfort, clearing his throat before taking your hand. “Sorry. I tried to warn you she was blunt,” he told you apologetically, then left a quick kiss on your cheek before leading you inside.
She was sitting in her living room, relaxing in a recliner opposite a plus-looking couch. Pamela gestured for the two of you to take a seat as she sipped her coffee. “Alright, down to business,” she began, leaning forward and setting down her coffee cup. “I can help you, but until the two of you fully bond, these will only partially work.” 
That blush crept right back into your cheeks, and you glanced away, trying to avoid meeting her gaze. Pamela looked over at Dean, studying him, opening herself up to feel both your emotions. She needed to understand more, the things neither of you were saying, the things her premonitions never included. 
Pamela was able to feel both your current emotions, but she went deeper, like following a thread along a winding path. She had already seen several of the things you’d been through in your life, including the car accident your parents were in. Something else was holding you back; she just had to find it. It was the one thing that always evaded the premonitions she had about you.
Dean gave your hand a gentle squeeze, pulling your gaze to him. I’m right here, Sweetheart. His whispered words in your mind, a quiet warmth settling over your nerves. You scooted closer to him, leaning into his side as he held you close. It’s okay, he thought to you, trying to soothe the wave of emotions rolling through the connection. Goosebumps went down Pamela’s arms as a chill found her spine. You accomplished things you shouldn’t have without bonding with your soulmate. She drew in a shaky breath. “Honey, lemme see your hand,” she asked softly; all playfulness gone now, and it sent a chill through you. You looked over at her, a little puzzled. Pushing past your worry, you hesitantly held out your other hand for her. Pamela moved to sit on her coffee table in front of you, preparing herself for what she knew would come through the contact. She took a slow, deep breath before taking your hand in both of hers. 
As soon as her hands touched yours, an intense wave of emotion crashed over you, her gaze turning distant, almost as if she were seeing something beyond the room. Her eyes shifted, focusing on things only she could see, and her expression grew strained as she glimpsed more pieces of your past, things that her promotions hadn’t included.
The silence stretched as Pamela’s grip tightened slightly. Then, she exhaled slowly, her gaze clearing as she looked back at you with something close to awe. “You’ve been through more than most,” she murmured; her words carried something raw and empathetic. “But there’s something holding you back… keeping you from bonding completely with Dean.”
Dean held you close, his jaw tightening as Pamela continued. Her words had shifted the room’s energy entirely, and he wanted to be sure you were ready for whatever came next. He also felt almost helpless, unable to do more than hold you. That was when Pamela placed one of her hands just above his knee, causing him to jump at the sudden contact.
Pamela’s eyes glossed over, like she had gone into a trance. “Stay in the bunker. Three days past Dean’s birthday, don’t leave. Call Crowley two days before Dean’s birthday. You’ll know what to tell him,” her voice sounded distant, but the words scared the hell out of you. 
The chill in her voice raised the hair on your arms. Your stomach dropped at her cryptic words, the weight of something unseen pressing down. Whatever she’d seen seemed to ripple through her and you wondered if you’d ever reach the ability level she had. However, it also scared the hell out of you.
She saw far more but couldn’t reveal anything else, knowing it could make too many other things permanent. Slowly, Pamela let go of your hand, also withdrawing her hand from Dean. You couldn’t control how your body began to shake the moment she let go. 
“It’ll be okay. Alright?” she told you softly, closing herself off like she had learned how to do so long ago. Your life truly had been one of hardship, a living nightmare that no one should have to go through. But soon, all that would be behind you. She could only give you so much. You would have to do the rest.
“Geeze, Pam,” Dean bit out, holding you tighter as he felt your body shake, and the frustration rising in his voice.”You were supposed to help her, not scare the shit out of her.”
Pamela sighed, returning to her recliner. “Look, I don’t always have control over when I get premonitions, alright? Just… be there for her over the next week and a half. And neither of you are to leave the bunker, for any reason,” it was the only warning she could give them, not wanting to speak what she’d seen out loud. Premonitions were odd in that way. If too much was said, it could solidify what was seen, and never in a good way. She’d seen it happen. It was how she had lost her soulmate, and you were the reason she was still alive. But she couldn’t tell you that either; it would have been too much right now.
The weight of her words had you in a mild state of shock for the moment. It was a lot: the emotions that had flooded through you, the way your memories had flashed quickly through your mind, and then there had been what Pamela had said. Right now, you were just doing your best not to freak out. Pamela knew your nerves were shot; she had felt it before she closed herself off. So, she headed into her kitchen, pouring you almost half a glass of whiskey. Two or three shots wasn’t going to be enough, and it wasn’t like you were driving.
“Here, hon, this’ll help,” she said gently as she held the glass out for you.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the glass, which shook slightly in your grasp. Wrapping both hands around it, you managed to steady the glass, then hissed at the burn in your throat after taking a sip. Dean kept his arm around you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb tracing small, absentminded circles. He didn’t know how to help this time, not with something so far beyond his reach.
For a while, silence filled the room, giving you time to sip the whiskey and settle your nerves. You couldn’t even form a complete thought before another one began, and then the same would happen to that one as another one quickly tried to take its place. Dean did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that felt right, and that was holding you close while also trying to calm his emotions, which felt like a whirlwind.
Halfway through your drink, you finally took a decent breath, even if it was shaky, and looked over at Pamela. You still had questions, but her words had brought more. “Dean mentioned that premonitions don’t work like I think they do. So, how do they work?” 
Pamela knew this question was coming, she’d seen it, as well as others. “Well, like with your first nightmare, it’s sometimes hard to know what the consistent is, the thing that won’t change.” She began, wanting to find just the right way so you could understand. “In your nightmare, you were taken. In real life, you were taken. Nothing else in the nightmare mattered as none of the other stuff happened.” “That’s frustrating,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to Dean before taking another sip of the whiskey.
She watched you for a moment, reading the two of you like a book. “Your fear. It’s what’s holding you back from everything. You’re afraid of losing him. I get it. Fear has literally been the one thing in your life that you can’t seem to get past. I know this is easier said than done, but if you don’t take that leap of faith, fear will ruin your life.” You felt that knot in your stomach as she spoke, knowing she was right. Dean thought he was going to be sick with what flooded through the connection. It was far more intense than other times he’d felt your fear in the past, like someone had opened the floodgates. “Bathroom is down the hall, second door on the right,” Pamela told him, her eyes on you, and Dean bolted down the hallway.
“What happened?” you asked, puzzled as Dean disappeared.
