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purifiedclitoris69 · 4 months ago

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Darkness and Chaos

A/n: I have no idea how long this been sitting in my drafts, but I finally finished it. Bit unedited, hope you all enjoy! Thanks :)

Wanda Maximoff x enhanced!reader

You had always been attuned to the dark—something about shadows called to you from a young age. You first noticed it in fleeting moments, like when the shadows around you seemed to shift with your emotions, with your father's yelling and your mother's crying and both their drinking. It was subtle at first, easily dismissed, until one day, the shadows responded to your will, protecting you from the poison your parents spat. A flick of your hand could send the darkness swirling, you could create solid constructs like weapons and shields, bind enemies with shadow tendrils, teleport through shadows, and even craft illusions to confuse foes, you were an unpredictable force.

It wasn’t long before your abilities attracted the attention of powerful beings—both good and bad. The team had first encountered you during a mission to stop some HYDRA experimentation. you yourself sat in a cell experimenting with dark energy. You had been held captive by HYDRA, forced to use your powers of shadow manipulation for the organization’s twisted ends. However, the moment the Avengers arrived, everything changed. Their mission that quickly spiraled out of control but you helped them without hesitation, shadows erupted from you like a storm, weaving through the battlefield with lethal precision, and taking out the HYDRA agents like you’ve been dreaming of for ages. Your tendrils of darkness restrained enemies, while walls of shadow protected the Avengers from incoming fire. Wanda, immediately sensing your potential, your desperation to be good, reaching out with her magic, she offered you a way out—not just from HYDRA, but from the darkness inside you.

The Avengers wasted no time putting your skills to use. Your shadow manipulation was unlike anything they had seen, with Wanda’s chaos magic, capable of rewriting reality itself, the two of you became the Avengers' secret weapon against threats too powerful for conventional means. Your darkness and her chaos were like a pair of loss lovers beginning to dance. You communicated without words, your powers flowing together. It wasn’t just your powers that made you a powerful duo—it was your connection. You had trained together for months, learning to anticipate each other’s moves, covering for one another’s weaknesses. Where your shadows needed precision and control, Wanda’s chaos magic thrived in unpredictability, giving you both a perfect balance of order and chaos.

In the heat of battle, your synergy was unmatched. Wanda would send waves of crimson magic crashing into your enemies, altering the battlefield in ways no one could predict, while your shadows weaved in and out, creating traps, shields, and devastating strikes from every angle.

Naturally you guys were an inseperable pair outside of the battlefield as well. You were best friendsand everyone on the team knew it. You spend almost every free moment together, whether it's lounging in the common area, cooking meals in the shared kitchen, or training in the gym. But for you, every moment with her is tinged with something more, something you can never quite bring yourself to admit. It’s the little things that get to you—the way she smiles when she catches you stealing the last piece of pizza, or how she lightly nudges you with her shoulder when you’re both watching a movie on the couch, curled up under a blanket. Her laugh, soft and genuine, makes your chest tighten, and sometimes, when she’s not looking, you find yourself staring at her just a little too long, trying to memorize every detail of her face.

You were falling in love with her, hopelessly and utterly in love—but you can’t say it. Not yet, not when it could ruin everything.

Your days are a mix of training, missions, and downtime. During training, the connection you share on the battlefield spills over. You’re so in sync, knowing each other's movements before they even happen. When you spar, it’s like a dance of power all over again, a delicate balance of strength and grace. Sometimes, when you’re caught up in the flow, you’ll catch her eye, and there’s this spark—something just beneath the surface that makes you wonder if she feels it too. But then it passes, and you’re back to being best friends, pretending that the tension isn’t there.

After training, you’ll both collapse onto the floor, breathless and laughing. "I’m getting better," Wanda says, teasing you with a grin.

"You’re still too predictable," you tease back, though you don’t mean it. She’s anything but predictable. Wanda is like a force of nature—fierce and compassionate, more complex than anyone you’ve ever known. It’s what drew you to her in the first place. But you’ve gotten good at hiding your feelings, laughing off the moments that hit a little too close to the truth.

in the evenings, you’ll make dinner together in the compound’s kitchen. Wanda loves experimenting with Sokovian recipes, and you’ve found yourself loving the process too, if only because it means spending more time with her. There’s always a moment when your hands brush as you reach for the same ingredient, or when you stand side by side at the counter, your shoulders touching. You’ll glance at her, and she’ll smile, oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing inside you. Sometimes she'd ask you to just sit at the counter for the company and the insurance so that you wouldn't mess up her 'delicate process,' you'd act annoyed but, it always allowed you to study her more, how she scrunches her nose, the sparkle in her eyes, the way her hair framed her face, anything.

