#and he desperately wanted a lover who was his equal

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Darling, Dear

Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x F!OC

Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (smut, profanity), all characters are adults Words: 5,333 Tags: throuple, threesome, roommates, friends to lovers, third person POV

Summary: Years ago, Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt mutually agreed that the new fifth year girl was off limits, despite crushes that grew into love. Five years later, the trio of best friends has moved into a townhome together. She loves both men equally, so why not allow them both to love her back?

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested this! My first threesome. 🥲 Anon asked for a good ol' throuple/threesome in which Sebastian and Ominis are both in love with MC and convince her to be with them both. Characters are post-Hogwarts adults.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Ominis Gaunt scowled across the room. The only thing more crimson than the tip of his glowing wand was his fury as he sensed Sebastian Sallow murmuring quietly in their mutual friend’s ear.

Nevermind the music that carried from a charmed phonograph or the clusters of bodies that chatted animatedly throughout the room; Ominis didn’t need to hear. He could feel Sebastian’s words. They were laden with flirtation and desire. 

Ominis waited until Sebastian was alone to call him out. He cornered his freckled friend near the doorway and hissed in his ear.

“We agreed she’s off limits,” Ominis growled quietly. Sebastian sighed through his nose.

“There’s nothing wrong with some harmless banter,” he murmured quietly in response. 

“Harmless banter? Seemed awfully sexually charged to me.”

Sebastian snorted. “Sexually charged? Ominis, you can’t even see. How could you possibly tell that?”

“From the way her breath hitched. From the way her back and posture straightened. From the way the heat began radiating from her.”

“You can tell all that from your wand?” Sebastian muttered. 

“Don’t test me, Sebastian,” Ominis warned. “She’s off limits. We may be in a new living situation, but our agreement from fifth year still holds.”

Ominis was referring to a mutual gentlemen’s agreement he and Sebastian had made when they were fifteen. Back then, it was all harmless, good-natured fun. They both had crushes on the new fifth-year girl, a striking beauty named Arabella Andrews. Little did they know their lives would become permanently intertwined with hers by the time their fifth year ended.

Arabella and her ancient magic entranced damn everyone to cross her path. But Sebastian and Ominis were the ones lucky enough to earn the title of her closest friends. But it was much deeper than friendship. The trio became bound by an unspeakable bond rooted in mutual love, trust and trauma.

Now, five years later, the trio remained omnipresent in one another’s lives; so much so, that they were moving under one roof. It was unorthodox and even a bit unbecoming to the outside world; two single, young men moving in with a single, young lady. But to them, it made all the sense in the world. The three could retreat to the quiet, private confines of their new home free from judgment or prying eyes.

Now an adult, Ominis had escaped his family’s cruel and overbearing clutches to become the youngest member of the Ministry of Magic Wizengamot. Sebastian, now a cursebreaker, sold his Uncle Solomon’s old cottage in Feldcroft with no intention of ever returning to such a sordid place. And Arabella had become an auror, intent on using her ancient magic for good while she acclimated to adulthood.

Finally, they were free. No more goblin rebellions or ancient relics. No more cursed relatives – Anne Sallow’s curse was lifted when Arabella killed Victor Rookwood. No more darkness to consume the light the trio so desperately wanted and deserved.

But the little unspoken agreement among two-thirds of the trio remained. Sebastian and Ominis still spent their days eyeing their female friend with far more than adolescent curiosity. Schoolboy crushes had morphed into love. Stolen glances became bedroom eyes. The gentle brush of fingers became laced with longing and lust.

It was becoming impossible for either man to ignore their irrepressible obsessions with their closest friend.

They certainly tried. Sebastian had bedded half of Hogwarts, it seemed, before he began dating Violet McDowell for two years. But she grew tired of his unconventional friendship with Arabella, impatient for a diamond ring she’d never wear, and gave him an ultimatum. Sebastian chose Arabella without a second thought. 

Meanwhile, Ominis had indulged his family’s attempts at continuing their bloodline. They arranged a handful of relationships for him, but none came to any fruition. Ominis had no desire to wed any of the women they picked; all as equally cruel and ignorant, obsessed with blood status as his parents. Once he finally split from the Gaunt family for good, he decided he had no desire to create any kin with such sinister blood.

But as Arabella’s choice of suitors seemed to become insurmountable, Sebastian and Ominis watched in agony. Men of all backgrounds and intentions tripped over their own feet for a shot at Arabella. She was objectively beautiful, but her character – so full of energy and charisma – was the magnet that made men latch onto her in any way they could. She was the Ministry’s rising star, her arrest numbers far surpassing her peers. 

She was strong, clever and sharp, interesting enough to keep people watching for more. Everyone wanted a piece of Arabella Andrews, but she was reluctant to dish herself out so sufficiently.

Her latest flame had been a professional quidditch player by the name of Alastair Wood. Wood was the Montrose Magpies’ latest hotshot, a Seeker destined to be named the league’s Rookie of the Year.

But after three months of courtship, Arabella had deemed Alastair too arrogant and selfish. She broke things off with him and merely shrugged when she delivered the news to her friends, insisting that she didn’t need a husband to complete her place in life. Instead, Arabella sought comfort from Sebastian and Ominis, which was how the trio ended up purchasing a stately three-bedroom townhome on the outskirts of Muggle London together.

“It makes perfect sense!” Arabella had declared when she first presented the idea. “I only wish we’d done it sooner. I guess the notion never came to me since we all thought Sebastian was going to marry Violet.”

Now, the boxes were all unpacked and the decorations were in place – all Arabella’s doing, of course. They were spending the evening with friends, showing off their new home while also celebrating Arabella’s 20th birthday.

She was radiant tonight, clad in a slinky dress that seemed to cling to every curve for dear life. Her hair was pinned in a half-up and she wore a simple silver necklace that once belonged to Miriam Fig. 

Sebastian and Ominis watched as she danced with Leander Prewett. Ominis’ knuckles tightened and whitened around the handle of his wand. Sebastian shifted from one foot to the other, unable to remain still as his jealousy threatened to lash out.

“Is she drunk?” Ominis asked as they listened to Arabella cackle loudly at something Leander had said. 

“No, she’s barely had any champagne, actually,” Sebastian muttered. “She’s just… happy.”

“She cannot possibly be that happy over Leander Prewett’s presence,” Ominis said bitterly. “Anyone but him.”

“At least it’s not Puffskein Duncan. Didn’t he get mauled by a Venomous Tentacula recently?” Sebastian asked.

“Something like that. Perhaps we can poison Prewett.”

“I thought we said we wouldn’t meddle in her romantic affairs.”

“We did – but I refuse to allow those affairs to include the likes of Prewett.”

“You might actually hate him more than me,” Sebastian mused. 

“Only because he thinks he has a shot with her. What were the two of you flirting about anyway?” Ominis asked curiously.

“Nothing of substance,” Sebastian answered. “Honestly, she was asking me when it would be a suitable time to kick all the guests out and I made some crass joke about her rushing people out so we could get into bed.”

Ominis chuckled. “Funny,” he said quietly as Arabella twirled from Leander to Amit Thakkar. “She’s got a room full of eager, adoring men waiting to fall at her feet, yet she just wants to sit by the fire with us every night.”

Sebastian mulled over Ominis’ words quietly, his eyes still following Arabella around the room. Ominis could sense the thoughts sloshing around in Sebastian’s brain, and he waited patiently to hear of his friend’s next grand endeavor. Nothing was ever static when it came to Sebastian Sallow.

“What if that really is all she wants?” Sebastian finally asked quietly. Ominis opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but Sebastian was already steering him away from the party. The men retreated to the bottom of the staircase, away from the music and keen partygoers.

“Sebastian, what’s this about?” Ominis sighed.

Sebastian turned to face his friend, his features narrowed into a serious expression. “You said it yourself,” Sebastian started. “She only ever wants to be around us. And you and I have only ever really wanted her. What if we could arrange all that?”

“Sebastian…” Ominis warned. He didn’t want to like where this was headed, but he was also curious… or desperate.

“Think about it,” Sebastian said, his eyes glinting with all the possibilities. “We both love her and have spent years in misery pining after her from a distance to preserve our own friendship. But what if… what if we could both have her.”

Ominis stilled. It was a preposterous proposal… right? Surely it would ruin the friendship for all three; not to mention the impropriety of such an arrangement. They’d be outcasts, judged for such barbaric behavior if people found out.

But did Ominis really care? Sebastian clearly didn’t. Sebastian didn’t have anything to lose, except Arabella. And Ominis… well, neither did he, now that he severed all ties with his family.  

Surely Arabella would care, though, right? She was popular and adored. She’d never taint her name with such lewd nonsense. But both men also knew her well enough to be sure that if there was one trait that Arabella possessed, it was the refusal to care what others think.

Maybe it wasn’t such an outlandish idea after all.

“So you’re saying we could… share her?” Ominis finally asked. “Sebastian, she’s not a toy.”

“I know that,” Sebastian said. “And we would never treat her as such. We’d both give her the love and care she deserves. And in return, we both get to have her.”

A flush crept up the back of Ominis’ neck, a rare display of nerves from the usually composed blond. “And you’d be willing to- to share her like that with me?” he asked.

“With you? Yes. With anyone else? No,” Sebastian replied simply.

Ominis considered his response. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt the same. Sebastian adored Arabella just as much as he did. And though Sebastian had a history of royally fucking up in life, Ominis had witnessed his best friend morph from a misguided teen into a man who understood that he’d received a rare second chance at life.

Ominis didn’t trust anyone else with someone as precious to him as Arabella. But Sebastian understood that, because he loved her too.

“Even if I did agree to this, there’s no way in hell she will,” Ominis said. “She’s too…”

“Just say it, Ominis. She’s too good for the both of us and that’s the real reason neither of us has ever pursued her,” Sebastian said bluntly.

It was true. Ominis’ blood was tainted by poison – a bloodline that carried a history of hatred and harm. Sebastian’s past was contaminated by dark magic and the ultimate sin. But they were only human. Who could blame them for falling in love with someone as lively as Arabella?

But she wasn’t pure either. She’d killed too, though her sins were for the greater good of wizardkind. She’d failed to stop Sebastian amid his descent into dark magic, and it nearly ruined both of their lives. And then she chose to keep his secret rather than turn him in. She was complicit, too. She simply sinned differently from them.

All three were tarnished goods, dealt cruel cards from life’s unfair deck. 

“What if she’s horrified by such a proposal?” Ominis asked. “What if she hates us for it?”

“She could never hate us, Ominis,” Sebastian reasoned. “She loves us.”

“Still, is it worth risking our friendship?”

“We could lose her anyway,” Sebastian said. “Either we lose her for trying to love her, or we lose her to someone else. I’d rather lose her knowing I tried.”

That was the only convincing point he needed to make. Still, Ominis’ nerves made him hot and anxious. “So how do we approach the subject? And how do we… what do we… how do we do this?”

“I think we just need to outright tell her,” Sebastian said. “We don’t force her, and there’s no hard feelings if she says no. We promise to drop it and never speak of it again. And then if she agrees to it, we should establish some ground rules.”

“Rules, yes,” Ominis agreed. “Alright.”

Waiting for the party to end was excruciating. Sebastian paced next to the party table of food while Ominis sat and fidgeted on a sofa. Finally, when the last guest said farewell, both men exhaled a breath they’d been holding for hours.

“Okay,” Arabella said tactfully as she sauntered into the living room with her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with the two of you? Something happened, didn’t it? You’ve been shying away from people all night.”

Sebastian snuck a glance at Ominis, who stared at nothing. They hadn’t discussed the finer details of their proposal, like where to start, or even when to start. Ominis decided to let Sebastian take the lead, given this was his grand idea in the first place.

“No time like the present, I guess,” Sebastian muttered. He crossed the room to hook an arm around Arabella’s waist. “Did you have a good birthday, darling?” 

“I did,” Arabella answered, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “But now I want to know what the two of you are on about.”

“We both have something to discuss with you,” Sebastian said. “It’s a… birthday surprise, if you will. It’s in your bedroom.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure where this sudden surge in nerves came from. Perhaps it was the enticing dress Arabella was wearing, or maybe it was because he’d had an extra glass of champagne. 

“My bedroom?” Arabella mused. “Sebastian, if you wanted to get me in bed, all you had to do was ask.”

“Precisely, my darling.”

Ominis nearly laughed at the irony of it all. Instead, he swayed nervously in his seat as Arabella’s cheeks flushed.

“Sebastian, what’s this about?”

“Perhaps we should sit,” Sebastian suggested, guiding Arabella to the sofa next to Ominis. She became wedged between the two men once Sebastian sat on her other side, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. Arabella continued to appear baffled by their behavior.

“You know we love you, right?” Sebastian asked softly, one hand resting on top of Arabella’s.

“Of course,” she replied. “And I love the two of you as well.”

“But you know we really love you, right? More than just as kindred spirits or fellow Slytherins?” Sebastian continued.

“Wh-what do you mean?” 

“We’re in love with you,” Sebastian answered. “Both of us. Equally.”

“Wh-what? Are you drunk?” Arabella asked incredulously.

“No, my dear,” Ominis finally interjected. “We’re both very sober and probably very big fools for this.”

“You’re in on this too?” Arabella asked. Ominis nodded.

“We were thinking,” Sebastian pressed. “We’re both in love with you and you don’t seem to be too enthralled by any of your suitors. And now that we’re all three under one roof, we just thought maybe this would be a good chance to explore more depths to our relationship.”

“Our relationship?” Arabella deadpanned. “As in, the three of us?”

“Yes, darling.”

Arabella blinked as the weight of the suggestion settled within her. “And you’re being serious?”

“Absolutely. We talked, and we’re tired of watching these other blokes waste their time and yours. We both love you and are willing to share that love with you – equally,” Sebastian explained.

“You want to share me,” Arabella said, her bashful cheeks now crimson. “As my lovers… You both want to share me in a relationship.”

“Only as much as you want to be shared, dear,” Ominis assured. “And only as much as you want to give. You call the shots here.”

“I call the shots,” Arabella repeated slowly, each of her emotions clashing for control. 

She didn’t know what to make of such an unusual, unforeseen proposal. Never in her wildest fantasies had she envisioned the notion of having both men she loved. In her daydreams, they took turns as her lover. Having them both had seemed so forbidden – until now.

The heat emanating from the fireplace could only be rivaled by the heat spreading between Arabella’s legs. 

“So the two of you… you’d share me as lovers,” Arabella said carefully. “Like in the bedroom and in life?” Both men nodded their confirmations. “And you’re okay with that – with sharing? I mean, Sebastian, I know you can get jealous-”

“If it was anyone else, the answer would be no,” Sebastian cut in. “But I trust Ominis. The two of you are the only people I trust.”

“And vice-versa,” Ominis added.

“And me too,” Arabella admitted. “I only trust the two of you… and I only love the two of you. I just never thought I could have you both, so it seemed easier to refrain.”

“We understand what you mean,” Ominis said. “We made a deal our fifth year that you were off limits. But now… now it’s becoming impossible.”

“And we promise we’ll stop the moment you say so,” Sebastian said. “In bed and in this arrangement as a whole. We won’t do anything you don’t want. But if you want us both, we’re both willing to be yours.”

Arabella’s breath hitched. The two men she loved and desired were both offering themselves to her in any way she wanted. The power was more alluring than any ancient magic.

“Okay,” she breathed. The fireplace crackled with renewed life. “When do we start?”

“That’s up to you,” Sebastian said gently, though his hands were shaking and his chest heaved with bewildered excitement. She was actually saying yes, he realized.

Arabella shifted in her seat, her thighs pressed together to address the ache between them. Sebastian and Ominis waited with bated breath.

“Can we start now? I mean, it is my birthday, after all.”

Sebastian was on his feet without hesitation. Ominis, still stunned by her willingness to be split between two men, rose slowly as Arabella giggled.

“My room, then?” she asked.

“Whatever you want, dear,” Ominis replied.

When the trio reached the bottom of the staircase, they stopped and shared a glance.

“Sebastian, you’ll go first,” Arabella ordered. “Up the stairs, and with me.”

Sebastian nearly tripped on the first step. “R-Really?”

“Yes,” Arabella said as she followed him, taking Ominis’ hand to guide him behind herself. “You’re the impatient one. I fear if you go second, you won’t make it.”