Pamela sighed, knowing she couldn’t just give you everything. “Fear can be a wonderful motivator or a crippling monster. You’ve been living with fear most of your life, so to you, it’s just part of who you are and how you see the world. But, to someone like Dean, what feels like a small knot in your stomach is ten times more intense because he’s lived with hope.” Those goosebumps found your skin and proceeded to dance along every hair slowly. Then, you furrowed your brow in confusion, setting the mostly empty glass on the table. “No. I just haven’t hoped for anything. It’s not the same,” you tried to explain, but all she did was chuckle.
“Kid, fear is what dashes hope. With all the events of your life, your hopes have been crushed, repeatedly. You don’t see it as being afraid, by not hoping for things. But that’s not how it works. I know you’re afraid of going all the way with Dean. I know you’re afraid that you’ll lose him after doing so, and that, in the end, you’ll be more alone than you’ve ever been,” she explained, her tone soft, even if her words twisted at your gut and brought back the anxiety in your chest. “Yes, you accepted him as your soulmate, but that only connects your mind and soul. Once you fully bond with him, things will smooth themselves out. It’s a giving of yourselves that’s intimate, far deeper than just a physical act. Because of the connection the two of you already have, it’s going to be intense when it happens, but in a good way,” Pamela added softly, trying to give that flicker of hope in you a little more of a nudge.
There were a lot of people who had wanted to argue as to how bonding worked, but Pamela knew the truth. She’d been through it once and had chosen to remain single after losing her soulmate, to never bond with anyone again. Changing the way “the system” saw things was always hard, but at least there were some things they had finally begun to truly look at.
You looked down at your hands in your lap. “How do I get over it?” you asked quietly.
Pamela moved to sit next to you, putting her arm over your shoulders and tugging you a little closer. “It’s called a leap of faith for a reason, hon. Stop being afraid of living life to its fullest with a man who would walk through hell to get to you. I know you want to surprise him on his birthday with it. I also know he’d wait forever for you. Stop being afraid.” 
There was something in the softness of her voice, the way she spoke, that calmed you similarly to how Dean’s presence did. Just mentally considering what she was suggesting made your anxiety spike. Pamela just held you like she had been, shielding Dean from an onslaught of emotions she knew he couldn’t handle in his current state.
Normal people felt emotions on a normal level, like those who hadn’t gone through highly traumatic experiences. Even those who had, as long as they weren’t empaths, they still only felt emotions on a normal level. An empath who had a wounded soul felt emotions so profoundly that it was too much for any normal person to understand, let alone feel. Dean was unique, as he had been able to handle your emotions, at least until your true fear had slipped through the connection. On top of that, the fact that the two of you hadn’t fully bonded, had Pamela utterly intrigued.
When Dean finally made his way back out to the living room, he was looking a little green around the gills, and you offered him an apologetic smile. “I’ll be alright, Sweetheart. Just not used to your emotions being that intense,” he told you with a smile just before a burp slipped out, due to his recovering stomach.
“After you two finally have sex, it’ll be easier,” Pamela pipped in, making you blush and Dean grumble a little. Then she turned to you, “Think about what I said, hun.” Her tone was soft, like earlier, soothing your emotions further. She kissed you on the temple before she went over to Dean, leaning close to his ear while you zoned off a little.
“She’s gonna be okay. Both of you are. Just do what I said, and things will turn out like you’ve been hoping for,” she whispered as Dean tried to keep his expression stoic, when inside, he was almost as happy as the day you accepted him as your soulmate.
Dean’s eyes were on you, taking in your slightly slumped posture, your far-off gaze, and all he wanted to do was take away every horrible thing you were going through. “I’m gonna take her home. Thanks, Pam,” he replied gratefully before going over to you.
You jumped a little when he set his hand on your shoulder. “You ready to head home?” Puzzled, you looked up at him. “But, what about how to deal with other people’s emotions?” 
Pamela chuckled as she sat back in her recliner. “It’s fairly easy. Picture a bubble around you. When you want to let other people’s emotions in, imagine the bubble thinning or going away completely. When you want to keep other people’s emotions out, just picture that bubble around you. It’ll take practice, but that’s the easiest one I can give you to start with.”
Well, it sounds simple enough.
“Thanks,” you sighed, glancing down at the last shot of whiskey, debating drinking it. Before you could even ask your next question, she spoke again. “As for the premonition thing. Only time and practice will help you understand what the constant is, the thing that won’t change. Once you find balance, understanding your premonitions will get clearer.”
The entire ride back with Dean was silent, as you were lost in your thoughts, trying to piece it all together. Feeling how you pulled back, like you were closing yourself off, all Dean could do at the moment was give you space. The whiskey had not only settled your nerves but had also seemed to calm your thoughts far more than they had been back at Pamela’s.
You really did have a ton of questions, but none of those felt like they mattered at the moment. Your thoughts were now only on what had happened back at Pamela’s and everything she had said. It wasn’t so much Pamela’s premonition that was on your mind. It was what she had said about taking a leap of faith. You didn’t focus too hard on it, though, as it only triggered your anxiety. 
As Dean pulled into the garage, he stole a quick glance at you, and it felt like you had your walls up again. All he had felt through the connection was that you were there, but your emotions weren’t mixing with his. Back at Pamela’s, it had been your fear that hit him like a punch to the gut, and he was unable to keep breakfast down, and now, there was nothing. He wondered what Pamela had said to you while he’d been in the bathroom, but now something was nagging at him, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to approach you.
When you heard his door open, it pulled your gaze to him, a puzzled look on your face. “Did you need to pick anything up, since we have to stay in the bunker again?”
It was at that moment that your emotions began trickling through the connection again, making him let out a breath of relief. “We’ve got enough to get through, and there’s still plenty of meat in the freezer. I think we’ll be okay,” he replied, giving you a reassuring smile.
You could tell something was bothering him, but you’d ask him about it after getting into the bunker. Still feeling in a bit of a daze over it all, you got out of the Impala while Dean locked up the garage. That awkward silence between the two of you, had Dean debating chewing Bobby out for even suggesting you go see Pamela. 
He silently followed you down the stairs, through the second door, and into the living room. You wrapping your arms around him threw him for a complete loop, but he held you close as your emotions finally began dancing with his again.
“Talk to me, please,” he whispered, unable to truly express what it had felt like when he couldn’t feel your emotions, but you felt all of it from him.
You let the comfort of his embrace sooth everything coursing through your mind and soul. Pamela’s words had shaken you, but they had also clarified things, too. Now, it was just finding the courage to make that leap of faith. For now, though, you focused on the warmth from his body and the tenderness of his embrace.