"You're staring again," she says one night, catching you off guard as you chop vegetables.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. "Am I?" you say, trying to sound casual, but your voice comes out just a little too tight.

She laughs softly, nudging you playfully with her elbow. "You’re a terrible liar."

You laugh it off, brushing it aside like you always do, but every time you’re near her, the feelings only grow stronger. It’s in the way she looks at you with those piercing eyes, the way she leans into you when she’s tired, like you’re her safe place.

Sometimes, late at night, when the compound is quiet and it’s just the two of you sitting on the couch, you wonder what it would be like to tell her the truth. But then fear creeps in—the fear of losing her, of changing everything. So, you stay quiet. When she gets up to leave, she often lingers, just for a moment, as if she’s waiting for you to say something more. You wonder if she feels the tension too, if maybe she’s waiting for you to make the first move. But then she’ll smile, say goodnight, and disappear down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the feeling of her absence like a weight on your chest.

Every now and then, you catch her looking at you differently, her gaze lingering a second too long, her touch softer than it needs to be. You wonder if she’s trying to say something without saying it. But you’re too scared to ask, too scared to risk what you have, so you both continue the dance—best friends on the surface, with so much more bubbling underneath.

The rest of the Avengers don't seem to notice the tension. To them, you and Wanda are just inseparable. They joke about it sometimes—and apart of you feel like Natasha knows, Nat teasingly calling you "Wanda’s shadow" because you're always together. And maybe they're right. You follow her wherever she goes, drawn to her like she’s the only source of light in your world. But none of them know how deep your feelings were, how every laugh, every casual touch, every shared glance twists something inside you.

The hardest moments are when Wanda talks about her past—about Vision, the loss, the pain. She opens up to you in ways she doesn’t with anyone else. You’re the one she trusts, the one she comes to when the weight of it all is too much. And you listen, offering comfort the best way you can, but it kills you inside. Because no matter how close you are, a part of her heart still belongs to someone else. And no matter how much you love her, you’re not sure there’s room for you there.

The mission today is different, saving the universe different.

The sky is ablaze with kree ships, and the ground trembles as waves of invaders pour into the city. You and Wanda arrive together, side by side as always, with the rest of the Avengers already in the heat of battle. Steve's voice crackles through your earpiece: “We need backup—now.”

Your heart races, not just from the battle ahead, but from the proximity to Wanda. The mission is urgent, and your mind is focused, but there’s a constant hum in the background—your feelings for her.

You glance over at her, catching a glimpse of her eyes glowing red as she prepares her magic. She looks determined, fierce, and more beautiful than ever. You shake off the thought, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“They’re teleporting in from somewhere,” you say, scanning the battlefield. “If we shut down the portal, we can stop this.”

Wanda nods, and you can see the same determination mirrored in her expression. “I’ll handle the portal. Cover me,” she says, her voice calm but filled with urgency.

Together, you create a dome of darkness, your shadows rising from the ground and swallowing the battlefield in an inky void. The alien invaders stumble, confused, while Wanda floats upward, her crimson magic intertwining with your shadows. You stay close to her, shadows wrapping around your hands like armor as you dispatch enemies who dare to approach. Your abilities blend effortlessly, like they were made to work in unison. And in a way, maybe they were.

As Wanda’s magic tears through the dimensions, severing the invaders’ connection to their homeworld, you can’t help but steal another glance at her. She’s lost in concentration, her hands moving with precise, graceful motions, and it’s in these moments you’re reminded why you’ve fallen for her. It’s not just her power, not just the way you work together in perfect sync—it’s her heart, her kindness, her courage. You’ve seen her at her most vulnerable, and yet she’s never faltered.

With a final surge of magic, Wanda closes the portal, and the skies clear. The remaining invaders are no match for the rest of the Avengers. As you land beside her, the battle over, the battlefield is eerily quiet.

Wanda looks at you, her red magic flickering around her hands before it fades. She’s smiling softly, the exhaustion of the battle evident, but there’s something else in her eyes—something warm, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You did great,” she says, stepping closer. “We always do.”

You chuckle, trying to keep it light. “Only because I’ve got you watching my back.”

Her smile widens, and for a brief moment, the world around you seems to blur. It’s just the two of you now, standing in the aftermath of a battle you won together, like always. But there’s something unspoken between you. You can feel it. It hangs in the air like the only shadow you can’t quite grasp.