Sebastian huffed with indignation but the glint in his eye revealed his excitement. Ominis remained quiet as his brain continued to process the absurd scene unfolding among them. He smiled quietly as he trailed behind Arabella.

Once they reached her bedroom, Arabella motioned the men to the bed. She sat between them on the edge, her heart pumping into overdrive as they both stared at her with lust.

“Undress me,” she whispered.

Both men reached for a dress strap, slipping one strap off her shoulders in unison. The neckline of her dress dipped, revealing her plush, full breasts. Sebastian exhaled audibly at the sight while Ominis patiently waited.

“Ominis,” Arabella said softly as she reached for his hand with understanding. He couldn’t see her beauty but he could feel it. She placed the palm of his hand against her breast as he held his breath. She was so soft and warm, like fresh linens drying in the sunlight on laundry day. 

Sebastian, ever the impatient one, cupped her other breast and leaned in to kiss her neck. A tiny moan escaped Arabella’s lips as her eyes fell shut and she allowed the two men to grow familiar with her skin.

None of them had ever done anything like this, but it was clear they trusted each other enough to join hands and dive headfirst together.

“I want the two of you to prove how devoted you are to this,” she ordered as she shifted backward onto the bed until she was resting among the pile of pillows. “Show me how much you care.”

She looked regal, like a queen awaiting attention. Sebastian and Ominis shared a glance, though Ominis, whose wand remained in his hand, could already sense what Sebastian was feeling. He nodded at Sebastian, who sprang into action.

Sebastian went straight for Arabella’s lips, laying next to her as he kissed her. His tongue pried its way into her mouth as Ominis decided to take charge in his own way. He wanted to be the first to taste her.

Ominis peeled Arabella’s dress down past her hips and over her knees until it went forgotten at the foot of the bed, soon followed by her panties. While Sebastian showered her breasts with kisses, Ominis pressed his lips in a line from her hips to her inner thigh as he positioned himself between them.

His thumbs ran gentle circles over her thighs as he savored the velvet feel of her skin. She cried out the moment his tongue made contact with her entrance.

Ominis had merely meant to taste her first, but he couldn’t help himself. His tongue sank within her folds and he hummed his approval. He hooked his hands around her thighs as he dipped his tongue in and out of her cunt, drawing patterns across her clit until Arabella’s moans occupied her lips.

As a result, Sebastian used his own mouth to target her breasts. He palmed the erection that strained inside his trousers as he sucked gently on her nipple. He gazed lovingly down at her as she bucked her hips against Ominis with a sharp whimper.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he praised. “We’re going to show you how much we love you.”

As her moans chorused higher, Sebastian placed a hand to her neck, his fingers pressing gently. The pressure from his hand mirrored the mounting pressure within Arabella’s cunt. She moaned, the vibrations from her throat coursing across the palm of Sebastian’s hand. He squeezed tighter.

“Let me know if it’s too much, darling,” he ordered. He watched as Ominis continued to work between her legs. “I want to watch you fall apart before I fuck you.”

Sebastian’s hand vacated Arabella’s neck just long enough for him to unzip his trousers. He kicked them off with his boxers and left them in a haphazard heap on the floor as he gripped his erection.

“I reckon you’re just about ready to come, darling,” Sebastian said. “Tell me, do you want me to choke you with my fingers or my cock as you come?”

Arabella reached for his cock. Sebastian grinned as he knelt above her and nudged his cock into her mouth. Her lips sucked hard around his tip while she used a hand to stroke his shaft.

“Just like that,” Sebastian mewed as he watched her lips glide around him.

Ominis listened to the sinful sounds of sucking above him, his own erection digging into the bed covers. His fingers pressed harder into the backs of Arabella’s thighs, his tongue flattening and prodding against her clit in steady swipes.

Arabella hummed around Sebastian’s cock, a pitchy whine escaping her throat to signal her approaching climax. Sebastian didn’t know where to look; her brown doe eyes staring up at him; her pink lips wrapped and working around his hard cock; her slick folds grinding against Ominis’ tongue; it was all such a vision – a masterpiece painted just for him to see.

The coil inside Arabella’s core had tightened fully, a ticking time clock waiting to spring apart. When it finally did, Arabella gasped around Sebastian’s cock, her back arching off the bed as Ominis’ tongue triggered the release. Her arousal seeped from her entrance and Ominis groaned as he tasted the fruits of his labor.

The view of her orgasm sent pulsing waves through Sebastian’s cock. He pulled it from her mouth and stood, desperate for his turn. Ominis pulled himself away from her thighs and the men switched places. 

“My god,” Sebastian breathed as he stroked himself above Arabella, taking in the scene beneath him. Her flushed cheeks, hard nipples and soaked entrance was sin incarnate. “You are so fucking beautiful. Are you ready, darling?”

Arabella nodded as she gently pumped a hand over Ominis’ cock. He grunted at the sensation as Sebastian lined himself against Arabella’s entrance. He hissed as his tip dipped slowly into her folds.

“How are you so fucking wet?” he growled.

“My bad,” Ominis quipped. Sebastian barked a laugh but his eyes became dark and serious as his attention returned to the tight heat swallowing his cock.

Sebastian held his breath as he continued to sink into her. Arabella’s walls stretched around him, compressing his cock with wet, searing flesh. It was better than Sebastian could ever have imagined from the quiet solitude of his own bedroom.

Arabella moaned at the intrusion within her cunt. “Sebastian, you feel so good,” she breathed. Those words alone could have made Sebastian come.

Instead, he grit his teeth and thrust forward until he was fully sheathed, the tip of his cock meeting Arabella’s innermost core. Meanwhile, Ominis squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation of Arabella’s mouth gripping his cock.

“You’re so good at this, dear,” he praised.

Sebastian groaned, torn between the absolute thrill of claiming Arabella and the desire to prolong it. It was too good – she was too good.

But he had vowed to prove to her how much he loved her, and to him, that meant he’d make her eyes roll back into her head and scream his name.

Sebastian gripped her hips hard, hopeful his hands would leave covert bruises only she and him would ever see. He snapped his own hips at a rhythmic pace as he studied Arabella’s face for confirmation she was enjoying herself.

The carol of moans that erupted from her lips was all the security he needed. He slammed hard against her, the smack sending ripples up her skin as his cock pounded her walls. She clenched them as tightly as she could manage, her cunt still swollen from her previous orgasm. 

“I need to feel you come on my cock,” Sebastian begged. It was the only plea he’d ask of her that night. She could call all the other shots, make him crawl on his knees before he came himself; hell, he’d even finish on the fucking floor if she asked him, but he had to know how it felt to make her fall apart.

“Please,” Arabella whispered until Ominis’ cock forced itself into her mouth again. She gurgled around it as Ominis thrust against her cheek, his tip connecting with the back of her throat. The obscene sound stirred something filthy in them both.

“Sebastian,” Ominis begged. “Hurry up.”

Sebastian nodded in understanding. He pumped hard as his cock speared Arabella’s core, pressing upward into her softest spot as her slickness added more sound to the trio’s sinful symphony. 

“Oh fuck,” she wailed, the bed covers balled into her fist. “Sebastian, you’re going to make me come.”

Her passage tightened around Sebastian’s cock as she willed her body into compliance, begging it to submit to her desperate desire. She wanted nothing more than to come undone for Sebastian. Finally, her core began to contract, pulling around Sebastian’s cock until it gave out, spasming as she screamed out his name.

“Ah, shit,” Sebastian groaned as her twitching heat stroked the tip of his cock. He jerked his cock from her just in time to spill his release. It splattered across her stomach as Arabella’s body slackened beneath him.

Sebastian remained on his knees, catching his breath between her legs until Ominis grunted with Arabella’s lips still wrapped around him.

“Ominis, switch places with me,” Arabella breathed. “I want to be on top of you.”

Ominis obeyed without protest, laying his body across the bed as Arabella climbed on top of him. Sebastian admired her form as she straddled their friend, her folds gliding around Ominis’ cock as she impaled herself on him. 

Arabella’s eyes fluttered shut as her body adjusted to Ominis. She moaned as she rocked around him, the arousal from her previous climaxes clinging to his cock. He’d never experienced someone so wet.

“She’s a fucking vision,” Sebastian said as Arabella began to bounce. He watched her breasts jiggle with every movement, his release still trickling down her stomach. It was enough to make his cock twitch again.

Arabella tossed her head and moaned as she used Ominis’ cock to grind into her front wall. Ominis held her hips, his jaw clenched with conviction as he remained determined to feel her fuck herself to another orgasm. He needed to feel the surge of her spent cunt and the twitch of her thighs against his torso.

“So fucking pretty,” Sebastian said as he moved toward Arabella to kneel behind her. He kissed her neck and shoulders as he pulled her arms backward, pinning them behind her back. She moaned as she continued to ride Ominis with an arched back, Sebastian’s chest pressed against her as his teeth gently nipped at her neck. 

Sebastian reached around her to rub circles into her clit, one hand still keeping her wrists secured behind her back. 

“Come on now,” he encouraged. “Let’s hear how loud you are for Ominis. He’s been so patient.”

Arabella nodded in submission, her hips still rising and falling as Ominis’ cock coaxed that blissful spot inside her and Sebastian’s fingers set fire to her bundle of nerves. She could feel the familiar tightening of her deepest spot dueling the searing sensations over her clit. The whine that fell from her lips swelled into a full-blown shout as the pressure broke and she fluttered around Ominis.

He finally let go too, his typical poise dissolving as his hands throttled her hips and he spilled inside her. 

Arabella slumped on top of him to catch her breath as Ominis stilled, the reality of their actions creeping clarity back into his brain. Meanwhile, Sebastian flopped himself facedown onto the bed. 

“Come here, darling,” he said as he rolled over with a hand extended toward Arabella. He helped her climb off of Ominis until she had nestled herself between them on the bed, the fingers of one hand intertwined with Ominis’, the other arm flung across Sebastian’s bare chest.

The trio stared at the ceiling, each one waiting on someone else to break the silence. Per usual, it was Sebastian.

“Everyone alright?” he murmured into Arabella’s wild hair.

“Alright,” came a unison reply.

Sebastian smirked to himself, satisfied by a flood of post-sex serotonin. “So, who wants to be the first to admit this was a brilliant idea?” he asked.

Arabella let out a soft giggle while Ominis rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’ve had worse ideas,” he responded carefully. “But we do need to come up with some ground rules for all this… if Arabella wants to continue, that is.”

“Yeah, no pressure, darling,” Sebastian added.

Arabella smiled with sleepy eyes. “My only ground rule is we get a bigger bed,” she said.

“Deal,” the men agreed together.

“And we should probably agree that we’re all three in this together,” Sebastian noted. “Meaning no one gets left out, ever.”

“Agreed,” Arabella and Ominis chimed.

“And we must vow to always be open and honest with each other,” Ominis said. “No secrets or jealousy or suppressed feelings.”

“Suppressed feelings? Us?” Arabella mused. All three laughed. “But seriously, why didn’t you two ever say something?”

“A lot of reasons, darling,” Sebastian answered. “We didn’t want to get in the way of each other and we didn’t want you to come between us. Plus, you’re… you just deserve the world and we don’t ever want to hold you back from that.”

Arabella smiled and squeezed Ominis' hand as she ran playful fingers through Sebastian’s tousled hair. “You boys are my world.”

[baldursgarbage]

another gale headcanon

listen we all know Gale is a man of experience in all sorts of ways. He’s certainly no blushing virgin and he seeks knowledge nobody’s business. However, I imagine that life with Mystra was highly serious and hardly ever silly. Spells were perfect, recipes (even new ones) had to be delicious, even sex had a level of solemnity to it. There was no spontaneous dancing in kitchen or playfulness in the bedroom.

So, I imagine it had been a veryyyy long time since Gale has let go and just… danced. Sure, it wasn’t long ago that he was expertly leading in a waltz or tango, but just letting go? just goofily feeling the music? it’s been a LONG time.

I picture the gang at some sort of outdoor festival/tavern with jaunty music and Tav calling Gale over for a dance. He instinctively assumes position, hand on Tav’s hip, ready to lead and Tav is just like? huh? not what i meant! Tav takes Gales hand and guides him to the center of the dance floor and just starts groovin to the beat and making it up as they go. At first, Gale is stiff as a board and unsure what to do, but eventually relaxes and starts moving to the music. He starts laughing. He starts having fun in a way he hasn’t had before, at least not for many years.

Being with Tav is the beginning of Gale taking himself less seriously and finding more joy in things he’s always loved.

[sylustra]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[jester-lover]

P4 Relationship Headcanons

Authors Note/ I have read the manga up to the last English translated volume, but I’ll stick to the public school arc characterizations of them for convenience’s sake.

CW/fem! reader but otherwise no physical description , fluff, kindof accurate Victorian courting, a little angst, manga spoilers! I most definitely forgot this arc was getting animated, so I’m late, might be a little OOC, it’s been a few months since I read the manga

Edgar Redmond

Flattery was his main method of gaining your affections: descriptive poems sent to your mailbox, tulips and chocolates left on your doorstep by a mysterious admirer—a carefully held facade that fell apart when Edgar realized just how badly he wanted your affections returned.

While he has always considered himself a free spirit, capable of swiftly moving from one lover to another, he has an epiphany when he realizes he needs exclusivity with you. Edgar has found something beyond flings with you, a woman who can truly make him nervous; make his heart beat against his chest every time you bless him with a glance.

He isn’t always the most touchy lover, but he tends to take your arm in his while the two of you are out together. (He’ll do nothing more, as he doesn’t want rumors to spread around your private relationship.)

Edgar tends to fuss over you a bit, fixing your dresses, brushing his fingers over your coat, and generally keeping your appearance looking tidy; it’s an act of service that displays his affections for you.

Lawrence Bluewer

When I say all of his sisters gang up on him to tease him about his crush on you, I mean it. Lawrence tried his best to keep his love for you a secret, but his yearning glances over his glasses reveal his truth. They encourage him to speak to you, giving him advice about what women like. (Trust me, he needs it.)

Lawrence is a very dedicated man, particularly when it comes to you. He holds up all of the important customs of an exemplary Victorian man and treats you as an equal in all matters.

He’s adamant on listening to your opinion on matters involving the two of you, but he’ll also ask for your opinions on issues in his home and dorm. Your opinion is important to him.

Lawrence is a very intelligent young man; if you ever find yourself struggling with your schoolwork or a matter of principle in your personal life, he’ll help out to the best of his ability.

Call him by any affectionate nickname, and that carefully held stoicism crumbles before you, and a red tint suddenly appears on his pale face. The only time he ever broke his own rules was after the cricket match, when he embraced you tightly in the stands after winning, so much more proud of his victory now that you had seen it.

Herman Greenhill

It feels as if someone has struck him in the heart each time he lays his eyes on you. He can feel the warmth of his skin and the sweating of his palms each time he tries to talk to you without stumbling through his words. Herman is so utterly rigid and awkward around you, it’s completely obvious he’s head over heels.

He’s often flustered around you, even when you’re already courting, as one of his ideals of chivalry and respect is treating ladies kindly. He acts like a strict old man and a shy schoolboy at the same time, wanting your touch so desperately but bashing himself for it.

You will probably have to enact most of the affection between the two of you, sneaking kisses when your chaperone turns away, holding his hand when you walk into a more private corridor of his residence, and cheering loudly at his games. The easiest way to get a reaction from Herman is by showing off your stockings; he’s a sucker for good hosiery.

Despite his proud and sort of arrogant personality, Herman is a shy and careful lover; he remembers all of your favorites and special days, and he loves receiving your praise. Whenever he achieves something, he immediately looks to you, waiting to see what you make of him.

Gregory Violet

You wouldn’t even know of his existence when he first saw you, but he was always there, with a thick black sketchbook filled with drawings of you, going about your daily routine and interacting with others in a way he only wished he could. The sheer amount of yearning he does could put the poets to shame.

You are his muse; even when Gregory is creating something completely irrelevant to you, he’ll remember you; you are so infused with everything he makes. Because he has put you on this goddess-like pedestal, he doesn’t think he deserves you, which is why he’s so surprised when you agree to court him.

Gregory’s affection comes in bursts; some days he’ll be too nervous to look you in the eye, but other times he’s practically joined at your hip. He’s not the most talkative lover, but when his eyes flit through you, examining you closely with a blush stretched across his features, he appreciates you like you are art.