“Just trying to process everything Pamela said,” you replied quietly, resting your head on his chest as your body finally felt like it was relaxing.
Dean held you just a little closer, fighting the lump of emotion in his throat. “I’m here, if you want to talk about it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 
Giving him a gentle squeeze, you looked up at him, that small yet genuine smile finally finding your lips. “I know. I’ll be okay. It’s just a lot to sort through. Can we watch a movie and cuddle, though? I don’t want to think about it right now,” you asked.
He let out a sigh of relief, letting your presence and gentle emotions soothe the tension that had gripped all his muscles. “Yeah, we can watch a movie,” he replied softly, gently cupping your cheek.
You hummed as you leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, letting all your stresses go. There was plenty of time to face what you knew you needed to. Right now, all you wanted, all you needed was to be tucked comfortably against him while enjoying a movie and his embrace.
“Can I help you get into something comfortable first?” he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully, which matched the smirk that found his lips. You had inadvertently managed to distract him from what he’d been going through, so now, he was going to deliberately distract you.
As a giggle left your lips, he scooped you into his arms, making you squeal in surprise. His laughter brought peace to you as he carried you to your room and gently set you on the edge of the bed. You weren’t ready to go all the way with him tonight, but this time, you let yourself enjoy his teases. It was like exposure therapy, and even though it made you anxious, it also helped you push through the feelings.
Dean raised an eyebrow when you hadn’t told him he was being a tease, debating asking you about it. He could feel your desire, so he knew he’d gotten to you. He just couldn’t understand why you hadn’t said anything. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his concern slipping through the connection.
“Yes, Dean. I’m okay,” your words came out playful, so Dean relaxed again, but you could still feel something nagging at him. “I’ll tell you what. Tonight, just hold me, and tomorrow, I’ll share what’s been going through my head, I promise.” 
He feigned frustration; the hint of a smile gave him away, pulling laughter from you. That made his smile widen, and he scooped you up into his arms again, spinning you a couple of times. The way your laughter filled the room made his heart soar. You quickly wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and held on. When he stopped, you looked up at him, still giggling a little, and it felt like the moment was frozen in time. The smile on his face made his eyes sparkle as the lines at the edges of his eyes crinkled. Feeling the joy that not only flowed through the connection but also radiated off him made your heart melt.
God, I love you. The thought whispered through his mind, and he just couldn’t help himself, leaning down and capturing your lips in what was intended to be a tender, loving kiss. However, when you reciprocated, and one of your hands cupped his cheek, he had to take a deep inhale through his nose, pulling you ever closer to him. Dean teased your lip with his tongue, desperately wanting to deepen the kiss, and you almost did, but you knew you were ready. Pulling back a little, you looked into his eyes, seeing the desire, the love, and sighed. But before you could answer, he spoke. “I know. I can wait,” he told you gently, resting his forehead against yours.
It was getting harder for him not to progress things, but he would keep his word and wait for you to be ready. With his body tingling, he took you out to the living room, setting you gently on the couch. You worked on catching your breath while he slipped in a movie, adjusting himself before he plopped down next to you. Without warning, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you against him.
The night was relaxing as you finally found your peace again, without worry. Pamela’s words were still in the back of your mind, but you let them stay there. The two of you slipped easily into your nightly routine, with him cooking and you doing the dishes. He again came up and held you, even teased you a little, but kept it light. Dean mainly had done it to hear your giggle and those cute noises you made when he slipped his thumbs just under your shirt and rubbed gentle circles against your skin.
You had insisted that he pick a movie, but he was quite persistent about you choosing one, as he loved seeing that child-like joy sparkle in your eyes and dance through the connection. So, you picked the movie, the two of you lying down on the couch and cuddling for the length of it. Although, after about forty-five minutes or so, you began falling asleep. 
It had been a long, emotional day, and being wrapped up in his comfort let every ounce of stress dissipate from your body. Feeling your petite frame against him, your muscles no longer tense, and the way your breathing began to even out in a sleepy sort of way allowed Dean’s stresses to slip away as well.
“You want to head to bed early?” he asked sleepily, finding himself just as sleepy as you.
“Sure,” you breathed out, forcing your eyes to open again.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” he grunted as he got off the couch, climbing over you.
For a moment you just laid there, watching as he turned off the movie and began turning off excess lights. You weren’t sure why it brought peace to you, seeing him do mundane things, but you allowed the emotions from those moments to move through the connection, wanting him to feel it, too.
Even though he was exhausted, he went over and tenderly scooped you into his arms, carrying you to bed. He tucked you under the covers on one side of the bed before he slipped out to change and get the last couple lights. You were almost asleep when he crawled into bed, scooting close to you. Snuggling against him, you let out a content sigh.
“Good night, Dean. I love you,” you whispered, eyes already closed and sleep tugging at your conscious mind.
He held you a little tighter, “Good night, Sweetheart,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against your head, breathing deeply.
The day may have been rocky, but right now, in this moment, with his arms around you, it felt like a distant memory. The stillness of the room, coupled with the steady rhythm of his heart, gently lulled you into a deep sleep. Dean felt your breathing become steady as your body relaxed further in his arms. A small smile found his lips as he closed his eyes, knowing you were sleeping peacefully.
I love you, Sweetheart. I always will.
----------------------------------------- Chapter 30
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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.
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bootyyy-shaker9000 · 1 year ago
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romance-positive aroace april (2012) is so fucking real to me
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suja-janee · 5 months ago
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I was also rewatching some of the Simpsons
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Look, just hear me out-
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void-tiger · 7 months ago
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…pleasepleaseplease believe me that I want only what you can freely give, that I can wait instead if you need me to until you feel like you can give unrestrained.
I just want to be allowed to stay.
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sttoru · 1 year ago
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‘no matter how much time the king of curses spends with you, he doesn’t think he will ever understand you or your affectionate behaviour towards him.’
☀︎|tags. true form sukuna x female reader. heian era sukuna. fluff. bits of mentions of blood & murder. big size difference. cold-big-monster-having-a-small-soft-spot-for-a-single-human trope. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’. not proof read! let me know if you like my characterisation or not; it’s my first sukuna fic.
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a kiss on the cheek is one of the most innocent - yet apparently also the most difficult - things to do. it’s a small form of intimacy; not that hard to do. it’s really as simple as planting your lips on your beloved’s cheek. then all you do is retreat — maybe get a kiss on the cheek back from him. or on the lips.