Admist the two of your distractions, one of the Kree is able to use the last of it's strengh shooting you twice in the back, one going straight through your abdomen. Wanda's face pales as Natasha quickly finishes of the Kree and you fall into Wanda's arms. You can barely focus, but her presence feels like a lifeline. She cradles your face in her hands, her expression frantic, eyes wide with fear.

“Stay with me,” she pleads, her voice trembling. “You’re going to be okay.”

You can feel the warmth of her hands against your skin, and in that moment, the weight of your unspoken feelings spills over. “Wanda,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, “I need to tell you—”

“Not now, y/n” she interrupts, her voice rising as she tries to keep the panic at bay. “We need to get you out of here first!”

But you can see the truth in her eyes, the fear that lurks beneath her fierce exterior. “I can’t—Wanda, I can’t hold back anymore. I love you. More than you know," you force a pained smile as the tears and burning pain blurr your vision, "I'm in love with you."

For a moment, time seems to freeze. You can see the flicker of hope in her eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by something else—fear, and with that your vision goes black.

"Hurry help! Please!," Wanda screams as the rest of the team rushes over.

"We need to get her on the jet now," Natasha says as Steve pick you up with ease, running you straight to the medical table.

You drift in and out of consciousness, the world around you a haze of sounds and sensations. The dull beeping of machines pulls you back, and when you finally force your eyes open, the sterile light of the medbay greets you. Blinking against the brightness, you focus on the figure by your side—Wanda, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the monitors.

“Y/n?” she whispers standing up, her voice trembling with relief. You try to speak, but your throat feels dry and raw, she quickly hands you a glass of water. She’s leaning closer, her hand holding yours, warm and grounding. “You’re awake. Thank goodness.”

The memories rush back—flashes of battle, the sting of pain, and the way she cradled your face in her hands as the world around you faded, as you finally confessed your love. Panic surges through you. “Wanda, what happened?” you rasp, struggling to sit up, but she gently pushes you back down.

“You were hurt. A Kree shot you.” Her voice is steady, but her eyes betray the storm beneath. “Natasha took care of it. You’re safe now.”

“safe, yeah…” you echo, relief flooding through you. “What about you? Are you okay?”

She nods, but there’s a distance in her gaze, a shadow that lingers just behind her eyes. You want to reach out, to pull her closer and make her feel your warmth, but there’s something heavy in the air—a wall between you.

“Wanda, I—” you start, the urgency of your feelings pressing at the edges of your mind. But before you can finish, she interrupts.

“Y/n, listen. There’s something we need to talk about.” Her tone shifts, the seriousness making your heart drop. You search her face, looking for any sign of what she’s about to say, but all you see is a mix of determination and fear.

"Wanda, what I said, it's true," you gulped down your anxiety, "I justt—"

“I don’t feel the same way,” she says, her voice firm yet shaking slightly. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. “I’m sorry. I care about you, but not like that. We need to focus on being a team...we work better as we are."

Her words pierce through you, each syllable a shard of ice. You feel the warmth of her hands slipping away, and the connection you thought you shared shatters, leaving you raw and exposed. “But I—”

“No, y/n” she cuts you off, her voice rising with a mix of desperation and anguish, "I can't give you what you want. Not in that way, not after everything."

Inside, Wanda is fighting a battle of her own, her heart pounding in her chest. She wants to reach out, to tell you that she feels the same, that she’s been harboring feelings for you since the moment you became friends. But the thought of losing you—the thought of watching you slip away like Vision, like everyone else she’s ever loved—sends a cold wave of terror through her. She remembers the pain of loss, the way it consumed her, the ache that still lingers deep within her soul.

“Wanda, please…” you say, your voice breaking, and her heart aches at the sound. She can see the confusion and hurt in your eyes, and it shatters her inside.

You deserve so much more than a broken person like me, she thinks, forcing a smile that feels like a lie. You deserve someone who can be there for you completely, without fear. But I can’t be that person. I can’t be the reason you’re hurt.

“I just need you to understand,” she says, her voice steadier than she feels. “We can’t cross that line. It’s safer this way.” But as the words leave her lips, she knows they’re a lie. The truth is that she loves you—deeply, but she can’t let herself act on that love. Not now. Not when the fear of loss looms like a shadow, ready to swallow her whole. “I care about you, and I’ll always be here for you,” she adds, trying to keep her voice calm, even as her heart races. “Just… let’s keep it this way.”

You look at her, the hurt in your eyes a mirror of the pain in her heart. She watches as you swallow down the heartbreak and practically return back to the shell of the person they found at HYDRA. As she watches the acceptance settles in your gaze, a part of her breaks, knowing that she’s ultimately built your walls back up, she's pushed you away when all she wanted was to pull you closer.