He plays the role of the gentleman in public, keeping his respectful distance, but he often seeks your comfort in the few moments you can sneak alone, laying his head on your lap as you brush through his two-toned hair and rambling uncharacteristically about the struggles of his role. He’s a non-conformist, and he often wished the society you lived in wasn’t so strict, so that you and him could act as wild and free as you did in the leather binding of his sketchbook.

[felassanis]

I genuinely think Lavellan is the first relationship Solas has had. Especially an explicitly romantic one.

Veilguard Spoilers ahead. But regardless of what the primary nature of his relationship with Mythal was. There clearly was an infatuation. A dedication so raw back then that I genuinely don't think Solas was looking at anyone else but Mythal. Either because he longed for her in some (arguably unrequited) capacity or the loyalty he had for her trumped any other distractions.

But then. She dies. And he grieves, and he ultimately destroys the world in that grief. And he's spent thousands of years away from Mythal. And while he's still obviously dedicated to her, the rawness of that bond has simmered.

And then he meets Lavellan.

"It's been a long time," he says when you tease him about him using fade tongue. And while yes, you could see this as Solas confirming he has had prior romantic relationships. I actually think it refers to Mythal, to the fact it's been a long time since he's felt so close to somebody.

We know ancient elves felt operated differently than modern-day elves when it came to expression in a relationship. What we think is romantic might not have been as such back then. So I'm NOT saying Solas is inexperienced, but rather, I do think the only bond he's had that consumed him completely, that was loving, was Mythal. Until he meets Lavellan.

There is a genuine...newness to the relationship. There are so many instances where Solas seems so mildly surprised by Lavellan's actions. For the care she puts into their relationship. My favourite being when Lavellan promises to protect him in Haven from anyone looking to hurt him because he's an apostate elf. The way his eyes widen and he says "...thank you," like he's never experienced someone looking out for him so...outwardly. So willing to put his safety as a priority. (And that makes me sob cause oh my god I wonder if anyone cared about Solas's safety ever)

And I genuinely think his bond to Mythal coloured Solas's expectations when it comes to any relationship, especially a romantic one. It's like Solas isn't used to someone reciprocating HIS feelings lmao. And that's doubly apparent in the Solavellan ending, I think. Lavellan and Solas's interactions are so interesting because Solas GENUINELY has not let himself believe for nearly 10 years that Lavellan forgave him. Cannot believes she is even there, willing and wanting to save him from himself.

This does not strike me as someone who's used to relationships. To the give and take. The safety. The sustainability....

I think Solas spent so long yearning for the reciprocation he never received from Mythal only to get it finally with Lavellan. He longed for Mythal to reciprocate, and she didn't. Not until she finally shared the burden of their actions at the end. And there is no comfort in that burden now being acknowledged by her. She releases him from her service and vanishes as he's left to double over by himself.

At least he would be, but lavellan is there to lower herself to his level and comfort him. They're equals where Solas and Mythal were not. Solas is not Lavellan's lapdog. And she is not warped and changed by him as she offered to do so back in Trespasser. He didn't let her come with him to avoid the fate that befell him when he followed Mythal. They're Partners. Lovers.

And even THEN. EVEN THEN. Solas is shocked Lavellan wants to go with him to the Fade. To the point his eyes tear up, he CRIES. Warning her away but you can see in his face he is fucking DESPERATE for her to follow. Because he wants to love and have that love returned at long last.

And it is. It finally is.

[le-monchou]

you say you want passion || leona kingscholar

Every halloween, there was something to expect from this world. Not that you could ever rest or relax in your world either, but damn, at least you didn’t have to fight spectres, or chase down one of the students because they were the ghost princess’ selected husband, or even fight people who wanted to eradicate magic from this world or trap rich buffoons (including your own lover) in an odd and terrifying amusement park for all of eternity. 

But right now, none of that matters, since your lover managed to get the two of you some down time, in adult speak. In his words? I am going to ram you against the wall and fuck ya till you scream. And that is how you ended up like a piece of meat on a stand, in what could technically be the living room of a paper house, paper graves lining the surrounding and the horizon, but the man in front of you demands all your attention, which you are more than happy to give. 

Hooded, lazy eyes roam your body, the owner dressed in a striped three piece with an overcoat reminiscent of the skeleton man who led you here deep inside the book. Inside an equally dreary house painted grey, the man wordlessly asks you to spin with a none too equolent spin of a gloved finger, but you find it very hard to ignore, getting on your knees on a padded floor that felt like the pages of a book and greeting him. The man rolls his only visible emerald eye, removing his eye patch and leaning in for a deep kiss, tongue prodding at your lips. 

“Strip.” he whispers against your lips, and you tug at the embellished overcoat as you bite his lower lip and Leona groans despite trying not to, but when has he ever been able to stop it? You drive him madder than the hatters that once dealt with mercury with their bare hands- but maybe, just maybe, you were his mercury, and he twists his body so you can strip him, occasionally tilting his face upwards as you crawl and place yourself firmly on his lap, kissing and sucking and nipping at his face and his throat as you open the first three buttons of his shirt nestled under his vest. 

“You first,” you mutter in a way that is silky and sullen, and Leona chuckles as his hands make their way to your neck, supporting you while he kissed you as you whined against his lips about how unfair it was that he looked so good, and he chuckles again when he pulls away to admire your swollen lips and he feels the blood rush to his dick almost immediately- he knows exactly how to put that mouth of yours to work. 

And so do you, it seems, as you sigh and slip off his lap, and Leona makes quick work of his pants as you help him tug it down to the floor, and you push the flyer in your own pants down as you hum with anticipation. “Easy, beastie,” Leona murmurs as he spreads his legs wider, and you kiss his inner thighs, sucking and biting in a manner that is so him, and he moans as you finally take his length, kissing and licking the underside before putting it in your mouth, choking at halfway as Leona sighs above you. 

Then, you feel Leona shuffling above and around you, guiding your head gently with a gloved hand, and you close your eyes and you take him in deeper and a hand slides slowly towards your still-clothed cunt, desperate from some friction and relief. “Mm, beastie, gonna cum…” you hear him murmur above you, and suddenly, abruptly, you’re pushed away, and eyes snap open as he tilts his head and smirks, before pulling up his pants and picking you up in a bridal sweep, pulling you to a bedroom where there was a permanent curtain drawn. 

Tossing you onto the bed, Leona crawls on top of you as you trace the outline of his chest peeking through the opened buttons of his suit, and you tug at his tied hair as you pull him into another kiss, and he doesn’t bother fighting you, freely giving you whatever you need from him. “Only the best for my queen,” Leona  murmurs as he pulls away and tosses his shirt and vest away, choosing to keep his pants on this time as he pulls yours down, leaving your underwear on as he dives between your legs. 

“Meanie,” you half-huff, huff-breathe as you still spread your legs, and Leona smirks audibly before kissing your inner thigh, kissing and sucking your flesh, occasionally kissing the fabric of your underwear and tugging at it. You, on the other hand, groan at the sudden attack between your legs, and when his nose brushes near your cunt again, you slam the sides of his head with your thighs, waiting for him to yield. “‘Kay, beastie, no need to get aggressive,” he murmurs as he tugs on your underwear, and that’s how you know you’ve won, when he dives in and eats you out like you’re the last meal he’s had in ages and the last meal he’ll have in life. 

You hear more shuffling beneath you, and a wet, squelching sound as Leona strokes himself, a pause followed by a long sigh right against your cunt as he continues getting you off with little regard to his own pleasure. Meanwhile, the sheets of the bed begin feeling more and more like the pages of a book, signalling the end of your time with him, but you don’t have the heart or the mind to tell him to stop, not when you’re so close, damn it. "Leona, I'm close," you hiccup and sob with the overstimulation as Leona redoubles his efforts, adding a finger or two to speed up the process and bring you to your climax. 

As you come down from the high, Leona pulls away to wipe the edges of his mouth, and you sigh in a mix of loss and bliss as he shoots you a toothy grin from above. “You didn’t come, did you?” you murmur as you raise a weirdly sore arm towards your lover, who dodges the question while leaning into your palm. “Leona.” He shushes you, kissing your palm as you wrestle your hand away from him and sit him down (metaphorically, of course) on the bed, and he looks up at you with the most lovesick look in his eyes as you rest your arms on his shoulders and kiss him gently before stripping him, stroking his cock to full length before taking a deep breath in. 

“Cold feet, beastie?” Leona teases quietly as you roll your eyes and push yourself down, breathing in and out as Leona leans in to kiss you gently with sighs and murmurs of how beautiful you are, you’re perfect, absolutely wonderful, and Leona supports the back of your neck as you take him all in, and sighs again and again as he pushes you onto your back on the bed. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. How could I want anyone so much it hurts, beastie?” he murmurs in a fix, eyes blown out and wide as he pulls out and pushes himself in again as you moan loud and clear, grabbing onto the stands of his hair that fell from his ponytail. 

“Mm, you’re perfect too, Leona.” you moan and scream as you close your eyes, tears forming under your eyelids at the feeling of being full and filled with love, and you feel a large, warm hand on your cheek wiping at something, before kisses peppering themselves all over. “Beastie, open your eyes.” your lover murmurs before whining suddenly, and he flushes before he whispers a quiet gonna cum, wanna cum as you nod your permission. 

“No condoms,” he breathes as you shake your head. “I’ll pull out.” You shake your head again as tears fall down your cheeks again, and despite the emotions surging in both of you, he laughs gently, wiping the stray tears that fall. “Beastie, as much as I wanna have kids with you, that’s a discussion for later, hmm?” You moan quietly as he pulls out as strokes himself to finish, and you sit up slowly to watch him as he smirks and winks after catching your eye. 

“Cute.” you whisper as he beckons you with his index and ring finger gently, pulling you onto his lap once again before bending his head and kissing and sucking your chest, and you hug him loosely as you watch the bruises bloom under his careful consideration, and Leona smirks. “Still think I’m cute?” You nod as you kiss his forehead. “Yeah.” you smile as he rolls his eyes fondly before setting his head on your chest. “You’re perfect.”

word count: 1486 words; song: birthday sex; header: @.cafekitsune

tags: @aivy-saur, @nemisisnemi, @glidiaxoxo, @puowei, @vauxxnm @loser-jpg, @fungifanart (idk if you will read it but think of it as an alternate universe??)

[dekariosclan]

Imagine Gale as a talented and impressive young man, able to compose the Weave at will, skilled in a way that few can match, and favored by the Goddess of Magic herself. Imagine that because of these accomplishments, he’s caught the eye of a few up-and-coming magic adepts, and he falls in love with one of them—his first real love. Gale isn’t one to toss the ‘L’ word around lightly, so when he tells them he loves them, he means it; he gives himself over to them completely.

And in return, they love him for his potential. For his status. For the magic he can command. They love the wizard they see on the surface, but not the man underneath. They are attracted to his power, but not to him.

So of course the relationship fails, after the thrill of his magic wears off. But because Gale is a resilient young man and he’s caught the eye of so many, he soon falls in love with another.

And then it happens again. And again.

And each time Gale’s heart is ravaged, his ambition to become a better wizard grows, because he’s being shown time and time again that his magic ability is all that matters.

So much so that, by the time Mystra decides to elevate him from Favored to Chosen to Lover, he welcomes her with eager, desperate arms. Because if all his worth is in his magic, and that’s all he has to offer, and that’s all anyone wants from him, who better to love him than the Goddess of Magic herself?

Except…there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that whispers she doesn’t really love him. There’s anxiety in his heart as time passes, and he reaches both the limit of what his talents can do and what Mystra will allow him to do. And most troubling of all: a growing panic that, just like his other lovers, she will soon grow tired of him and discard him if he can’t improve his magic any further.

He tries pouting, and pleading, and begging her to let him take more power, to let him be more for her, but she refuses. Smiles patronizingly. Tells him to be patient. But Gale can’t be patient when his power is tied so closely to his self-worth; he can’t be patient when doing so in the past has only ever lead to heartache.

So he does what he believes will be a Grand Romantic Gesture, one that will finally put him on equal footing with the woman he loves. Instead, it turns out to be a folly that dooms him and destroys his talents. And just as he’d always feared, Mystra tosses him aside the moment his magical gifts are gone—because what’s left of him holds no value for her.

————

Imagine Gale in his tower, alone, afraid, the ever-hungry orb in his chest, with only his tressym there to help him. No other friends to speak of. His colleagues forced to keep away for their own safety. His magical talents utterly stripped down, so that even when he does try and distract himself with illusions, he’s bitterly reminded of what he used to be capable of. Waking every morning wondering if it will be his last, ending every day full of loneliness and disappointment.

…and then he meets Tav.

At the lowest point in his life, at his most vulnerable, when he knows he’s going to be considered a burden, he meets this stranger and their group. So he does what he can to be useful—assigning himself to be camp cook, offering up his (now meager) magic skills, turning the charm up to 11—as he desperately hopes this will somehow work out. He’s pleasantly surprised when, after providing only minor details of his condition, Tav agrees to help him. He’s even more surprised when they actually follow through.

Imagine how Gale feels as Tav treats him kindly. As he grows to trust Tav, and then grows to like them. Imagine his surprise as he opens up and shows them more and more of himself, and they don’t turn him away.

But then his condition worsens. And he has to reveal everything: the foolish mistakes he’s made, and how dangerous he is as a result. He clings to Tav’s hand as he shows them his folly. He’s at their mercy now, and he knows this might be the last time he’ll ever feel the touch of another being, if they decide—and Gods, why wouldn’t they decide?—to cast him out.

…but they don’t. They don’t. Instead, they tell him to stay.

Imagine the relief Gale feels. The gratitude. And perhaps…just a hint of something more. Something that he dare not name, but that flares to life every time he thinks of how warm their hand was in his. Something that feels dangerously close to jealousy, when he’s had too much to drink and sees Tav smiling at another…

But he knows these are all foolish thoughts, because he has nothing to offer Tav. They are wonderful just as they are, but he…he is an empty shell of a man, a discarded husk of a wizard, and while they might tolerate him, he could never believe they might actually want him.

And besides, he still thinks of Mystra. He still longs for Mystra. She who cast him out, but to whom he still feels tethered. Sometimes he needs to cocoon himself in the weave, just to try and calm his fears and bring some joy back to his life, because magic is his life. And sometimes he just needs to see her face, even though that hurts as much as it heals.

One night he’s lost in thought, having conjured Mysta’s image after settling down at camp. Thinking that even if she hadn’t ‘loved’ him—certainly not in the way he’d loved her—she’d given him enough otherwise, hadn’t she? She’d amused him and been amused by him, they’d shared countless pleasures, why hadn’t he been satisfied with that?

Gale is so lost in thought he doesn’t realize Tav has come up behind him. Until they ask a question, startling him out of his trance. He’s a bit shaken, so he tries to turn the conversation from Mystra to the weave itself. And then a wonderful idea occurs to him, something that he’d been toying with already: what if they were to conjure the weave together?

He can show Tav how important magic is to him, let them experience what he does, perhaps even impress them a bit. But most importantly, share a moment with them. As friends would do…

He’s elated when Tav agrees. He leads them through the steps effortlessly, and they’re a surprisingly good student, following his instructions correctly (if a bit clumsily). He’s as excited as they are—perhaps even more so!—when they succeed in channeling the weave.

It’s such a pleasant, familiar feeling for him, like coming home to his tower in Waterdeep. Even as the weave connects him with Tav and makes them one, he’s easily able to hide his innermost thoughts, because he’s done it so many times before.

…but he’s forgotten that Tav has not.

————

Imagine Gale knowing every romantic partner he ever had only wanted him because of how he could raise their status, or how he could amuse them, or how he could command magic for them. And, each time, he was happy to oblige them, even desperate to oblige them, because if that was the price of their love, then he was sure it would be worth it.

But it still all came to nothing.

Now imagine Gale connected in an intimate way with someone he likes very, very much—while being what he considers his lowest, most worthless, and most humbled self. As far from the powerful, impressive wizard he once was as he could ever be. And suddenly a vision enters his mind from the lovely creature standing next to him. Only, to his complete and utter shock, it isn’t one where he is providing them with a service, or wowing them with his magical ability, or granting them some kind of power from one of the spells he commands.