“get moving. i’m not waiting all day for you.” sukuna grumbles. you had suddenly stopped in your tracks and the king of curses was confused as to what the reason might have been. the two of you had been walking through the courtyard for a few minutes now — well, you basically had to drag him out to take a little stroll together.
and now the same you was quiet. it bothered sukuna; you were always so chatty around him when it was just the two of you. he might have called you an ‘annoying brat’ for it, but he secretly enjoyed your company and voice.
“c-coming.” you reply in a quiet mumble, eyes glancing over at the monstrous frame that stood a few steps away. his dull yet sharp gaze was focused on you — like he was sizing you up. or rather: trying to figure out what’s wrong with the change in behaviour you showed.
sukuna watches you as you hurry over to his side again. he resumes walking, hands folded over each other under the material of his kimono.
though, he couldn’t yet let go of the fact that you were acting different around him. the king of curses’ suspicion only grew once he noticed how your fingers fiddled with your obi. you were anxious about something.
sukuna shakes his head slightly. some humans sure are difficult to understand, he thinks to himself. your happy yet reserved personality when you usually interacted with him had disappeared and made place for a nervous wreck. trying to figure out why made sukuna’s head hurt.
were you finally scared of him? like all other humans and curses were?
he doesn’t know why, but it felt like he would hate for such thing to happen. sukuna usually wouldn’t care if someone resents, fears or somehow even admires him. only you could make him think and care about such difficult and maybe even trivial things.
“uhm,” you break off his train of thoughts and his eyes are instantly on yours again, “may i do something really quickly?”
sukuna’s face doesn’t show any change in expression, but a small nod tells you everything you need to know. you clear your throat, “can you please lower your head towards me?”
lowering his head? oh, you got some guts. if anyone else had said that to him, sukuna would have obliterated them; there wouldn’t have been anything but red bloody dust left of their body.
but then again: it’s you. all exceptions the king of curses makes are for you.
sukuna slightly lowers his head to your level so you could do whatever you needed to. he’d be lying if he said that his curiosity wasn’t piqued. it always was when he was around you.
you gulp. it was time to do what you’ve longed to do ever since the beginning of your stroll: give the ryomen sukuna a kiss on the cheek. you don’t think he’d be mad—at least he never seriously gets mad at you. only to get a reaction out of you since your responses are always ‘intensely amusing’—as he says.
“go on.” sukuna’s breath hits your cheeks. he was so close—too close that it made you even more nervous in a way. as if you hadn’t even had your first kiss yet.
you swallow your fears and just go for it. your lips attach to his cheek in the fraction of a second—the speed of light—before they leave. it was right under his right set of eyes.
you take a step back and clear your throat. you try to escape the embarrassment of sukuna’s possible reaction by continuing your stroll, though were stopped by a strong hand firmly grabbing your forearm.
“where’d you think you’re going?”
sukuna’s deep voice echoes through your ears. you were surprised to hear the tone of it; almost soft. a tone sukuna uses on rare occasions: in your presence.
you turn your head around and smile sheepishly at the king of curses before you. he doesn’t return the same (not that you expected him to), however he does unexpectedly ruffle your hair for a split second. or at least he attempts to.
his large and warm palm lands on top of your head and he gives it a little and subtle shake. sukuna had seen you do a similar action to someone else before, thus he concluded that he could do it to you. maybe as a form of endearment or. . whatever you used it as.
he did find the way you tried to scurry away after giving him a kiss very adorable. even if he wouldn’t say so out loud.
“now, come along. we don’t have all day.” sukuna nonchalantly mutters after retracting his hand. it left as fast as it came, though you were still stunned at the slight show of affection the king of curses returned.
you instantly catch up to sukuna again—walking next to him as fast as your legs could take you. you were a bit more at ease after you got a positive reaction to your little kiss. it was a pity that he didn’t smirk or laugh at you—maybe mocked you like he usually would. but that head pat made up for it.
even if it did leave your hair a little disheveled.
you couldn’t properly see sukuna’s face, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips was undeniably there. even if it was for just a split second.
“how very interesting.” sukuna mutters under his breath so you wouldn’t catch on. he sighs and shakes his head, unable to keep out that memory of you looking so cute—standing on the tip of your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek with your comically small hand on his jaw line. he doesn’t know why he found that to be so thrilling.
you flutter your eyelashes. you were curious about what he might have commented on, “may i ask what you had just said? i didn’t quite hear it.”
a short second of silence hangs before sukuna tilts his head to the right to look down at you again; his face expressionless, but still having a hint of a grin on his lips.
“i said you better hurry before i gobble you up right this instant.” he replies, (playfully) intimidating you with his sharp red eyes that glinted with a form of danger.
you shiver (though knew the threat was an empty one) and instantly pick up your pace. you even get ahead of him, walking as fast as your legs could. you answer with a curt ‘my apologies’ and walk like you actually have somewhere to be.
sukuna’s grin only grows as he sees you get ahead of him. if you had turned around, maybe you could have caught onto that light flicker of affection in his expression.
“i’m coming for you, little one.” sukuna adds just to ignite some more fear into you and you react as expected, “you’re not escaping me today.”
it was a funny sight; your reactions always make him enjoy his time with you even more than he already (secretly) was.
the way his body reacts in mysterious ways when you’re around, is still very much an unsolved riddle to the king of curses. and the reasons as to why you aren’t scared of him and can easily give him all your ‘love’ are also still yet to be discovered.
until then, sukuna will continue to enjoy teasing you.
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of-many-fandomss · 6 months ago
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Drinks and Jackets
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pairing: lando norris x reader
summary: lando comes home drunk and doesn’t recognize you, and you can’t help but swoon at the devotion your boyfriend has for you
warnings: drinking, slight cursing
word count: 0.9k
・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚.
A long sigh left Lando’s lips as he pushed his bedroom door open, stumbling slightly in his steps as he did so, needing to cling onto the door frame for support so he didn’t go flying face first into the carpeted floor of his bedroom.
After inhaling a deep breath from his nose- the man's eyebrows furrowed in concentration- he pushed off of the frame and attempted to shrug his jacket off of his shoulders. Which only ended in him banging into the wall next to his bed with a small, “Ow,”.
“Lan?” A soft voice rang through the darkness of the room after the thud was emitted.
Norris jumped at least a foot into the air with a small, high pitched squeal of surprise, whipping around with wide eyes just in time to see a figure turn on the lamp beside the bed.
You were tiredly rubbing at your eyes, pushed up on one elbow as you looked at him from across the room, imminently taking note of his wide eyes and tousled hair. Not to mention the fact that he only had one arm through the sleeve of his jacket.
Slight amusement crept onto your features when you realized you had startled him, though a hint of guilt kept you from openly laughing as you gently asked, “Are you alright?” Sleep lacing your tone.
The wide eyes of Lando didn’t shrink. In fact, they only seemed to widen as he looked at you as if you had suddenly grown two heads right before his very eyes, “Who are you?” He hissed, panic and confusion seizing his tone.
At his words, all of the exhaust suddenly disappeared from your body and you finally pushed yourself to fully be sitting up, now wide awake and alert, “What-”
You didn’t even get to finish voicing your bewilderment before Lando- literally- stumbled over his own feet to reach the opposite side of the bed you were sitting on, “That’s my girlfriend's spot!” He exclaimed, eyes still wide as he stared at you.
Your eyebrows drew downwards, “I know, it-”
“Listen, I’m warning you lady, you need to get out of here before she gets back.” He was nodding along to his own words. While he clearly thought he was looking very serious- and maybe even threatening- it was difficult to even consider him whilst he looked hilarious. Clearly drunk and jacket half hanging off of him.
And just like that, the mumsnet flickered back inside of you and a slow grin slowly lifted the corners of your lips, “Is that so?” You asked, playing along when you realized just how drunk he was.
Lando nodded again, “Yeah, and she could kick your ass.” He said it so matter of factly with his chin raised, clear pride laying in his words, even as wasted as he currently was.
Unable to hold it back anymore, you let the first chuckle slip out of your lips as you pushed yourself to your knees and made your way over to the other side of the bed until you were in front of him at eye level.
You reached out and hooked your arms around his neck, tilting your head to the side as you gazed at him lovingly, “And what if I wanted to kiss you right now?” You teased.
Just as the brunette man's eyes widened in a panic and he looked as though he was going to move to swat you away, he froze, blinking once. Twice. Three times at you.
“Love?” He looked like a little, lost puppy dog when he tilted his head to the side, the first bit of recognition flaring through his eyes when he finally realized that it was you in front of him, not some random girl sleeping in his bed.
“You had fun with Carlos and Danny, I take it.” You joked, subconsciously toying with his curls.
“Oh, love, I missed you so much.” Lando gushed suddenly, face automatically becoming alight and housing a lovesick expression.
A laugh escaped your lips as the man wrapped his arms around your center and brought you both flying down onto the mattress before holding you close, his eyes already shutting as he let out a hum of content.
You chuckled, watching as he snuggled closer to you, inhaling the scent of your hair with his eyes still squeezed shut.
Gently, you maneuvered the two of you so that his head was resting against your chest and you were the one cradling him. He let you do so without an ounce of argument, the soft smile still sitting on his lips as he held you close.
Despite the fact that his jacket was still only half off of him and he was yet to change out of his clothes that he was in to go out, you knew from past experience that there was nothing on earth that could pull Lando off of you at that moment. Even to get fully ready for bed.
So, instead, you held him close, running your fingers through his hair after flicking off of the lamp light and waited for your boy to fall asleep.
“I love you,” The words were mumbled against your old sleep shirt with the man himself being halfway to sleep.
“I love you too, Lan.” You dipped your head to place a lingering kiss on the man's forehead, “So much.”
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gojoux · 11 months ago
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𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊
Gojo. Geto. Sukuna. Nanami. Choso. Toji. Megumi. Itadori. Yuta. Inumaki.
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◈ — 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎
Gojo certainly would notice if there is something ‘odd’ and won’t hesitate to point it out, “Is that hickey? I don’t remember leaving it there though.” He squints his eyes behind his blindfold as if his Six Eyes is lying to him. Indeed, he will always remember every mark he left on you, so he does become suspicious. He’d mock the appearance of the hickey once he catches on and plays into your game, “That can’t be mine. It’s too faint, look at that,” and with a cheeky grin, he’ll give you an actual hickey, big and noticeable.
◈ — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎
Geto is an attentive listener, he stays quiet and listens to you closely when you talk. When he notices the hickey, he stays silent and his expression doesn’t change. He decided it’s best to keep it to himself until you finish talking. “Is that hickey, love? I don’t remember leaving you any last night,” he’d ask, his tone somewhat passive-aggressive. He’d make a move by touching the spot with his thumb, smearing the made-up mark, and chuckle lightly afterward. “You’re naughty, sweetheart.”
◈ — 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀
Sukuna would notice right away when he sees you in sight. “What was that?” He’d ask with a raised brow with a commanding tone, he expected you to be honest with him. When you play dumb, he’d ask you again as he stands up from his seat, “I’m asking you. What is that.” He holds your nape, making you face him still. He’d analyze the mark properly before laughing shortly, “This looks so bad. Let me show you what a real hickey looks like.” He manages to fill your neck to your shoulder with his deep colored mark.
◈ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈
Nanami has a sharp eye, he’d notice right away. He looks at it in silence with his usual stoic, serious face before he speaks calmly to the point, “You have a hickey, love. Who gave it to you?” Honestly, he’s already used to your antics, and it doesn’t take long for him to figure out that the hickey doesn’t look like the usual ones he gave you. “If you want one, you should just ask me. No need to waste time and effort to make one yourself.” He knows, and he’s unbothered so he just flows along with it for you.
◈ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎
Choso would notice the hickey on your neck and the confusion would be written all over his face. He’ll double-check on your neck and at you, “There’s a mark... on your neck,” he looks at your skin. “Are you okay? Is it a bruise? Or is it from me?” He asks, genuinely curious and a bit concerned as he looks intently at the hickey with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He doesn’t want to touch it for some reason. He’ll let out a small “Oh...” when you admit it to him after how long he’s been staring at it.
◈ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈
Toji would be as nonchalant as ever. He doesn’t notice it at first, but the more he stares at you, the more he keeps looking at the hickey with the way his gaze sharpens every second as if he's analyzing the whole mark placed on that particular spot of your body. “That’s a terrible hickey, by the way. Whoever gave it to you suck ass, 'cause that’s not mine for sure,” he snickers. “Let me give you a good one,” he murmurs as he pulls you closer by the nape.
◈ — 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈
Megumi doesn’t want to point it out at first, deciding to just leave it for now, but he can’t seem to take his eyes away from the mark and he can’t help but be curious. “Hey, there’s a hickey there,” he points with his eyes. He’d then ask, “From where did you get it?” because he wants to hear it directly from you since he doesn’t remember leaving one on you recently. He’d take the initiative to touch it himself where he realizes it’s only makeup, not realizing that he just let out a small sigh of relief.