Instead, when he sees their desire laid bare before him, it’s a vision of kissing him. Of holding his hand. The two most basic forms of affection and physical connection. The two things that he would still be able to offer them even if every last ounce of his remaining magical abilities were stripped from him. The two things he could share with them even if he was no longer Gale of Waterdeep, and just plain old Gale Dekarios instead.

Imagine the embarrassment and trepidation he feels at first, because surely he is mistaken?…and then the elation when he realizes that he is not. So much elation that his concentration is broken, the weave dissipating as he forgets about channeling it, as he forgets about Mystra. Because all that matters to him now is the image before him—the most pleasant and welcome image he’s seen in a very, very long time.

Imagine how that would feel…and how besotted, enamored and completely devoted he’d be to Tav afterwards. To know that someone finally—finally—just wants him.

Just imagine.

[yourstrulysylus]

Burn the world for you (a Sylus point of view)

The room was filled with a thick tension, the air practically crackling with the animosity between them. They had been lovers once, but now they were nothing more than enemies - their love reduced to a distant memory.

Sylus stood across from you, his eyes burning with anger as he spoke. An unexpected visitor trespassed in his house as the thunderstorms being heard across from the windows at night.

“What do you want, my Queen?” He spat out, his voice laced with venom. He was standing in his own study the only place where he would find solace and it was something that he always maintained in his manor since this was the very room where their love began and he felt that it was about to end here as-well.

She pointed her silver revolver at him while his body stiffened with the silent threat of violence in his presence. The audacity to aim a gun at his own home and yet he chuckled as his eyes playfully glinted at the woman that he once loved before him.

She was silent and he didn’t like it - he missed her witty remarks. Their conversations where he feels like the world does not matter but them. Her voice. He would do anything just to have her utter a word disclose her reasons as to why she was here standing before him wearing that beautiful dark maroon strapless dress that shows off her perfect curves and that fine slit of her skirt that reveals a bit of her long leg that’s laced with a black stockings to pair with her high heels after all these years.

Of all things she chose to wear a ravishing dress while attempting to annihilate him. He caught a glimpse of her scent. Oh my love. Her familiar sent shivers down to his spine because he knew how much that was his favorite perfume of hers. Pomegranates and black orchids.

“You really want to go down this path, my lady?” He mocked her knowing that her powers may be an equal to his however not exactly experienced as he was putting it into good use.

She clicked the safety lock off as a response so he pointed his gun at her as well, a flawless aim all it takes is one shot and it shall be done. The sound breaking the silence of the room his eyes brows frowned his body tensing as he realizes the gravity of the situation.

“You’re serious,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “You’re really gonna do it.”

He heard her gasp the sudden surprise on her face giving away the awful feeling that she had at that moment despite the intense situation a part of him was amused by her reaction.

“What’s the matter, my love?” He asked, a small smirk on his face. “Suddenly having second thoughts, aren’t we?”

She used her evol to get closer in a snap now both feeling each other’s breaths approximately she pointed her gun at his head intensifying her aim. This moment felt like a deja vu - as that lifetime ago he was forcing her to resonate with him desperate for her to remember their life together. Their marriage.

His smirk faded instantly replaced by a sudden surprise and disbelief. He tensed further as she pressed her gun harder at his head the cold metal scraping against his skin.

“You’re insane,” he said, his voice low and dangerous he pointed the gun deeper at her chest where her aether core is - her heart. He was only mirroring her actions.

“They sent me to kill you.” She finally spoke.

His expression hardened, his eyes darkening with anger. Was that really the reason? He could use his evol at this very moment to see if she was telling the truth but he loved her too much to doubt her word.

“Ordered to murder me? By who?” He frowned but his voice softened now that she’s standing close before him.

“My father, he knows you’re after his kingdom and then bedded his daughter? You provoked him more than enough times.”

He changed his position he was now standing beside the door of his study by using his own evol while she’s now by his window distancing himself to compose himself once again. He was being hunted and now his love was the chosen one to kill him.

The guns were still aimed at each other the metallic click of the triggers still filled the air. The air in the room was thick with tension, the weight of the situation almost suffocating.

He locked his eyes with her his gaze unwavering and intense. “You’re not pulling that trigger, my love.” He said as a matter of fact tone. “You’re too much of a spoiled precious little kitten to do it.”

Not looking away from his gaze she said,

“Try me.”

Time seemed to slow down as he watched her cock the gun and aim it at herself she pointed it at her own neck where her carotid artery is located a fastest way to take one’s life. His eyes widened with horror a mixture of panic, confusion and shock. He lunged forward and caught her lifeless body his hands trembling as he gently caressed her face. His eyes were filled with despair and misery - he felt like he’s losing his breath at the scene before him.

He gently placed his forehead against hers “No, no, no..” she placed her hand to cup his cheek slightly tasting Sylus’ salty tears on her mouth.

“I’d rather die than kill you.”

His hands continued to cradle her lifeless body as he whispered to you his voice thick with grief and despair.

“You… your foolishness this isn’t what I…” his voice shaking “you’d throw your life away like that just to keep me alive? I could have died with you.”

“Sylus, I love you.” Her eyes closed as she said her final words her hand fell from his cheek. The sight of her still lifeless body was too much for him to bear. It took him a few moments to compose himself still holding her in his arms and vowed to himself that he would burn the world for her.

[sarahscribbles]

First of all, I love you 💜

Second of all, I have a drabble idea!

Loki and reader have been in a romantic relationship for a bit and everything’s been pretty vanilla so far. How would Loki react to reader telling him that she’d like to explore more kink in the bedroom? Specifically that she wants him to be in control?

Can’t wait to see what you do with it, if it inspires of course 😘

I'm rereading this after just finishing the fic and realising that it doesn't touch on the reader wanting Loki to take control. I'm sorry! But I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless!

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖��𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟑𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦!𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Six months, three weeks, and four and a half days. And counting,” you breathe out so softly that you don’t think Loki hears you. 

He’s tangled around you tightly in a warm cocoon of cream sheets, as he has been for the past few hours. You had other plans for this afternoon, but when Loki coaxed you back beneath the blankets with those big green eyes and award winning pout, those plans suddenly became very unimportant.

He’s good at that, you’ve come to notice, but you’re equally as good at knowing when to push and when to bend. An unfolding crisis somewhere deep in South America? He’s on his own. A Sunday afternoon of grabbing a coffee and wandering around your favourite second hand book shops? That can wait. 

For Loki, nearly anything can wait. 

The heat of your lovers body is seeping pleasantly into your own, as is his endless affection. That head of beautiful black curls is dipped beneath your jaw, errant strands brushing lightly over your exposed skin, and the low, quiet sounds of content that have flowed from him in an unbroken stream have only placed more of your heart in his capable hands. 

It’s difficult to focus on anything but the warm, heavy weight of Loki on top of you. He’s safe and solid and as familiar to you as the beat of your own heart. His hand has been gripping one of yours for as long as his cock has been hard and brushing against your stomach, desperate to take you, but not without first fulfilling his promise to worship you.

Your beautiful, benevolent god.

You take a shaky breath in, preparing to try and speak again, but the words get lost in transit between your brain and mouth when Loki’s warm lips latch onto the sensitive skin below your jaw. It pulls a ragged moan from deep in your chest, and makes your fingernails curl into the soft skin of his shoulders. You have no idea how many bruises now cover your neck and collarbone, but you know that it’s not enough. 

You want everyone who looks at you to know that you belong to Loki body, mind, and soul. 

“I hadn’t realised you had been keeping count, dove,” Loki replies, running his tongue soothingly over the area he’s just marked. Already, you can feel the first petals of a bruise begin to unfurl beneath your skin, and it makes you thrum with need. 

There’s an undeniable smile in his voice, which you mirror happily against him. His skin is warm and flushed when you press a chaste kiss to his temple, and you swear you hear him purr when you tangle a hand in his hair to lightly scratch his scalp.

“Of course I have. I’m calling it my longest spell of unbroken happiness,” you reply through a grin, unable to stop your hand running down his naked back to squeeze his ass. 

His hair tickles your collarbone when he lifts his head. Loki says nothing as his eyes find yours, but you watch - almost transfixed - at how they sparkle above you. He’s looked at you like this countless times before, yet butterflies still erupt joyously in the depths of your stomach.

It’s a feeling of joy that mingles with a quiet sadness that he’s so unused to being loved. He’s not familiar with being loved on and adored and treated like the most important thing in the universe - something that you fully intend to change. You’ll love him for as long as he’ll have you; you’ll love the good, the bad, and everything in between.

You’ll love him exactly as he is. 

You notice the faint tinge of pink that creeps beneath his cheeks even in the golden half light of your bedroom. It’s endearing, really; this stoic and aloof god blushing because of a few soft words. 

Because of you. 

“Darling thing,” Loki whispers eventually, and presses his lips gently against yours. 

His mouth is warm and soft, but it’s still insistent and you yield easily to his touch. He’s almost flush against you - so much so that you can feel the steady thump of his heart in his chest - but you still need him closer. You pull your hand reluctantly from his to twist it greedily into his raven curls, clamping him firmly to your lips like it’s the last kiss you’ll ever share. Before long, you feel the warm press of his palm against your cheek and the silken softness of his thumb on your chin, gently pressing down so he can kiss you deeper. 

This is what heaven is, you imagine; lying beneath the man you love more than life itself while he worships you so ardently. He looks at you like you hung the moon and if your sands of time ran out tonight, you would greet death happily.

You whine weakly when Loki’s lips leave yours, but it melts to a moan when those same lips find your jaw once more. His hand stays curled around your cheek for leverage as his lips press to your skin again and again, and you can’t help but to gasp at the dull drag of his teeth as he continues lower. 

Loki begins a lazy trail of wet kisses along your collarbone and between the valley of your breasts, but ignores how your nipples harden and beg for his attention.

“Lovely, lovely thing,” he murmurs quietly against your stomach, sliding his hands to your hips to hold them firmly in place when they lift upwards in search of more. 

“Bastard,” you say airily.

Loki silences you easily with a slow drag of his tongue from your navel to the crease of your right hip, something you know he’s chosen to do intentionally. Your cunt aches madly for him, for his fingers, his tongue, his cock - whatever he’ll give you. You only want him. 

You’ll only ever want him. 

He starts to suck bruises into your inner thigh so attentively that you swear you could cum from that alone. His hands are still locked firmly around your hips to keep you pinned to the bed and, no matter how much you squirm, there’s no way to escape his vice like grip. 

It’s an intoxicating thought - having Loki be in control - and a long held fantasy that you know he shares. It’s one you’ve both tiptoed around for the past few months, one you’ve spoken about only the other night, and one you no longer think you can ignore. 

“Wait,” you say softly, quickly, when two warm hands begin to press your thighs further apart.

Those same hands are off you in an instant and you try not to protest at the sudden loss of their familiar, comforting warmth. 

“Alright?” Loki asks, that smooth, deep voice laced with concern and apprehension. 

Quickly, you cup his cheeks in your hands and trace your thumbs soothingly over his flushed skin. “I’m fine.” You promise with a small smile. “I was only thinking about something.” 

The worry etched in his face slowly melts away as he studies you, and he eventually raises one elegant eyebrow in question. “Oh? Do continue, dove,” he replies, turning his face to place a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

Your skin tingles pleasantly in the wake of his touch, as though your soul recognises its mate from the briefest of caresses. “I was thinking that I’d like to try something different, like…like what we talked about the other night,” you say quietly, feeling your cheeks begin to burn. 

Loki is silent for only a moment, but you watch his eyes gradually light up with desire and sparkle with excitement. Against your stomach, you feel his cock twitch. “Are you sure?” he asks intently, curling his fingers around your wrist. 

You nod quickly, already feeling the first twists of anticipation deep in your stomach. “Yes. I trust you.” 

Something in his eyes softens and he leans in to kiss you slow and gentle, like nothing in the world matters to him more than tasting you. “I do so love you, my darling girl,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “You remember the system we discussed, yes?”

You nod again. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for ok,” you repeat back, already thrumming with excitement. 

It’s something you’ve wanted from the very first time Loki took you to bed. You trust him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone. You trust him to be careful and considerate. You trust him deeply enough to submit to him. 

At hearing you repeat his system, Loki smiles widely at you. “Good girl,” he says, and kisses the tip of your nose. 

You wriggle with anticipation beneath him. Loki sits back on his knees and reaches to take both of your wrists in his grip. He holds them loosely and slowly strokes your skin with the pads of his thumbs.

“This may feel a little odd at first,” he says before a gradual soft tingle courses through both your arms.

It feels like a warm summer rain shower, like the first pleasant lick of a fire after a day in the cold, and then you watch as your wrists are encased in shimmering ropes of green. It’s bewitching to watch Loki’s magic at work. So often, you’ve seen it in the throes of battle and watched how easily he can bring an enemy to their knees, how ruthless he is in wielding magic as weapon of torture when the lives of his friends are at risk. You’ve seen first hand how it can destruct and destroy.

To then watch as he creates something so beautiful…

Gently, Loki then folds your arms back until they touch the headboard and another pleasant surge of warmth locks them in place. You tug experimentally at your bindings, but your arms don’t move. You’re fully restrained to the bed.

And fully at Loki’s mercy. 

He drinks you in as you lie bound before him. There’s a new intensity to his gaze that makes you ache for his touch and burn for his kiss. Sparkling green eyes run slowly over the length of your naked body - like a predator eyeing its prey - and you have to swallow a moan when the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

“Colour?” Loki asks softly, ghosting his fingertips along the outside of your thigh. 

“Green,” you answer immediately. 

He gives you a devastating wink. “That’s my girl.”

The pride in his voice is so palpable it almost makes you weep with love for him. The list of things you’d do to make him proud, to be his good girl, is endless - something you have no doubt that he knows. 

Nervously, you wait for what’s to come next, but Loki seems in no rush to move things along. Your arms flex impatiently against the headboard, making the wood creak quietly, and it pulls a smirk across Loki’s handsome face. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, dove, not until I say so.” His voice rolls over you like liquid silk. 

He sounds menacing tonight, like you’re his captured prisoner, but your love for him is burning through your blood. Despite the restraints binding you securely in place, you know that you’re safe. Loki would sooner see the world burn than let any harm come to you - it’s one thing you’ve never been surer of. 

“You’re making me nervous just staring at me,” you say through a laugh. 

Loki begins to slowly trace the tip of a single finger along the inside of your thigh, and it’s enough to make a trail of goosebumps erupt in its wake. His touch is soft and sweet, yet somehow still menacing enough to make your heart rapidly pick up speed. 

“Good,” Loki purrs. “I want you to be nervous. I want that brilliant mind to run wild with the possibilities of what I might do to you next.” 

His finger stops just shy of where you’re throbbing for him and he throws you a wicked smile. It’s dazzling and seductive and pulls a near guttural groan from deep in your chest. Hot arousal is searing through your veins and blazing ferociously through your core. The man before you is sin and salvation, he’s thrill and torment, and you aren’t sure you’re going to survive this night. 

Before you can reply, Loki is silently leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “We’ll take this slow, dove. Colour?” he murmurs against your flushed skin. 

You breathe in shakily because the raw need to have this man has all but robbed you of the ability to speak. “Gr…green.” 

Loki lifts his head to catch your lips in a deep, chaste kiss. “I love you, my darling.”

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s said those three words in the past six months, but each time you hear them a golden glow of warmth expands deep in your stomach. This beautiful, wonderful man loves you, an unremarkable little mortal. 

He sits back on his knees again and you take a moment to appreciate the beauty of his body. The defined chest, the tight stomach, and those firm thighs that are slightly parted atop the bed.

He’s also achingly hard. 

You drink him in hungrily until your attention is pulled to his hand where that same shimmer of emerald green is dancing softly in his palm. When it fades away to nothing, and you take a few seconds to study the scrap of black silk that remains in its place, you realise that Loki is holding a blindfold between his fingers. 

It sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m going to place this over your eyes. Alright?” he asks, intently studying your face. You nod your consent, but Loki doesn’t move. “I need you to say it, dove.”

His voice is so gentle that it almost makes you weep. How did you get so lucky as to call this man yours?

“It’s alright,” you assure him quickly. 

Loki moves closer and leans forward to raise your head off the pillow. With care, he slips the blindfold over your head and, in only a matter of seconds, your entire world goes black. You stiffen at the sudden darkness, but quickly feel Loki’s lips press firmly to your forehead. 

“I’m right here,” he soothes you, cradling your head to his lips in one large hand. “Tell me your colour.”

Your answer doesn’t come immediately. You hate the dark - always have - but you can feel the heat from Loki’s body as he holds you close, you can hear his steady breathing and the beat of his heart in his chest. You haven’t been cast adrift into some endless void - you’re in your bed and safe in your lovers arms. You’re ok. 

“Green,” you tell him honestly. 

Loki places one last kiss to your forehead. “Good girl.”

He lays your head back on the pillow and you hear him sit back on the bed. There’s a sudden coldness from the absence of his body, but then his hand is curling around your hip in silent reassurance that he’s still right there. 

“Oh, my darling girl, you do look so beautiful like this,” Loki says, lightly running his thumb back and forth over your hip bone. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Mine. 

His.

It’s all you ever want to be, it’s all you have been since the very first time he kissed you. Your heart belongs to Loki, and you know now that it will belong to Loki until it beats its last. 

“Kiss me. Please,” you half whine, suddenly overcome with the need to have his mouth on yours. 

You hear his quiet laughter and feel the soft tickle of his hair over your breasts as he leans back in. “How could I possibly deny you that, my darling.” 

Seconds later his warm mouth is on yours. He kisses you deeply, so deeply that you try to wrap your arms around him before you remember. Loki grins against your lips and you squeal into his mouth when a finger and thumb then flick your nipple. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you goad him breathlessly when his lips leave yours. 

“And you’ll take every second of it,” he replies easily, and you can hear the smirk that’s spread wide across his face. 

You feel his lips at your neck again as he continues adding to his patchwork of bruises, and each time he sucks at your skin, you become increasingly aware of the searing need burning between your thighs.

As best you can, you turn your head to give him more access and he happily obliges. “Mine,” he says firmly before running his tongue along the column of your throat.

You moan shamelessly beneath him, arching off the bed and locking your legs tightly around his hips. “Yours,” you reply easily, digging your heels into his perfect ass. 

“Good girl,” Loki purrs, beginning to move further down your chest. “Very good girl.”

His lips are featherlight as they explore your skin, and the gentle caress of his hair along your abdomen keeps you grounded in the darkness. It’s all too easy to get lost in the haze of his worship, to fully relax into the soft sheets while he lavishes you with attention. You’re so blissfully drunk on this man and the love that he drowns you in…

“Fuck!” you yelp when Loki decides to sink his teeth into an erect nipple and pinch the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

There’s a quiet roll of amused laughter, and then his warm tongue darts out to soothe while the pad of a thumb runs softly over the other. “Sorry, my darling. I couldn’t resist.” 

You wish more than anything that you could see his face, especially when he repeats the previous action over and over. You want to watch his beautiful face and sinful tongue, you want to run your hands over him and twist them in his hair, but no matter how much you tug at the restraints, your hands remain frustratingly locked to the headboard. 

“Ah, ah, darling. That isn’t going to help you at all tonight,” Loki teases, and you feel him stretch up to kiss you again. 

You allow it, but still whine desperately into his mouth. “Please. I need to touch you, Loki. Please.”

He only kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet. Colour?”

You huff out a sigh, but eventually mumble, “green.” 

“Good girl.”

There’s a quiet rustle of sheets as Loki sits back on the bed, but the soft touch that you’re anticipating doesn’t come. You’re aching for the caress of his hands or the teasing brush of his lips, so much so that you can almost feel their phantom touch if you concentrate hard enough. It’s easier in the darkness the blindfold provides - the cool silk acts like a film screen for all the filthy scenes your mind plays on a loop, each one more depraved than the last. Loki, you’re coming to learn, has a deliciously filthy mind, and he’s all too content to leave you thrumming and squirming at the endless possibilities of what he’s going to do next. 

His silence continues, making you strain to catch even the quiet sound of his breathing. You can’t and it makes your heart begin to race unpleasantly. 

“Loki?” you call out, hearing the hitch in your voice. 

Instantly, a large, warm hand is settling over your knee. “I’m here. Forgive me, I lost myself admiring the beauty before me,” he murmurs, running his thumb soothingly along the side of your knee. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you say through a smile. You can’t see him, but you know he’s gazing at you with those soft eyes that never fail to make you blush. 

“I don’t believe you truly want that,” he replies quickly, a smile evident in his own voice. His palm slides easily round to your inner thigh and you feel the other mirror it. Slowly, he pushes your thighs apart on the bed, opening you fully to him. “All for me, dove?” he purrs, shifting on the mattress so you feel it dip beneath you.

The sound of his voice - deep and dripping with desire - has you slick and aching for him. Your need for him is so fervent that your hips roll off the bed in a desperate search for him, but the only thing you hear is Loki’s quiet, amused laughter. He runs his fingertips teasingly along the inside of one thigh, pulling a groan from deep in your chest and lighting a blazing fire in your blood with just a simple touch. 

Such is the power of a gods touch. 

You whine loudly and yank at the magical bonds of Loki’s restraints. They haven’t budged an inch all night, yet you still pull at them ceaselessly. You desperately want to see your lovers face, to see the intent look in his eyes that promises pleasure you can only dream of, but Loki doesn’t move, doesn’t make any sign that he’s ready to free you just yet.

“Please,” you whimper pleadingly, feeling so wildly aroused that the simple brush of his fingertip could send you hurtling over the edge. 

“Patience,” Loki purrs smoothly. 

A string of curses slips swiftly from your lips in tandem with your hips bucking off the bed in frustration, but Loki’s warm hands move quickly to pin them back against the mattress. 

“I believe a gag may be in order next time, dove,” he says. His voice is teasing, but there’s a quiet undercurrent of warning running beneath that he will gag you.

It sends a fresh rush of heat straight to your aching cunt. 

“Fuck. Do you promise?” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, already close to dizzy at the idea of Loki gagging you. 

This time, Loki’s laughter is wholly unrestrained. “I love you, my darling little minx. You have my word that there will be many nights of exploration after this one.”

His hands are still curled around your knees, and the next thing you feel are his lips pressing to your inner thigh. He works slowly, methodically, kissing and sucking and nibbling your sensitive skin until your eyes roll back in the darkness. It’s something he’s done countless times before, but the addition of the blindfold only amplifies the sensation. 

In the darkness, you focus on the warmth of his lips and the wetness of his tongue as they move along your thigh. You feel the tickling caress of his hair and the way his fingers push your thigh closer to his lips. You feel his love for you in every sweet and teasing nip of his teeth. 

This man loves you, and you couldn’t ask the stars for anything more. 

His lips continue a warm path along your thigh, making you tingle beneath each touch. He takes his time sucking bruise after bruise into your willing flesh, ensuring that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. His touch is intoxicating and you can’t help but to part your thighs wider as he edges closer to your aching cunt. He’s so close that you brace for the first electrifying feel of his warm, sinful tongue. 

But it’s a touch that doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel his lips press to your other thigh to begin the same slow, torturous ascent.

“Loki, for fuck sake!” you groan with another frustrated buck of your hips, but it’s so perfectly Loki that a laugh is soon to follow. 

You feel him grin against your thigh. “Perhaps a lesson on patience is needed tonight, yes?” he replies smoothly and nips gently at your skin. 

Loki doesn’t wait for your answer and, purposefully slowly, works his way along your thigh. This time, though, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of your impatience. You moan his name shamelessly and sigh blissfully at each warm press of his lips. As expected, it doesn't take him long to finish marking you. 

“You’re going to be the end of me, you little vixen,” Loki teases, though now his voice is heavy with lust and raspy with need. 

Although you can’t see him, you know exactly how he looks on the bed before you. You know that his usually immaculate curls are now falling haphazardly across flushed cheeks, and that his eyes are glittering with desire. You know his cock is stiff and aching to be inside you, only made bearable by swift, short strokes while he’s ravished you. 

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s craving you just as desperately. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” you reply innocently. “You said - oh, fuck!”

An affectionate taunt had been taking easy shape on your tongue, but the words fall into the air when Loki finally presses his sinful tongue to your cunt and licks a slow, firm line all the way to your clit. It pulls your back off the bed and makes the headboard groan loudly with how forcefully you yank against your restraints. You need more. 

“Yes, dove?” Loki asks, an unmistakable smugness dripping from two words.

You swiftly shake your head against the pillows. “Not important. Do that again. Please!”

Every inch of you is crying out for him, burning for him, and you don’t think you can stand another second without some part of his body inside yours. You need him.

“But of course,” Loki murmurs.

You don’t have time to entertain how easily he obliges you because he buries his tongue back in your cunt, licking and sucking and teasing until that coil of arousal begins to wind tighter and tighter in your core. 

The blindfold is still snugly around your eyes, but you can perfectly picture your lover in your minds eye as his head bobs between your thighs. You want to pull him closer as your climax builds, or have the simple, reassuring feel of him beneath your fingertips, but all they caress is the night air of your room. 

Between your thighs, Loki continues to expertly propel you towards release, and the sounds of his contented moans only adds fuel to the flame. His name slips easily from your lips in a breathless chant as your orgasm crests and, quickly, your entire body tenses in preparation, read to fall through the freefall…

But then Loki’s tongue is gone. 

You flail wildly on the bed and your hips buck desperately in a fruitless search for Loki’s mouth. “Loki, what the fuck!” you whine. 

“Shhhh,” he soothes you quickly, laying a warm hand across your thigh and stroking your skin with his thumb. “Tell me your colour, darling.”

Despite the absolute frustration he left bubbling in his wake, you can’t deny that you enjoyed it. “Still green,” you answer after only a moment of hesitation.

The bed frame creaks beneath you and then you feel the warm press of Loki’s lips on your forehead. “Good girl,” he whispers, then moves to position himself back between your legs. “Then consider this your lesson in patience.”

His mouth returns to your cunt and this time he takes his time building you back up. You want to roll your hips against his tongue in encouragement, but two hands pin them firmly to the bed, forcing you to endure whatever he decides to give you. 

Loki does everything he knows you love - every pattern and every rhythm - and when he then slips two fingers inside you, you feel the beginnings of what promises to be a cataclysmic release.

“Loki…,” you whine out a warning, balling your hands into fists so tight that your nails pierce your skin. 

Just as you’re about to tumble over Loki stops again, ensuring that your orgasm slips from your desperate fingertips. A frustrated sob catches in your throat, but Loki soothes and praises you through it, peppering your face in sweet kisses and cradling your cheek in his hand. 

“You’re sick for making me enjoy this,” you half laugh while he continues holding you. 

He laughs freely and deeply and presses yet another kiss to your temple. “I’m terrible, I know. Only twice more, my darling, I promise,” he murmurs softly in your ear. 

Easily, you allow him. 

By the fourth time, your thighs are shaking and a single tear of frustration leaks down your cheek from behind the blindfold. 

“Loki…please,” you beg him softly as the pad of his thumb gently brushes it away.

Little more than a second later, the familiar warm shimmer of his seidr trickles through your body, effortlessly dissolving the silk of your blindfold and the dancing green glimmer of your restraints. You lower your arms gratefully and blink a few times until Loki’s handsome face comes into full focus before you.

“There she is,” he says quietly, taking both of your wrists in one large hand to bring them to his lips. He runs the other gently over your skin until the dull ache that had settled into your bones fades away to nothing. “I am so very proud of you, my darling girl. You were magnificent,” he continues, swiftly dipping his head down to kiss you deeply. 

You pull your hands from his to greedily wrap them around him, taking in every inch of him beneath your roaming fingertips as though you had never touched him before. 

“Please,” you repeat, twisting a hand into his hair as he rests his forehead against yours.

He captures your lips in another quick kiss. “No more begging, dove. I am yours.”

Loki holds your gaze as he lines himself up and finally, finally, inches inside you. You’re more than ready for him, and he groans deeply at the feel of your cunt clenching around him. 

“Perfect,” he grunts. “Fucking perfect.” 

He shudders as he bottoms out and you see how his fingers dig into the mattress at your side. He’s as pent up as you are - perhaps even more - and you know that neither of you are going to last long after the last hour. 

Brazenly, you run your hands along his muscled back to squeeze his ass, biting back a smirk at the look that crosses his face. It’s the final straw that breaks him, and finally his hips begin to roll against yours. 

“Mine,” he rasps in your ear, arching his back to roll into you in long, deep strokes that have you moaning his name like a prayer. 

“Yours,” you breathe back, clutching him to you like a life raft as your orgasm begins to crest. 

All it takes is a few more thrusts of his cock to send you soaring off the edge. You grasp at him wildly and cry out his name so loudly that it rings off the walls. Your climax consumes you, makes the edges of your vision dance white with stars, and it drags Loki under only seconds later. 

Your name is an unbroken melody on his lips, a prayer of adoration to the goddess who granted him his salvation. Through half lidded eyes you watch how he loses himself to his release - jaw slack, eyes closed. The sight of him consumed to pleasure because of you is enough to have a second wave of your own pull you deeply beneath its surf. 

Vaguely, you feel Loki bury his face in your neck and you stretch a limp arm over his shoulder to hold him to you. He’s panting hard and you place a lazy kiss to his temple as you both bask in the golden afterglow of love. 

You smile as Loki nuzzles in closer and traces nonsensical shapes along his back. By all accounts you should be exhausted, but you’ve never felt so invigorated and hungry for the man lying in your arms. 

A turn of your head prompts Loki to lift his and glittering green eyes lock lovingly with yours. 

You smirk up at the man who you fall more in love with every single day. “Again?”

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[fushiguruuzzzz]

𑁤 Cherry Waves

Megumi Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Words — 2.3k

Cw — rockstar au, yes the title is a Deftones reference, mentions of alcohol (no use this time! Yay!), written in one sitting, not proofread, sort of situationship to lovers????? I’m not even entirely sure that’s a secret between them ig, chappel roan reference, lmk if there’s anything I missed !! All you long for is Megumi Fushiguro to love you when he’s sober. All he longs for is to have the courage to show you he does. These two dreams tend to clash when paired with insecurities and desperate secrecy, and the question is: will you be able to work it out?

a/n — this was fun to write tbh, I love rockstar Megumi baddddd and just wanted to get something out for him I fear. This won the poll so Gojo fic out some other time, in the meantime I’ll probably post Kilby girl prologue :3

Being famous had its perks, but with them came many downsides. One that you would consider the most pesky was the lack of privacy. Every secret you kept so precisely hidden was uncovered somehow, sometimes ones you weren’t even aware of yourself. Sometimes it was an old video of you found in the darkest depths of the internet, sometimes it was a song you hadn’t released yet. In your case, it was… whatever you had going on with your bandmate. Honestly you weren’t sure what exactly it was, neither was Megumi. But there was something, far too many glances that lasted just a beat too long, the graze of your fingers as you passed him his guitar that seemed to set you alight. The drunken kisses you’d share in the back of a crowded club that you were both eager to leave, the ones you wouldn’t talk about when the morning came. You’d share glances over the breakfast table that grew less awkward and more knowing as your rituals continued, the weeks going by and your dynamic never changing.

Sometimes months would go by without those moments of solidarity when your desperation bubbled over and came out in bursts. He never dared to voice it, but it killed Megumi. He loathed the way your touch would be all consuming, and then just a few hours later he’d been imprisoned by the lack of label between you, your distance heart wrenching. You were everything, and then nothing. You came in waves, not steady like the rise and set of the sun, but like the tide, unpredictable and heavy and undeniably passionate. You despised it equally as much, but you had the self control to contain it. Until you were on stage and consumed by nothing but the music, the songs you wrote about him, that is.

Your fingers were nimble and quick as they strummed the guitar, your lips ghosting over the rough wire of the microphone with every lyric. The rhythm reverberated through you, your heart beating in sync with the unsteady beat of the drums. This was it. This was life. Life was impending hearing loss and callouses on your fingers, it was red lights and the screaming of a crowd and the lingering knowledge that who might be the love (or loss) of your life is just a few pages behind you. The energy emitting from your body picked up his own every instance without fail, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as soon as he walked into the room. Paranoia? Maybe. Soul ties? Also maybe. That secret wasn’t yours to know, as it seemed.