◈ — 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈
Itadori wouldn’t even notice it’s fake. He thinks it’s the one he left behind since he tends to give you small hickeys of affection after he kissed you. “Looks like you still have the hickey I gave you,” he grins widely when points it out. He’d even show you off his own hickeys that you left for him and end up rambling about it, “Did you know I have a few too? You gave me this one yesterday, and this one three days ago, oh, I really like this one, the color looks nice, you did a really good job on that, and this one—”
◈ — 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀
Yuta would be a bit shy since it’s exposed so others would know that he left that on you but at the same time he just realized that he was not around you for a few days. He taps your shoulder gently to talk, beating around the bush at first since he doesn’t want to assume you’d go behind his back, he just doesn’t know to address it to you without the fear of offending your feelings. Once you’re done enjoying his flustered reaction, you finally reveal that it’s just a prank, and he’d let out a big sigh of relief, “Oh, wow, that looks real! How did you do that? Can I give you a real one instead?”
◈ — 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈
Inumaki glares at the hickey, looking at it and to your eyes in disapproval, waiting for you to take the hint that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. When you say that the hickey is from him, he immediately shakes his head and crosses his arms to deny it. When he looks more closely, he becomes suspicious at the ‘oddness’ and rubs it with his finger just to make sure it’s what he thinks it is. When the makeup smears on his fingers, he’ll smile smugly and smear it on your cheek just to make fun of you.
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Looks like I need to warm up ☝️
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singmyaubade · 1 month ago
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Good Luck Babe
poly!marauders x nerd!female!reader
summary: after being a wallflower throughout your first five years at hogwarts, you always thought that you could be invisible. but when you hear the marauders talking cruelly about you and proceeding to ask for your forgiveness after, well good luck babe.
warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, reader wants to kill the marauders , swearing, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), jealousy
a/n: oh hey... this is kinda based on those cliche 2000's movies where the girl is ugly but not really and she has that glow up or whatever. this was written so quick and not proofread, don't kill me. i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!
STARTING off your sixth year at Hogwarts being an entirely new person wasn't something that you had planned or expected.
On the inside, you felt exactly the same, the same girl who was bold and could ferociously win a fight when it came to her character.
The same girl who was witty and sarcastic, surprising half of the people around you when you made a joke once in a lifetime.
But on the outside, you didn't have an awkward mis-shaped bob and you no longer wore baggy jackets that didn't do a thing for your figure.
And you didn't hide your face anymore, trying your best to be invisible.
It wasn't that you were shy or that you felt like a loser but you thought social hierarchy was bullshit and the only thing you wanted to focus on was your studies.
You may have been a brave Gryffindor on the inside but on the outside, you had to play the part of a shy mouse as corny as that sounds.
Unfortunately for you, invisibility only tends to last for so long until one moment, you are a nobody and then all eyes are upon you.
And maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't heard the Marauders discussing you the previous year, you would have stayed the same.
You had passed by the boys dormitory to give Remus his textbooks back as you always did when you let you borrow when you heard them speaking of the very person behind the door,
"I still have yet to understand why Lily and the rest of them act like she's some charity case," James huffed, "I mean, she's not some sick patient, they only feel the need to pity her because of how she looks."
You always knew that James had a foul mouth but to be speaking about someone like this, it was cruel.
Remus hissed, "That's not nice Prongs,"
"I'm not even saying it to be a dick!" James groaned, "I just mean, I pity her more for the fact that they don't even invite her to anything outside of breakfast and dinner," He explained, causing Remus to go silent.
Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "That's absolutely horrid."
James reclined on his bed, a smirk playing on his lips. "I’m just saying, if I were Y/N, I’d be mortified."
Your eyes widened as they began to water, they were speaking about you.
Remus leaned against the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Maybe she just doesn’t want to hang out with Lily and the others."
"Moony, seriously," James shot back, sitting up. "Where is Y/N right now, and where are the other girls?" His eyebrow cocked, trying to make his point as Remus silenced.
Sirius raised an eyebrow, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Why don’t we investigate for ourselves?" He unfolded the Marauder's Map with a flourish. "Alright, we’ve got Lily, Dorcas, Mary, and Marlene all at Hogsmeade, but Y/N is..." His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing.
James leaned closer, annoyance creeping into his tone as he grabbed the map, "She's-" He stopped, the color fading from his face.
"Fucking spit it out!" Remus said next as he snatched the map finally and saw that the map had shown that you were right outside their door.
"Shit!" You heard Remus say as he started making his way to the door.
Hearing his footsteps approaching, you quickly moved away from the door, bolting for your room.
Once you made it back to your dorm, you had sinked the floor. You put your hand on your mouth, muffling yourself as you cried silently.
You honestly hated to even say it but you did consider Lily and the rest of them your friends. You had never really thought about how they didn't invite you to places.
And if you were being truthful, they had never asked you to have breakfast or dinner with them.
You had always just assumed that you could join but they never told you to leave or swooshed you off. Another part of you hated how stupid you were, trying to intrude on their private time.
You didn't want to let it get to you what a bunch of seventeen year old boys were saying but it did sting horribly.
But in a way, it also motivated you to be who you were on the inside. You already had the top marks in your entire year and your plan to work in the Ministry after Hogwarts had already been set.
And now your chance to be something at Hogwarts was right in front of you, an opportunity that you couldn't miss.
You had to do it for yourself.
The Marauders had no idea who you truly were or even cared to know. And although Remus was kind to you, you could always see that he never made any effort to be your friend.
Not that you expected him to but it only taught you that they truly thought you were some hopeless case.
And an assignment to make the Marauders bite their tongues was one that you couldn't bare to fail.
After hearing that, you decided to avoid the Marauders for the next month, especially with summer break approaching. To your surprise, you barely saw them outside of classes, never giving them a chance to reach out—even Remus.
And then that summer, everything changed. You let your hair grow past your shoulders, embracing your natural curls instead of straightening them. You started wearing clothes that were trendy and form-fitting, a huge contrast to your old style.
You discovered a newfound love for self-care, enjoying the process far more than you expected. Each day felt like a transformation, and by the end of summer, your mother couldn’t help but notice. “Finally listening to me about your style, huh?” she teased.
You only laughed as you embraced her,
If only she knew what had caused it in the first place.
As you said goodbye to your family, anticipation mingled with dread. You knew the train ride would be the least of your worries, but the welcome dinner and the ceremony ahead felt like they might just be hell reincarnate.