Everything felt blurry, your consciousness only ever going up to half capacity on nights like this. You figured that if you were fully present, you couldn’t handle it all. It was a defence mechanism you’d made for yourself to handle the constant attention, the haunting awareness that you were being constantly perceived. Every shift of your eyes as they wandered to your black haired bass player was recorded, forever on the wide world of the internet. So you had to be careful, tread lightly at all times. They were everywhere, it seemed. You never really got used to it. This was your job, though, you signed up for this. You knew that, so you put up with it. You just wished you could love in peace.

You panted, chest heaving as you took in gasps of warm air. Not all that refreshing, but oxygen nonetheless. The last instrumentals of the final song faded out, the only noise being the dull chattering of the crowd. You felt their eyes on you, but one stuck out far more than any others. Him. His emerald eyes in the dim light were piercing, having such a deep effect over you even when they were out of sight. You were suddenly all too aware of the sweat sticking to your forehead, and the faint aftertaste of coffee on your tongue. You’d chugged three cups beforehand, figuring you’d need it to get through the night. Maybe it should’ve been four.

“Thank you so much for coming out, folks! That’s all for tonight!” you said, putting on an overly cheery tone that you were sure reeked of bullshit. With that the crowd began filtering out, the rows becoming gradually more empty with every passing minute. You, Megumi, and the others fell into the same old routine of packing up your instruments and getting ready to head out.

When the equipment was away and you were officially free to go for the night, Nobara spoke up. “Anyone in the mood to get drunk off of shitty overpriced vodka and hope we don’t get cancelled?”

As you walked to your respective vehicle, you couldn’t help but laugh. Your eyes flickered to Megumi for but a brief moment, but long enough for him to catch it. Something lied in the air between you then, the acceptance of what would happen the moment the alcohol took its toll and you were left alone. But as you met the sight of his raw eyes shining with what almost looked like expectation, something shifted. You didn’t want to be something that he only loved when he was drunk, you didn’t want to be the girl that was always just there when he needed you. The smile slowly faded from your face, being replaced by something softer; something more fake.

“I’m spent, I’m not gonna join tonight. Call me, yeah?” you asked, giving a small nod to the group as you lowered yourself into your drivers seat. Megumi’s eyes followed you inch by inch, taking in every subtle shift of your face, the soft crease between your brows as you put the keys into the ignition and made an eager escape. You were doing this on purpose, you were avoiding him. Why? Was he not enough, was he too much? Was this the end of whatever sick dance of passion and indifference that you were playing? But Megumi wasn’t stupid, in fact, he was an academically gifted boy. He knew that if he loved you when he was sober, you’d be willing to get drunk. It made something in his chest clench unfamiliarly, and he hated it. Hated the way you made him feel, hated the way he made you feel. He just… hated.

He hated the way the sound of your engine faded as you drive further and further from him, because it felt like you were leaving him in more ways than one.

Your fingers strummed impatiently against the steering wheel, though you weren’t sure what you were waiting for. You had nothing to wait for, no one. Maybe you were waiting for the moment your screen would light up with Megumi’s name, that he’d magically overcome whatever emotional blockage that was keeping him from you and learn to love you properly. You shook your head. Be realistic, now. It’s Megumi.

Pulling into the darkened parking lot of your apartment building felt like the nail in the coffin, the break in the inconsistent pattern you’d been following for so long. And as you stepped into your apartment, the falls felt oddly empty. It was missing something that had never been there in the first place, something that seemed to fit so perfectly, yet you didn’t. Maybe that was the case. Megumi fit into your life, he fit whatever love you held for him, but did you fit him? Maybe not.

You felt exhausted, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. You tossed and turned uncomfortably in your sheets for what felt like hours before sighing in defeat and trotting out to your kitchen.

As you sat on your counter, tentatively sipping an icy cup of water, your mind wandered. You wondered what type of lover Megumi was. When the lights were soft, would his touch be, too? Would the scrambled urgency of his lips against yours turn into something calmer when he knew you had the time? His rough hands calloused by his passion, would they hold you as delicately as they cupped your face in his moments of weakness, as you escaped from the crushing reality of your status? Your heart ached at the realization that you didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get the chance to. Maybe someone else would, someone that fit.

A firm knock on your door pierced through the walls more than it should have. There was an empty sort of quiet that followed, as if the person waiting to enter didn’t have the courage to fill it. You slid from the cold marble, socked feet hitting the ground as you placed your glass next to you. There was barely the sound of shuffling as you padded to the door, not bothering to look through the peephole in your sleepy haze.

When you swung the door open, he looked nearly as shocked as you did. Of course Megumi had been the one to come here in the first place, but he half expected you to be asleep or just ignore him entirely.

“Megumi?”

He blinked at you for a moment, eyes unfocused. “…hey,” he said, voice hoarse as if he was the one who’d spent the night singing.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out?” you asked, standing dumbfounded in the doorway.

He paused. “You didn’t go.”

That statement meant a lot more than its words. You didn’t go, so he didn’t. He wanted to see you, to be with you.

“Can I come in?”

You looked between you, suddenly remembering that he was standing outside in the hallway whilst you were keeping him there. You shuffled to the side, motioning for him to enter. He did, no words shared in the silent moment. You fell into step, taking the few strides across the apartment and plopping down on the plush cushions of your couch.

You stared down at your fidgeting hands, debating whether you’d break the silence or not. He was the one who showed up here, so shouldn’t it have been him? But deep down you knew Megumi, he wasn’t one to speak unless spoken to. Not usually.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again, voice softer. He lifted his head, the black spikes of hair shifting with every movement. He looked particularly disheveled, like he’d spent his night tossing and turning as you had. “You and I both know why I’m here.”

With a soft exhale through your nose, you nodded. The thing was, you didn’t know the exact reason for his appearance. Was it to put an end to whatever you had, or the opposite? Because whether you liked it or not, it wasn’t casual. You didn’t know if they ever had been.

“What am I doing wrong?” you blurted. Your eyes widened, surprised by your own words. Damn your mouth and its tendency to act before your brain could, because it put you in situations like this.

His expression mirrored yours, confusion and something else, something more unrecognizable. “What?” he said, throat suddenly dry. “I never said you did anything wrong. You… you didn’t.”

That only puzzled you further. If you’d done nothing wrong, what was it that kept him from you? Perhaps your actions weren’t wrong, just you were. “I don’t understand,” you whispered, unable to find the correct words.

“Why would you think you’re doing something wrong?” he pushed.

“Because you don’t like me.”

A silence fell over you, and Megumi felt more flustered than he had in his life. “I’ve given you some pretty clear implications denying that,” he murmured.

“But you don’t like me when you’re sober, Megumi.”

A heavy silence fell over you, swirling with unspoken words and the quiet desperation for closure. You just needed him to confirm it, you couldn’t spend any longer clinging to the last bits of drunken hope residing in you.

“I’m sober now.”

“Yeah, well-“ you were about to shoot back, but then he was tilting your chin up and pressing his lips to yours. Your lips were captured in his as he inhaled every bit of you, the taste of your lips overtaking his senses. Cherry. He swallowed every claim and rebuttal rolling off of your tongue, rough hands cupping your face as he kissed you with a mission to prove himself. Megumi had never been one for words, opting to show his intentions through action. He sure got his point across.

He panted into your mouth, brow bone ghosting over yours as his eyes drank you in, deep and curious. Not an ounce of alcohol swirled in his bloodstream, but he felt completely drunk off of you. Maybe he couldn’t ever love you when he was sober, for your every breath intoxicated him, drew him in.

Your mind was spinning, wondering if you were in the midst of a fever dream. Megumi tasted of nothing but espresso and mint, no traces of vodka bleeding into your mouth as it interlocked his. He was completely present, and he was kissing you. He held you with a delicacy you weren’t aware he was capable of, hands that were once in tense fists now cradling you like fine china.

“Are you saying…” you breathed.

“Yeah. Now shut up, will you?”

You huffed, but it did little to hide the eagerness in your actions as you took him by the collar and pulled him in once again.

As you felt his lips on yours, you realized that they were perfect; like puzzle pieces reunited. The thing about puzzle pieces is that it was never one fitting in the other, it was that they fit together, reciprocated. They were two parts of a whole, equal, mutually connected. Megumi filled the empty walls of your home, and you filled his heart, and that felt pretty damn equal to you.

Tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniya @anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @lizbix

[straylightdream]

be my mistake

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: kwon soonyoung x !f.reader

sometimes you should just delete your exes contact info so you don’t wind up naked in his bed again.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: non-idol au, exes to lovers

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, mention of a consensual drunken hookup, lots of talks about emotions, smut warning below the cut

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

here is my SVT taglist if you’re interested being add please fill out this form.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex (mc is on birth control), fooling around in the shower together, creampie, fluffy sex, I think that’s all. Tell me if I missed anything.

It’s three in the morning and you’re immediately starting to sober up. Laying in his bed you stared up at the ceiling holding the comforter close to your chest. There is a feeling of instant regret taking over you. It had become very obvious that you might have made a mistake. Last night felt like a blur. All you remember clearly is being at the bar with friends. The drunker you got the hornier you got.

A drunken phone call led to you crawling into bed with your equally drunk ex-boyfriend. You remember faintly him telling you he was at a club but he would call an Uber to pick you up and bring you back to his place.

Looking over at the man who was laying in bed naked next to you sound asleep. You let out a soft sigh and slowly crawled out of bed.

You decided that maybe if you took a shower it could help clear your head. You and Soonyoung need to have a long conversation so you couldn’t exactly sneak off and do the walk of shame in the middle of the night.

Walking off into his bathroom you know oh so well. You turned on the hot water and found a clean towel in a basket under the sink. Sliding the glass door open, you test to see how hot the water is. Slowly stepping inside once the water temperature is to your liking.

You stood in his showered leaning against the wall letting the water hit your body. You hoped the warm water would help the hickies covering your chest and neck. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the marks he left across your body. From the very beginning he was always into marking you during sex. You’ve had too many hickies to count from Soonyoung. These marks almost seem like he was marking his territory.

The sound of the shower door sliding open catches your attention. Looking up you see your extremely naked ex-boyfriend walking in.

“I’m shocked you didn’t sneak out,” he smiled as he stepped closer letting warm water hit him.

“I couldn’t exactly run away like I wish I could. We kind of have some stuff we need to talk about,” you sighed.

Reaching over he grabbed his body wash and started washing himself up, “what did you want to talk about?” He’s being too casual about this. He’s acting like it’s completely normal to have drunk sex with your ex.

“I thought we agreed to be just friends,” you watched as he washed his very toned body. His fingers spread soap over each of his abs. No matter how mad he might make you sometimes. You can’t lie to yourself and say you aren’t attracted to him. Kwon Soonyoung has and will always be absolutely mouth watering.

“We could always be friends that have sex,” he smiled. He liked the idea of him and his ex-girlfriend having sex causally. He wasn’t in the best place to be someone’s boyfriend, but he liked the idea of having sex with you still all the time. You two have always had a great physical connection. Since your breakup he’s desperately missed your body. He would be lying if he said he didn’t also miss having you around too.

“Soonyoung I can’t be your fuck buddy,” You shook your head. You hated to admit it but you were still in love with him, and you couldn’t do the whole, having sex casually with the man who still had a piece of your heart. There is no way you could turn off your feelings when it comes to him. You’ve been trying for eight months to stop loving him, but for some reason nothing is working.

“Baby, what do you want here?” he reached up and rested his hand on your soft cheek.

You shrugged, not exactly sure what you wanted. You wanted Soonyoung still in your life, but he had made it very clear that he didn’t want to be in a relationship right now. You wish you could let him go and just move on.

“Soonyoung, what I want isn’t what you want.” It’s unfortunately the sad truth.

He bit his bottom lip and stepped away from you and stared at you for a long moment, “I’m a terrible boyfriend.” That’s not exactly a lie. He definitely has his flaws when it comes to being a boyfriend. But that doesn’t stop you from wanting him to be your boyfriend.

You nodded and let out a soft laugh, “that doesn’t stop me from loving you. Even though we fought sometime and you made me mad. That doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“Do you still love me?” he asked, knowing deep down inside he was always going to love you. There was something about from the very beginning that was special. He fell for you hard and fast and broke all his rules when it came to relationships for you.

You couldn’t believe that you were having this conversation naked in the shower in the middle of the night after having drunken sex. This isn’t the ideal setting for this important conversation. “Soonyoung I’m going to always love you.”

He pushed his eyebrows together wondering what exactly you should do, “what if I break your heart again?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you thought back to all those nights you sobbed over Kwon Soonyoung, “I hope you don’t. Maybe we’ve grown more and can actually fully communicate now.”

“So, are we going to try this again?” he asked, stepping closer to you again.

“It’s probably a dumb idea, but yea let’s try this again,” you nodded smiling.

He leaned forward to connect his lips to yours for a rough kiss. His fingers tangled in your wet hair and pulled you under the water. As your lips moved together one of his hands grabbed the flesh of your ass and pulled you against his naked body. Pulling away he rested his forehead against yours with a smile on his face.

“So, we’re doing this again?”

“Yeah we’re doing this again,” you whispered.

“I want to fuck you so badly right now,” he says earning a little laugh from you.

“Do you think shower sex is a good idea?” He runs his hands slowly up and down your wet sides.

“I think any kind of sex with you is a good idea.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

Leaning your head back against the cool tile watch you stare at him for a moment. He’s so beautiful you’re not sure you’ll ever really get over it.

“I would prefer the first time we have sex after getting back together isn’t in the shower.”

He lets out a little laugh, “let me take you to bed then.”

Getting out of the shower you both take your time drying off before Soonyoung tosses you on his bed. He is normally a man who loves to have you bent over and taking you that way. But right now he wants you on your back with your legs spread. Hovering over you his lips are connected to yours for a heated kiss while your hands roam his back. He’s thrusting into you at a slower than normal pace.

“I fucking love you,” he whispers against your lips.

No matter how much you thought you weren’t meant to be together, a part of you could never let him go. He knows you inside and out. He knows everything there is to know about your body.

Tangling your fingers in his hair you pull his head back slightly wanting to be able to look at him.

“I’m always going to love you,” you whisper back.

Crashing his lips into yours he kisses you like he needs you to breathe. He thrust into you at a quick pace. Both of you are desperately chasing your releases.

“I’m- clo- close-,” you’re a whimpering mess.

“Cum for me,” he moans.

Your wall contract around him as you whimper, I love you. Your body feels weight as he thrust into you at a quick pace. The way he moans your name as he finishes inside you is music to your ears. His exhausted body collapses on you. His head rest on your chest. Slowly you run your nails up and down his back. You could stay like this forever.

“I mean it, I love you,” he says softly.

“That’s good because I love you too.”

“We’re going to make this work this time.” You hope he’s right. Because you want to be with him. If he’s willing to fight to make this work, so are you.

[fxllfaiiry]

─ hits different 'cause it's you

★ pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

★ summary: spencer reid is used to being called pretty boy by everyone ─ everyone but you.

★ warnings: fluff, spencer and the reader acting like lovesick teens, co-workers to lovers, the team teasing spencer.

★ notes: I had this saved in my drafts for a long time and finally thought why not post it?? please don't mind any errors, english is not my first language.

Spencer Reid likes a lot of things. He likes books, he likes jello, but most importantly, he likes you. He could talk about you for hours, in fact, if he was given the chance to, he would. Spencer was mesmerized by everything you did, he was hopelessly, utterly, in love with you.

“Pretty boy, what are you dreaming about?” Derek’s voice jolted him out of his bubble, he looked around embarrassed remembering he was in fact surrounded by his co-workers. Everyone in the jet turned to look at him, everyone including you. Sitting next to you was making him nervous.

“Um, nothing. I was just thinking about, stuff?” He somehow magically managed to stutter out a full sentence under your gaze, god he felt pathetic.

“Reid, are you asking us or telling us?” Hotch asked looking amused.

Spencer could feel your gaze set on him, he really hoped you couldn't see how red his cheeks are. “I - I’m telling you, yeah.” How was the smartest person in the room suddenly, the dumbest?

“Come on, give pretty boy a break,” Rossi smiled. Rossi had a sixth sense when it comes to these things, he knew about Spencer’s feelings from day one, it was obvious to almost everyone, but of course not to you.

You were equally in love with him, but you would never tell Spencer that, you couldn't bare the rejection. If only you knew how smitten he was with you. You stared at his face, marvelling at how pretty he looked, oh how you would kill for those lips to be on yours.