As you entered Hogwarts, you admired it as much as you did when you were a first year. The castle was something you considered a second home and everything about it was magical, there was no doubting that.
A crowd of students, including yourself, moved toward the Great Hall, and you settled into your usual seat at the Gryffindor table.
You spotted the Marauders and the usual group of girls approaching, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. They took their usual spots in front of you, with the girls on one side and the boys on the other. James sat beside you, and Lily was directly in front of him.
You never quite understood why they arranged themselves like that, but it hardly mattered in the moment.
They were busy in conversation before James had noticed someone next to him, his eyes widening. You couldn't quite read his face but it seemed like a mix of confusion and flustered.
You stared at him back but he still had yet to mutter a word. You cleared your throat, "Uh hello," You practically whispered.
He snapped back into reality, "Oh sorry, hi," He muttered back.
Silence took over you both as James couldn't find the words of what to say to you.
On one hand, he wanted to call you beautiful, to tell you that you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. On the other, he just wanted to stare at you for a few more minutes like a creep.
Lily noticed his gaze and leaned in, smirking. "Excuse my friend; we’re still trying to figure out if he has a brain."
"I thought we solved that decades ago," Marlene chimed in, stifling a laugh.
Lily turned to you with a curious smile. "I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?"
Are you actually fucking kidding me?
You scoffed, "I'm Y/N,"
The entire group looked at you in awe, even the ones who weren't chimed in on the conversation.
"Y/N L/N?" Sirius asked, mouth gaping.
"Yep, that one," You snorted.
They all looked like they had seen a ghost, "You look different," Marlene said as Mary shoved her.
"She means in a good way!" Mary added.
"Uh thanks," You said, awkwardly.
They all continued to stare at you like you were an exhibit in a museum, their eyes scanning you up and down.
"Do you all mind not staring at me?" you asked, trying to break the tension. They all looked away, feigning innocence as they muttered apologies.
"How have you been?" Lily asked, clearly trying to ease the awkwardness.
"Fine," you replied, your tone clipped.
You caught the pained expressions on the Marauders' faces, realizing they were the reason for your dismissive attitude.
"That's great," Lily said, forcing a smile.
You felt a wave of frustration at the awkwardness surrouding you and decided it was time to escape. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you announced, heading toward the exit before they could respond.
As you walked away, you could already here the mutters and whispers emerging from the table, the fascinating topic being you.
You paced as you heard footsteps trailing behind you, but you ignored them, letting your gaze wander around the castle.
"Y/N!" someone called out, startling you.
You turned to see Sirius, James, and Remus hurrying after you. You only let out a snort before continuing your same way.
A hand suddenly reached around your forearm as you turned to see Remus. You quickly snatched your hand away, finally stopping to look at the group of boys who you despised.
Crossing your arms, you shot them a hostile look. "What?"
"We just wanna—"
"We're so—"
"Listen, we just—"
They all spoke at once, but you scoffed and turned back toward the bathroom, starting to walk away.
You were hoping that they would realize you wanted nothing to do with them but instead, it only made them want to chase you more.
They quickened their pace, and you spun around sharply. "For fuck's sake, what do you want?" you snapped.
James took a breath, his expression earnest. "I'm sorry for what I said. I've been thinking about it since you left. I was an awful twat, and you didn't deserve a thing of what I said."
You let out a sarcastic laugh, "Are you serious?" You asked as your expression changed to furious, "You basically called me a loser and said that Lily and the rest of them were only hanging out with me out of pity,"
James hissed as your statement, feeling the razor in your voice.
"-And now you all want to act as if I should just forgive you since I don't look the same anymore," You got closer to James's face, "Fuck off."
You turned your heel again and this time, the boys didn't follow you.
You finally entered the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you struggled to read the expression on your face. You were furious at the Marauders, and the idea of forgiving them felt impossible.
Yet, there was a flicker of gratitude that you felt for the change you’d undergone. You’d gained a new confidence that felt good, but the sting of their cruel words still lingered in your mind.
And you knew that you couldn't let it get to you but knowing they thought that of you, even Remus. It still did things to you that you would never admit out loud.
Snapping out of your thoughts, you realized it was almost time to head to the dormitory.
The rest of the night had flown by, with first years being introduced to their new home for the next six years while everyone else relaxed in the common room. Despite curfews, fifth years and above knew they could hang out longer—the curfew was mostly for the first years anyway.
"Caput Draconis," you muttered, and the Fat Lady nodded, granting you entrance.
Stepping into the common room, your heart sank as you spotted the last group you wanted to see. They noticed you just as quickly, encouraging you to pick up your pace toward the dorm.
"Hey, Y/N!" Dorcas called out, making you wince as you turned to see her waving.
The Marauders looked down, shame etched on their faces, avoiding your gaze as if you were Medusa.
You approached them slowly, dread settling in your stomach as they eyed you like a science project.
"We were just about to play a fun little game," Dorcas said enticingly, while Marlene snorted beside her.
"I don’t know if Spin the Bottle is a great idea for the first night back," Marlene added, taking a sip of her beer.
"A little peck never hurt anyone," Lily chimed in, clapping her hands together.
Of all people, you’d never expect Lily Evans to approve such a thing. This was the same girl who nearly fainted when she heard about Marlene and Dorcas kissing the previous year.
"I don’t know if this is the game for me," you replied, eyeing the group warily.
"Of course it is!" Lily insisted, but you raised an eyebrow. "Oh my gosh! Not like that, I just mean it's a fun game for us all to play," she quickly added, looking flustered.
Part of you wanted to say no and retreat to your bed, but that was the old you, and you knew it wouldn’t help. This was a new year, and you were determined to embrace new experiences.
Besides, you’d never participated in any scandalous games for all of the years you've been at Hogwarts—it felt like a crime in itself.
So, after a moment’s hesitation, you said, "Okay, sure." The girls erupted in cheers, while the Marauders exchanged worried glances.
What if you had to kiss one of them? Would you refuse and create a scene? Would you want to strangle them for even suggesting it?
The possibilities raced through their mind, but there was no turning back as everyone began to form a circle.
As you sat in the circle, a shiver of nervousness enveloped you. You had never kissed anyone before and the whole thought made you nervous within itself.
Don't get it wrong, you've had chances but they never seemed right and you certainly weren't kissing Matthew Trunchbull underneath the bleachers of the Quidditch field.
So when you got offered a shot of firewhiskey to cool your nerves by Marlene, you took it happily as it burned down your throat.