“Was pretty boy dreaming about a pretty girl?” Emily teased. What? No. Picturing Spence with other girls made you want to throw up. If you were paying more attention rather than drowning in jealousy, you’d have noticed Spencer’s eyes darting towards you.

“Come on pretty boy, tell us who the girl is.” Curiosity was killing you, who was the lucky lady that caught Spencer Reid’s eye?

Spencer froze, you called him pretty boy? He isn't used to that at all, you usually call him Spence or boy genius, but never pretty boy. ‘Please call me that again,’ he thought to himself.

“You think I’m pretty?” The question slipped past his lips before he could stop himself. That was everyone’s queue to stop listening, they all rushed back into their conversations wanting to give you guys some privacy.

“What? Of course, I think you’re pretty, Spence.” Where did this come from all of a sudden? You thought he was the prettiest boy, you would tell him that every day if you had to.

“I mean - It’s just you never call me that…” He tried to hide his nervous state by letting out a chuckle. He almost felt sad, why didn't you call him pretty boy? He wants to be your pretty boy desperately.

You on the other hand had no idea why you didn't call him that. Note: call Spencer Reid pretty boy more often.

“Well, I’m sorry, I’ll call you pretty boy more often if you want?” Where did that sudden wave of confidence come from?

“Oh, I would like that,” Spencer mumbled. He tried to keep the smile off his face but it was useless. This feeling was better than reading with his cardigan on, on a cosy rainy day.

“You’re the prettiest boy I know, Spence. My pretty boy.” The last part was so quiet Spencer would’ve missed it if he wasn't paying attention, but fortunately, he’s always paying attention to you.

“I think you’re the prettiest too.” The two of you were acting like love-sick teenagers, but what the hell, screw that.

“Would you like to go on a date with me once we get back, Spence?” You were beaming, after years of waiting, you finally got what you wanted, and the new surge of confidence certainly helped.

“I’d love that.”

bonus !

“Garcia owes me 20 bucks” Derek whispered watching the scene unfold.

[whirlybirbs]

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST   |   AO3  |    SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing:  a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. 

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague. 

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock." 

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches. 

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate. 

ALL I WANT  TO DO IS  GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot. 

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah. 

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig. 

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade. 

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was. 

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...? 

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all. 

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear. 

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter. 

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows. 

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future. 

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning. 

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not. 

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action. 

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused. 

You hope it all works out for her in the end. 

But, Christ this coffee is bitter. 

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am. 

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work. 

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior. 

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract. 

And so this has been home for the last four months. 

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras. 

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers. 

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one. 

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern. 

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny. 

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it. 

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do. 

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now. 

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you. 

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark. 

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK. 

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to. 

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131. 

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it". 

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door. 

Your boots follow in a trail. 

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo. 

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief. 

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again. 

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too. 

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline. 

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different. 

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that. 

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday. 

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time. 

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London. 

1977, huh. Zaniac. 

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled. 

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet. 

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone. 

And he's here, wasting his damn time. 

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time. 

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks. 

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes. 

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in. 

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?" 

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact. 

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time. 

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki. 

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis. 

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt. 

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin. 

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers. 

He has to... He...

He needs you back. 

Now. 

[inkdrinkerworld]

Talk Too Much

Pairing: Remus Lupin x loud but shy!reader

Cw: college!au, fluff, kind of friends to lovers, obliviousness by Remus for a while, drinking (mentioned), smoking (cigarettes), I think that’s it

Wc: 2.2k

You’re a loudmouth. Through and through. Of all your friends, you honestly think you and James would be the ones to never shut up or run out of words.

That is until Remus transfers into the school and infiltrates your friend group and suddenly you find the words can run out.

It’s not on purpose.

It seems to take you over purely by coincidence- the way your throat gets dry and your tongue seems too heavy to form the words you want to get out when Remus seems to be paying attention to only you. His gaze isn’t unwelcome- that’s the entire problem.

You like the feeling of being what he looks at, but it feels too good, too natural.

His honey eyes that are just lightly flecked with green, and his sharp jawline that’s adorned with silvery scar tissue that somehow makes him even more handsome.

He’s also always got a cigarette to fiddle with.

You’ve only seen him smoke twice, and had been mesmerised by the way his cheeks hollow and how he blows the smoke out and it seems to curl around him like it’s unable to obey his exhales in the opposite direction.

He reminds you in a way of Charlie Dalton and Stephen Meeks.

Fctional characters who Remus seems to emulate in his confidence (from Charlie) and a sort of confidence that’s self-assured yet mild at the same time (a mix of the two) and that in itself makes you fall a little more for him.

It’s overwhelming- this attraction to him. It confuses you and has you tripping over words in your head, far less for if you voiced them and all that was heard were clunky excuses for sentences.

What makes your sudden bouts of silence obvious is the fact that your friends have caught onto you.

It’s not like it’s exceptionally hard to decipher either- you’re not really good at being subtle.

You suspect James and Sirius are taking bets on when it’ll all be too obvious for everyone to walk around it and you desperately hope that it takes months while simultaneously hoping it takes only weeks.

Remus notices the way your body freezes when you realise you’ve caught his attention in your storytelling. In his mind, it’s because you don’t like him.

The way you shrink down and suddenly go silent the moment his eyes set upon you, the way you remain quiet even though he sees the way the corners of your mouth twitch with something to say.

He thinks he’s put you off somehow, especially when the second he’s gone a little ways away to get a drink or get his lunch, you seem to perk right back up and dive into storytelling once more.

It bothers him so much he asks Sirius about it- a mistake in itself, because Sirius only pokes fun at his friend.

“If you can’t realise why she goes silent the moment you stare at her Lupin, I can’t help you.” Sirius walks off leaving Remus even more perplexed, moreso when he hears Sirius says, “How’s he so thick for someone doing so many higher classes?”

It bewilders Remus for weeks, your always sudden vows of silence and then your equally sudden broken vows.

You’re all at a house party when it comes to an almost end.

You’re dressed pretty like always, a skirt that hugs all the places Remus longs to touch and a top that shows a sliver of your stomach and Remus catches a glimpse of jewellery hanging in your navel.

Your ears have a pair of hanging bat earrings, and your necklace is your standard one- he’s sure he’s never seen you without it.

You’re smiling and laughing with Marlene and Mary as you walk in. Remus wants to figure out why you dislike him so, he desperately wants to change your sour opinion of him. He’s going to at least try to do so tonight, if you can stomach looking at him.

“C’mon losers,” James’ loud voice is unmistakable, “We’re playing seven minutes in heaven.”

Remus is only approaching when he hears your teasing,

“Are we taking a blast back to Year 9 Jamie?”

James nods, “Yeah we are, and would you look at that you and Lupin are up first.” You’re sure there’s an evil little grin on James’ face when you look up and find Remus standing there in his soft brown sweater and jeans.

You can smell a little of the cigarette he’d smoked before coming in, but mostly you smell his citrus, pepper and amber cologne.

It’s heady and you swear your brain gets a little drunk on it.

“Get going you two,” Sirius teases and you sigh standing.

Remus’ mind is reeling, wondering how he’s going to get back at Sirius and James and the rest of your friends that he knows are in on this too.

Out of ear shot of your friends as you both go to the nearest room, Remus says lowly, “You don’t have to come in. I’ll just tell them we talked.”

You look up at him, eyes wide and Remus takes your surprise as a moment to admire you up close. He counts three beauty marks near your right eye, another on your neck just under your chin, and one on your nose. He’s distracted by you for a good long while that he doesn’t register you’ve spoken till he sees you walk into the room and gesture for him to follow.

It’s tense, a silence neither of you are sure how to break.

You think Remus is the most gorgeous man to be placed on the Earth, and Remus thinks you find him repulsive.

You watch Remus climb onto the bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles as his back presses against the headboard.

His casualness makes him look even more attractive and while you’re aware that you’re staring at him, you can’t make yourself stop.

‘Now or never,’ he thinks to himself before asking, “Have I offended you somehow?”

There it is, laid open and bare. The question hangs in the air, like the most tantalising yet foreign fruit you’ve ever seen.

“No?” It comes out like a question. One Remus takes as a chance to explain.

“It’s just that you’re always talking or telling a story with the others, and as soon as I’m near earshot you go silent and you can’t meet my eyes. So I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ve offended you, and I just wanted to say sorry for if I did- directly or indirectly.”

Remus’ attractiveness has been upped by a thousand- you���re sure all the love deities are having a laugh at your hopelessness.

You can’t meet his eyes now, even as you sit on the bed, so close to him that your biceps brush each other’s. “You haven’t offended me.”

Your voice is much softer than he’s ever heard it. Remus thinks this must be the softest you’ve ever spoken in your whole life.

“I haven’t?” he asks and you shake your head. Hazarding a glance at him, you find Remus leaning his shoulder down, his chin tucked as his eyes roam your frame.

“N-no,” your stutter gives you away slowly. “You’re just different from the others.” It’s not a clearer explanation, but the gears are turning in Remus’ head all the same and you can tell.

“Different how?” Remus doesn’t want to assume anything and that’s what causes the gears to come to a screeching halt.

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. Remus has never seen you this unsure. Everything you do is with confidence and ease, like you were just made to walk, talk and move the way that you do. Like it was as easy as breathing.

Maybe it’s the way you take your time to consider your words, or the way you fiddle with your clothes or even the way your breathing changes as he leans just a bit closer that makes Remus smile a little.

“Will you look at me for a second, darling gwerthfawr?” The softness of his tone and the way his accent changes to something a little more melodic makes you more jelly-like than you usually are in his presence.

“Hm?” you hum and Remus smirks. Silvery slithers of scar tissue moving with his mouth and making him look wicked in a way that has you falling a little more in love with him.

“Why don’t you like looking or speaking to me?”

Remus doesn’t let you turn away, doesn’t let you tuck your cheek to your shoulder as you deliberate what you want to say. No, instead, the menace holds your chin and stares at you, holding your gaze and making your brain cloud even more as his cologne and attention wash over you.

“I like looking at you,” you admit shyly, the confession coming from your lips with hesitation. Like Remus will be repulsed by the fact that you like looking at him. “But you make me nervous.”

The words are suspended in the quiet of the room. All there is the muffled sounds of the party going on in the living room, and then yours and Remus’ breathing.

“I make you nervous?”

Sirius and James burst through the door, wide smiles that turn into shocked smirks at your positions.

“Well love birds, sorry but your seven minutes are up.” Remus staggers in letting your chin go, but when his fingers slacken, you leave the room, belly in knots in the almost wordy confession.

“So, how’d that go?” James asks him as you bend the corner- he’s sure that Lily and the other girls will be doing the same with you.

Remus flops on the bed, “Nothing that concerns you two gits.” His mind is racing with possibilities of finishing this conversation.

Sirius boos, “After all that planning to get you two in here and snogging each other’s faces off, that’s the thanks we get?” Walking out with James who’s shaking his head.

-

“But you make me nervous,” repeats in his head for days. He’s not dense by a mile, but Remus has a hard time figuring out what about him makes you nervous.

Sure he’s tall and a little serious, but he’s not as intimidating as he’d first thought Sirius was. Remus doesn’t want to turn to his friends, sure they’d tease him endlessly for being ‘thick,’ and then more than likely tell you and that would just make you even more nervous to look or speak to him at the very least.

What Remus does do, is consult the best person he knows that will give him impartial advice; books.

There’s always a book for any occasion, so he delves deep. Behavioural analysis books, books on people with social anxiety (which he doesn’t think you have because it’s just him that gets the selective mutism) and even at the end of it, he turns to romance novels. Something must stand out.

It comes to a head when Remus comes to the library when you’re busy typing away at your essay. You feel the presence, the warmth of his pepper and amber cologne as he pulls the seat out beside you.

Remus doesn’t say a word as he sits down. Instead, he pulls out his laptop and begins typing at the same essay prompt you’re working on.

You’re hyper aware of everything he’s doing- every breath, every sigh, every harsh backspace and enter.

Remus doesn’t seem to be half as affected as you are and it has you whispering, “What are you doing here, Remus?”

He hums, tapping his forefinger near the touchpad. He finishes his sentence and then turns to you. “Working on that essay due tomorrow.”

You frown, lips pulled downwards as you think of your next words. “You know what I mean, why are you sitting beside me?”

Remus sighs, head hanging off the back of the chair. “I want you to not be nervous around me anymore. I also want to know why I make you nervous.”

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry.

Remus turns to look at you and the amber lighting of the library makes his skin look sunkissed and supple. His honey and sage eyes blink owlishly at you, no sign of rushing you along for an answer.

That was something you had learnt while silently watching Remus. He’s always actually listening- not just listening to respond.

“Because,” you start, eyes darting all over his face in search of any insecurity in it. “You always seem so hyper focused on what it is I’m going to say next and it flusters me.”

Remus’ face morphs into a smile, his lazy expression from before melting away as his eyes warm to your embarrassed whisper.

“So it’s not dislike?” He asks, hands itching to tip your chin up like he had the other night.

“Are you going to make me say it out loud?”

“Poor girl,” he feels much more confident now. Now that he knows for sure that you don’t hate him and that you might actually like him as much as he likes you, he can be a little more flirty.

His hand reaches for your wrist, thumb running back and forth around your pulse.

You scowl, more than a little bashful to have exposed your feelings to Remus. He doesn’t mind.

No, Remus feels over the moon. Enough so that his hand moves from your wrist and his forefinger hooks under your chin so you’re making eye contact again.

“I like you too. Just as much,” it’s his turn for a whispered confession and you hope to all hell that he can’t feel the thundering of your pulse. “Maybe more.”

You feel your body buzz under his attention. Remus leans in closer, “Let me take you out after this? We can go somewhere quiet and have a proper ‘first’ conversation.”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I feel like, Young!Pathetic!Konig would do REALLY well with a Older!Lady-Cougar!Reader, She's maybe been divorced twice and looking ta maybe become widowed this time? May-haps her current hubby has wealth and power but is a few screws short of being a good man towards our poor reader, and there's that Pesky prenup that makes it so she won't get ANYTHING in a divorce...buuuttt if the bastard has a bit of an....*Oopsie doodle*.... Maybe she's looking for someone to take care of her problem, and maybe she likes this young soldier boy, whose all too happy to help with *whatever needs* she might have? Likes how desperate he is for just her hand on his arm, likes how he's on his need begging for just a *taste* Likes that she can teach him how to please a woman, how to make her moan like no lover before....Likes how willing he is to kill the man she's married too...

Asfdf my brain short circuited ❤️ I know I said somewhere that I don’t write cheating but if it’s cheating a bad man with an even worse man König….

CW: 18+ MDNI. Age difference, F!dom/M!sub undertones, praise kink, cheating (your husband is an old dick), mating press & other shenanigans, murder & mentions of blood, König is a lovesick yandere in the making.

It was just one night.

Just one night to satiate your needs because your husband for sure never takes care of them.

But then the young pup you picked off from the pub pops into your workplace next week... With a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a box of chocolate in the other, your desperate little “detour” looks like a boy who just got laid for the first time in his life.

“König…” you sigh and pull him to an empty breakroom before all your colleagues see you’ve cheated on your beloved husband with a man at least ten years younger than you.

“You can’t be here,” you start, trying to ignore the happy, greedy stares this little—big—soldier gives you.

He’s all the equal to his alias, looking like a king in the making with those wide shoulders and that fierce stare. But his hands are shaking, he guides those eyes to the floor as he puts the gifts on the table littered with crumbs and coffee stains, switches his weight from one foot to the other once you start to tell him how it is.

He listens dutifully as you try to explain how it was only one night, that he was incredibly lovely and you had so much fun but that you can’t see each other anymore. It was wrong of you to do so in the first place, you’re married, and you’re so, so sorry... You were just so sad and lonely.

You tell him he’s a good man. That he’ll find someone special, some lovely girl to call his own. He will find someone who can give him what he wants, someone who will cover him with kisses for bringing her flowers and sweets.

You try to explain it to him even as you get slowly chased into a corner, you try to tell him what a catch he is even when you get pinned to the wall by a hard, lean chest.

You try to tell him that he’s the perfect man for some other girl even when he pulls your strings aside and bullies his cock inside you.