You brushed off all the negative thoughts entering your mind,
What really is the worst thing that could happen?
2K notes · View notes
cleo-fox · 1 year ago
Text
Overtime
Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.
Pairings: Loki x Female Reader
Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.
Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).
A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.
Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.
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You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.
“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”
“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.
“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”
“You’re still doing it.”
Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.
And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.
“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”
Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”
You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”
But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.
Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.
Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.
“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”
“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”
“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”
You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”
“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”
Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.
“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”
This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.
Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”
You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.
“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”
The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.
This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.
You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.
The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.
Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.
“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.
Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.
And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.
It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.
You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.
“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”
In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.
Also not a great sign.
Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”
“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”
“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”
Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.
“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”
“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.
“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.
This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.
You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”
“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”
Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.
“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder
You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.
There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.
“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.
“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”
That at least earns you a hint of a smile.
*
Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.
You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.
You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.
Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.
You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”
Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”
You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.
But you’re also not about to say no, either.
“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”
The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.
“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.
You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”
“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”
“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”
You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.
“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?”  he says.
You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”
He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”
“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.
Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”
“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”
He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”
It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”
“We’re going out for dinner.”
*
He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.
“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.
“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.
An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.
“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”
“Please,” he says.
“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”
“Coffee would be great.”
“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”
He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”
“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”
“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”
“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”
“Technically.”
“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”
You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”
“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”
Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.
“Please,” he says.
“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”
You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”
“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.
“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.
“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.
“Liar,” you say promptly.
He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”
“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.
“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”
“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”
“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”
“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”
“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”
“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”
“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”
“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”
He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”
You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”
That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.
“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”
You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”
Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.
“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.
You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”
“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.
You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
“It’s not a lie—”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.
“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”
There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.
“It does.”
There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”
He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”
It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”
He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”
“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”
He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”
You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”
Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”
“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”
Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”
“I think I have that memorized at this point.”
“‘The perfect choice for families.��”
“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”
“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”
“‘You can’t say no to that.’”
You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.
The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.
“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.
His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”
You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.
Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation. 
Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.
“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.
“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”
Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.
“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later. 
“What’s that?”
“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”
You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”
He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”
You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”
“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.
You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”
“What are body shots?”
For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.
He’s teasing you.
“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.
He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”
You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”
He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”
You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.
But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.
“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.
“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”
“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”
He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.
“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says
“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.
“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”
Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.
There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together. 
“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”
“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”
“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”
He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”
“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”
“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”
“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”
You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.
“Where are we going?”
“I know a place.”
*
The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.
“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.
Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”
“You do. It’s Mobius.”
“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”
“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”
He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”
You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”
He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”
“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”
Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”
You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.
The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.
“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.
“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”
“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”
“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”
He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it. 
You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.
“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.
“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”
“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”
“Darling. You have a TemPad.”
“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”
He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”
You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”
“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”
He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”
“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”
He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”
“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”
It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”
He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.
“Of course.”
Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.
The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.
There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.
You touch his hand. “This way.”
You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.
“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”
He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”
“What is it?”
They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”
The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”
“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”
This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”
You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”
“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”
“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”
“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”
“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”
He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”
You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”
He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”
“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”
Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”
“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”
You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.
You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”
He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.
There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“For what?”
“For showing me that.”
“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”
He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.
For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.
The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.
Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”
There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.
You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.
But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.
*
You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.
But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.
“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.
It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.
Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”
You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”
Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.
“There’s still so much left.”
“There’s still tomorrow.”
You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”
He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”
He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.
You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.
You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”
To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.
You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.
As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.
“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh. 
This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.
“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.
“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”
Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.
And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.
“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit. 
“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.
She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”
With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.
“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.
Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.
Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.
But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.
You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—
“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.
“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”
“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”
“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.
His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”
You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”
“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”
Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”
You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.
He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.
“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”
“Thanks.”
In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.
You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.
When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.
You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.
You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”
“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”
You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”
“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.
You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”
He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”
You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”
“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”
“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”
“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”
“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.
He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.
Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.
“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.
“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”
He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”
“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.
“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.
“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”
With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.
“Hey!” you shout in protest.
“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.
This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.
Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.
“This is ridiculous,” you say.
“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.
You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.
He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.
“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”
That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.
He grins. “Not a chance.”
You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.
It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.
Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.
“Yield,” he says.
You shake your head. “Never.”
His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”
“No.”
Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net. 
But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.
“Yield.”
You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”
Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?
“Yield.”
God, he’s so close and you want him so badly. 
“No.”
He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.
They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.
“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.
“No,” you say.
He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.
He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.
“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar. 
“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.
You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.
“No,” you say.
“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.
His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.
“Cheater,” you say. 
“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”
You shiver. “Your prize?”
“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”
“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”
“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants. 
“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.
“You have not,” you say.
“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”
You nod. “Yes.”
He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.
You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”
You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.
He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.
You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.
His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.
Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.
“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.
“What is it, my love?”
“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”
You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. 
You believe him.
His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.
“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.
You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.
“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”
You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”
His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”
For who?”
“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”
“You’re not,” you say.
“Some would disagree.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”
There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.
“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”
“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”
You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”
“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”
A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”
The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”
“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”
“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”
“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.
“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”
That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.
“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”
This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.
“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”
Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.
You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.
“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.
He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.
Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.
You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.
You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.
This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.
Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.
It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.
“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”
“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.
“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.
“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”
His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?
“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”
You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.
You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.
You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.
“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”
“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.
“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”
You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine. 
“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”
“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.
“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”
You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.
He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”
You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.
You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.
“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”
He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.
Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.
He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.
After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.
“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He rolls on top of you  and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.
He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.
But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.
You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.
He does.
He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.
He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.
He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.
“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.
You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”
He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”
His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.
He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.
He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.
“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.
You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”
“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”
With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.
He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”
He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.
He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.
You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.
“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.
He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”
You whimper. “Loki—”
“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”
Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.
You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.
As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.
It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.
After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.
You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.
You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.
You don’t know it then, but you’re right.
*
Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.
Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.
“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.
“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.
“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”
Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”
But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.
“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”
You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”
“A confession,” says Mobius.
“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”
Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee. 
Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”
“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”
“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”
“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.
Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,��� he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”
You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.
“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”
Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”
Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”
Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”
“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”
Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”
You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”
Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”
“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”
“What do you mean?”
Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”
Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.
“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”
“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”
“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.
Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”
“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”
Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”
Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”
“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.
“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.
It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.
“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.
“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.
“I know,” he whispers back.
But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.
“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”
Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.
“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.
He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”
Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”
He grins and tugs you through the time door.
-------
But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.
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