One minute is all it takes as he huffs and groans and fucks you against the wall, your moans and his grunts barely muffled by shirts and fists and lips and skin. There’s lipstick on his clean, white shirt after he’s done with you, teeth marks where his shoulder meets his neck, a spittle of cum on your skirt as he pulls it down with shaky hands.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear. “I just had to see you. I missed you so much...”

Your cunt is what he missed, any woman could see that. Got a taste of it last weekend and wouldn’t let you leave his place at all; a small, miserable flat of 25 square meters, with burned rice on the stove and a thin, cum-stained mattress on the floor. He fucked you on that mattress, four times because on the fifth attempt to part your shaking thighs, you told this horny lad you need to go home.

“I know, big boy. I missed you too. But you need to go now,” you say to your pretty lover. Ugly but pretty, in his own way, his utter lack of cruelty is what makes him beautiful in your eyes.

“I don’t want to,” he dares to argue back and claims your mouth, kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.

“You have to,” you moan. “König–”

“I love you.”

You’re huffing, panting into each other’s throats as you realize he’s even younger than you thought. Fell in love with your cunt so easily, this big runt, thinks it’s meant to be just because you’re wet and he’s hard.

“Don’t be silly,” you huff and look at the drowsy smile, the messy state of this lovesick man before you fight your way out of his lap.

You want to cry, wail, scream from the injustice. Where was this silly young golden retriever six months ago? Why didn’t you meet him when you were single and sweet? Now you’re trapped in an unhappy marriage with some old fool who was cunning enough to trick you into a ludicrous deal with him. The prenupt you discovered only later, after he swore that you wouldn’t have to work a day in your life and that everything that belonged to him would be yours one day. In reality, you’ve had to beg for every crumb, act the part of a trophy wife who also has to work herself to death. And he won’t even fuck you, only wants you to massage his back and his cock while you’re left all alone without love, without a single kind word.

But König never lets you go: not in a way you beg him to, no, he always shows up at your door. Sneaks into your lonely room from the window, licks you to ruin while you laugh and tell him no, fucks you three times a night, crawls under the bed when a cleaning lady almost catches you two. He shows up at cafes, restaurants, conferences, parties, everywhere where you go but your husband won’t.

He’s so reckless that you have to teach him to be more patient, more gentle. You guide his fingers and his head, even his cock, while locking your eyes with his so that he knows when he’s doing it right. You praise him for a good, unhurried fuck, cup his face and kiss him when he gives it to you nice and slow. Anyone can see he'd want to ram it in until there’s nothing left of him and you, but you kiss and kiss and kiss him until the poor boy moans and cums without permission, just from that tiny taste of intimacy and love.

He gets pets, smooches and caresses, blowjobs that leave him shaking and breathless on the bed. He looks like he has no brains left after you’re done with him, looks a little helpless when you climb on top of him and help yourself with his cock after he only just came.

He’s always up in no time, especially if you tell him he did well. Stares at you and your breasts like you’re a vision from heaven, drools on them once when you won’t let him have a lick. Mopes when you laugh at his predicament, and won’t stop brooding even when you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

But he’s never mad at you for long, not if you call him sweetie or your silly apple crumb, not if you let him fall asleep in your bed, partly on top of you. There’s always a wet spot on your back if he’s the big spoon, he begs you to sleep naked as he does, says it’s better for your health and then teases you with his fingers come morning, probably thinking he’s so very clever. Takes you to the theater and offers you expensive port wine and cake, tells you how to steal a car, how to shoot any gun. Gives you a hungry kiss in public when you tell him he has to act like he’s your cousin from abroad, vanishes for weeks to his training, sends letters instead of texts, and tells you he’s going to be a big boss someday.

It’s hard to imagine this serious but silly mess as an intimidating officer, not even when you know he has the size and looks for it. He’s too innocent and needy, doesn't know how the real world works yet. Thinks he’s immortal just because he’s young...

There’s a certain darkness in him, and you mistake it for the remnants of some turbulence of his teenage years, just some wrath of a boy who never got what he wanted. Who wouldn’t be a little pissed and impatient in their twenties? He probably doesn’t even know what he wants: hell, you don’t know what you want.

“Like this...?” He asks demurely when he lifts your knees to your ears and sinks his cock into you inch by inch, carefully as if it’s the first time you’re making love.

“Just like that,” you whisper as he spreads you so wide you can’t even breathe, fills you up deliciously, like no one else before. His eyes never leave you, not even when he uses your hole as a place to bury himself and all his bad memories, not even when he makes you squirt like you’re nothing but an oasis in a desert that never ends.

But you know he comes to you for other things than just that.

He comes to you for kind words, breathy praise, soft touches and ruffles of his hair. He comes to you for practice and to get his sense of self in order. He’s your pretty knight in shining armor when others have called him ugly, he’s your strong bull when others have ridiculed his disproportionate limbs. He’s your safe haven, your sunshine, your crazy, silly man, your soldier and your savior, and he soaks up your love and attention like a sponge: every drop gets gulped down like he’s a man dying of thirst. He doesn’t take sips, he doesn’t know how to, and you on the other hand don’t know how to quench the raging drought inside him, long after yours has been satiated.

You sleep like Romeo and Juliet just before their death, and fuck like rabbits in the spring. He takes you in the car, in the closet, in the toilet, in other people’s beds, even at the alley one night.

“I love you,” he always says after he has spilled his cum – it’s like a ritual or a prayer, and you always reach for the baby hairs of his neck in return, and give them the gentlest caress.

“I love you too,” you whisper one night – it just slips when you stroke his cheek. It never comes as a surprise that he gives you the most miserable pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

He knows about your situation, knows enough that you’re trapped and unhappy. But you never knew he saw you as a victim. If anything, you feel like he’s the victim here. Poor boy, saving what little he has for a future with some woman who knows nothing about true love... You’re not the one for him, you’re not even a silly little sex kitten any young soldier would want to play with. You’re just some bored, abandoned wife who wants to feel something, mean something to someone. But you love him enough to know that you’ll let him go when he wants to move on. As bitter as it makes you feel, you know you’ll give him to someone younger and more beautiful, someone who will love as passionately as he does. Anything to make him truly happy.

But the next evening, König doesn’t climb in through your window. He uses the door, the inside door, and you jump from the bed and hurry to him in your nightgown, the only gift your husband ever gave you.

“I killed him for you,” he says, your soldier boy from Austria, your good, good boy with a good, big cock.

You only now see that his hands are stained in blood, and nothing shakes anymore: your wannabe sniper is as calm as ever when he confesses he’s murdered someone.

“...What?”

He comes to you and cups your face, the blood on his hands both wet and cold. You’ve never seen him so peaceful, not even after he’s had a good fuck. The boy who no one ever loved has turned into a man, but what kind of man… You shiver in his clutch, unsure if you’re about to suffer a heart attack from fear or love.

“He didn’t suffer... Much,” he says, his cracked lips only a breath away from yours. “Knives can be messy…”

You gulp while staring into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes, the innocent baby blue nearly swallowed by the darkest of all loves.

This is not how you thought things would go… You were supposed to give the old man the finger and divorce during the summer. Put your finances in order so that you can escape. Maybe fuck König on the side and see if he’s still the man of your dreams once you’re happily divorced.

Now he’s telling you you’ll marry as soon as possible, or that if you want a summer wedding, he can wait a few months… He tells you you have nothing to worry about, he won’t go to jail, not this time. He’ll take care of you now; he just got promoted. You don’t ever have to be sad again.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says when all words have finally escaped you. “Now we can be together. Forever…”

[irisintheafterglow]

don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense

summary: on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him (pro!bakugo x you).

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo's here and he's angry, miscommunication-based comedy, idiot(s) in love, coworkers to lovers, a little bit of angst/comfort but it's just for the plot yk

note: i'm not sure where the concept of this came from; i was just listening to sabrina carpenter and was like,,,, hey i can use this. so have this! hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Okay, go over it one more time for me. I think I’ve got it,” you reassure him, only to be met with a skeptical glare. “I’m serious; I think I understand it, even though it took forever.” You tap the whiteboard of the meeting room with the red marker in your hand, slightly tired from scribbling down as much as you could comprehend from your boss’ vague gestures. He exhales deeply, dragging a hand down his face, and gives you an impatient look. “Ready when you are."

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” you remind him and he shoots you a withering glare that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “And don’t try to write it, since that clearly didn’t work.” You glance at the scribbled mess of letters scratched onto a yellow notepad of paper, Bakugo’s first attempt to communicate that something was off when speech was not working.

“I fucking know that! You don’t think I can’t remember that you have no idea what I’m fucking saying?” You blink at him, desperately biting your tongue to avoid bursting out laughing. Even though Bakugo had been hit with a quirk that was creating some very entertaining moments in an otherwise bland office job, he could still make his palms crackle dangerously in warning. “Remind me to fire you when I get out of this.” You can’t control your laughter that time and you let a snort slip from your throat, wincing when his scathing eyes stare menacingly into you. 

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” you laugh quietly, attempting to subtly wipe a tear from your eye. “It’s just that…that time it was a dolphin.” You scrunch your face to avoid laughing again and try so hard that it makes your stomach hurt. Your boss continues to stand there, absolutely mortified, while you add another animal to the list of sounds that have come out of his mouth. Since he re-entered the office after a seemingly normal patrol shift, the noises of a bear, horse, mouse, tiger, monkey, a bird you couldn’t identify, and now a dolphin had exited his mouth in place of his scratchy voice. You thought it was a sneeze, the first time the bear roar had echoed through the office, but were equally perplexed when you asked him to sign a form and the only answer you received was high-pitched squeaking. 

“There’s no fucking way,” he’d muttered under his breath when you first explained to him what you thought was happening. It became all too real as his face paled when you played what your phone recorded as his “voice,” which only came out as the insistent hoots of a monkey. He was used to receiving weird looks on the street, especially when civilians realized that they were walking next to one of the top Pros in the country, but it dawned on him that they may have not heard his usual voice when he barked at them to move. “And you’re the only one in the office right now?” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you inform him carefully. “But, if you’re wondering if anyone else is here to help you, there’s not.” You can only imagine what kind of colorful expletives he yelled by the unrelenting scream of bird noises that left his mouth. “And I was about to leave, so if you want me to stay and help–” 

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Oh, great. You’re a horse now,” you deadpan, understanding from his facial expressions alone what he was trying to communicate. “Well, if you don’t need my help, have fun explaining to the guys why you sound like you swallowed a zoo.” Your boss’ face turns bright red at the idea of showing up to dinner with his old classmates in his current state. He fires off a single, precise shot at the rubber door stop before you can exit the meeting room, effectively locking you in there with him until you sort out how to fix him. “So, you do want my help?” You turn to look at him with a knowingly innocent smirk, delighted to find him seething in place but reluctantly nodding. “What’s the magic word?” A single horse neigh echoes through the meeting room and you head to the whiteboard. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You spent the next hour and a half playing a ridiculous game of charades with Bakugo after the alarming discovery that anything he tried to write would become illegible scribbles. You figured that it was just an effect of the Quirk itself, which seemed to give the user the ability to communicate with different animals without being understood by humans. If an eavesdropper managed to figure out what they were saying, the words would become unreadable on the page for further secrecy. Despite inconveniencing your boss and preventing you from leaving the office on time, it did serve as an important tool in the Quirk-stealing weapons trade you’d been investigating. The only issue now was to figure out where Bakugo was hit. 

“So, you’re walking down 25th.” A nod. “And make a right on Pine?” His palm hits his forehead in frustration. “No, no, not right. A left, towards 24th.” Another nod. “And that-that alley, by the coffee shop with the good strawberry milk teas?” More aggressive nodding. “That’s where you got hit? With the dart?” He slams his hand on the desk, nodding furiously. You stare at him, slightly in disbelief as you pull out a rolling chair and slump into it. “How the hell did you get pulled into that alley?” 

“Someone was screaming for help and I’m a hero so I go help them, I don’t fucking know.”

“Dolphin again,” you smirk and he rolls his eyes. “But, really. You don’t ever go that route since it’s too out of the way from where your patrol ends. What were you doing on that side of town?” He pauses, his mouth drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows drawn as he searches for an explanation in his brain. Truth be told, he had no idea what possessed him to take that route back to the office. All he could recall were snapshots, little Polaroids of information that, if he pieced them together, made a relatively cohesive explanation. He’d snapped at you unfairly, a common snap of his temper, but the hurt on your face affected him more than he was willing to admit. Something bothered him about your tense expression and it continued to bother him when he was out of the office and kicking villains into the dirt. It seemed like instinct was the only reason why he headed in the direction of the cafe with the strawberry milk he knew you liked. “Well?”  

He blinks at you once, twice, and then stands abruptly and swings open the door. You watch him through the room’s tall windows as he enters his private office briefly and exits with a cardboard drink holder. A minute later, a plastic cup with the taut seal unbroken is unceremoniously set in front of you, along with a large straw to suck up the extra strawberry bits he knew you always ordered. 

“What is this?”

“What does it look like, idiot?”

“I know it looks like a drink, but why did you get it for me?” His eyes widen with the idea that you could understand him again, but you’re quick to shut him down. “And no, I can’t understand you yet. Right now, you’re a tiger.” You half expect him to launch the other drink, something brown sugar looking, at the wall; instead, he pulls out the chair next to you and stabs his straw into the plastic, gesturing for you to do the same. You obey hesitantly, eyeing him curiously as he avoids your questioning expression. “Thank you.” He huffs, something you’ve learned is the only response he gives to gratitude. “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I hurt your fucking feelings, of course I needed to.” You’re staring at him again, you and your pretty eyes and kind smile and uncanny ability to withstand even his most fiery temper tantrums. He’d discovered his feelings for you months ago and it was like a speed bump was put in front of him every time you were near, always making him trip or say something stupid. Bakugo was never known to be good with his words or his feelings, but you made him feel so warm inside that he’d be a fool to deny what it was. “I guess it’s good that you can’t understand me right now because I can vent about how stupid you make me feel.” You hum, a fond glint catching in your eye. 

“That’s a new one. You’re a chicken right now.” You laugh and he can feel his forehead get airy, like he’d chugged three sojus. What he felt was sweeter, though, without the bitter taste that always followed alcohol. To him, you were pure light. 

“Makes sense, ‘cause I’m too much of a dumbass to tell you how much I care about you. Fuckin’ idiot.” 

“You sure have a lot to say, boss. Go on and let me pretend I’m on a poultry farm.” You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes, appreciating his unexpected gift. “A much needed vacation, in my opinion.”

“There you go again with your stupid sarcasm and your stupid laugh. You’re insufferable, you know that? Always making me run around in circles because I don’t know what I’m fucking doing around you.” You raise your eyebrows melodramatically and nod at him slowly, still having no idea what he’s trying to communicate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty because if you were anyone else, I’d fucking deck them right now.” Your attention shoots to him but gives no indication that you comprehended what he just said, so he goes on. “I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, but I think I’m a little too proud to admit how much I like you. Fucking hell, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

“Hey, boss?”

“The fuck do you want?”

“The Quirk wore off,” you breathe, in complete shock from what he just unknowingly confessed to you. You’d be less surprised if he’d told you that he murdered his way up to the top three. “You started speaking normally when you said,” you pause to try to slow your racing pulse in your ears, “that I was pretty.” You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye to find him bright red and mirroring your wide-eyed expression. “I guess the effects wore off pretty fast?” 

“Yep,” he forces out. “Must have.”

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“It’s why I got you the fucking drink, stupid,” he mumbles, still examining the shiny wood of the table. “Didn’t want you to be sad.” An idea pops into your head and you shrug, leaning nonchalantly back into your chair. You can feel his eyes watching you, reading your body language.

“I know something that would make me less sad.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” You shrug and let the corner of your mouth turn up, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. You didn’t think it was possible to turn such a deep shade of pink and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t amused by how miserable he looked. 

“Take me out to dinner,” you reply, chuckling at the way his nostrils flare. “Repeat all the stuff you said while you were speaking zookeeper. Beside the love confession, of course. I understood that pretty well.” 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the office. “Next time I get you that strawberry milk, you’ll be there with me. Then we’ll both have that stupid quirk.” 

“Mmm, great. We can both tell each other how much we like each other while speaking dolphin.”

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