What have I done? she thinks, her chest tightening as she sees the distance growing between you.

You nod slowly, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat, your heart heavy with the weight of her rejection. And as you lie back against the pillows, the silence fills the space where the truth should be, echoing with everything left unsaid, "I think I'd like some space for a little," you mumble turning away from her as you try so desperately to keep the tears from spilling.

"Okay," she agrees quietly walking towards the door, she pauses looking back as she's about to leave, "I'm sorry, y/n," she leaves.

#marvel fanfic #enhanced!reader #marvel #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #Wanda angst #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff angst #angst no happy ending #unrequited love #friends to strangers

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kentofic · 1 month ago

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hi! ♡ for the christmas scene prompts, can i request 002 & nanami? ♡

i see the vision and absolutely i can 💗 also hello writer of one of my fav zayne fics?? honored to make your acquaintance 🙇🏻‍♀️ this ended up deeply unserious and a little spicy instead of tender, i apologize

Warming up - Nanami Kento x reader (ft. baby Yuuji)

“…Still cold, I see.”

You glare up at Kento, teeth chattering as you huddle in front of the fireplace. You have a blanket tucked around you like a fleece burrito, and you poke your frozen fingers out from the opening, making grabby hands towards him.

“Shut up and gimme my drink, you smug bastard.”

Kento shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips as he places the mug of cocoa into your waiting hands. Your cold fingers clasp around it greedily, eager to soak up all the warmth from the smooth ceramic.

You shiver, your fingers tingling with the transition from frozen to thawed, and you take a sip of the steaming liquid. It replenishes you, warming you all the way down, but even hot cocoa can’t dissipate the persistent chill in your bones.

You look over your shoulder to check on the tiny menace conked out on the couch. Yuuji looks so peaceful like this—curled up under his favorite blanket, snoozing away, his unfinished cocoa abandoned on the coffee table. All but three years old, and he’s a proper agent of chaos. He had hardly waited for you to zip up his coat before bolting out the front door into the freshly fallen snow, too fast for you or Kento to catch. You had chased after him, yelling, his little gloves and hat in hand, as he squealed and launched himself headfirst into a snowdrift.

Thus ensued a game of tag that you sorely lost. Not only that, but you had forgotten your own coat in a heap by the door. By the time Kento came to drape it over your shoulders, you were already wet and cold from tussling in the snow with Yuuji. Kento said to go back inside and change, but Yuuji insisted the two of you must make a Nanamin snowman right that instant. Enamored by Yuuji’s sweet smile, you had wrapped your coat over the cold wet of your sweater and endured it until the toddler tuckered himself out.

Now you’re paying for it, curled up into a ball in front of the fireplace, Kento’s pursed lips saying without words: he told you so.

You pointedly ignore him, focusing instead on chasing the chill from your body. Your front feels warmer now—but your poor back and butt still feel cold to the bone. Staying crosslegged on the floor, you shuffle yourself 180 degrees until your back has been rotated towards the fireplace. You shiver, waiting for the warmth to spread through your chilled flesh.

Kento leans against the arm of the couch, his smile softening with fondness. He appraises you with one eyebrow arched, his amber eyes glittering with amusement.

“You’re like a rotisserie chicken, trying to get warm on all sides.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “It works, okay? My butt is cold!”

Kento chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “I could help with that.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. A new kind of warmth prickles your cheeks.

“…Well, if you’re offering,” you say after a moment, opening the blanket wrapped around you to invite him in.

He lifts the blanket off of you instead, and you protest with a startled, “Hey!”. A chill washes over you without your precious extra layer, but only briefly. Kento scoops you up and settles you on his lap, both of you facing the fire, and he rearranges the blanket across the two of you. Then he wraps his arms around your waist, his broad chest pressed to your back and his chin hooked over your shoulder. Cradled in his larger frame, warmth blooms through every inch of you, and you let out a happy sigh as you snuggle further into your personal space heater.

“Better?” he murmurs, nosing into the side of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there.

“Mm, much,” you hum in response. You set your cup down on the hearth so you can warm your hands on him instead—slipping your chilly fingers under the sleeves of his sweater to trace the warm, thick muscles of his forearms.

Kento shivers very slightly, but doesn’t protest—just lets you steal his body heat as much as you please. He nips at your earlobe, then grazes his teeth across the cold shell of your ear, his breath warming you there. A pleasant shudder rolls down your spine, and you relax further into him, feeling boneless and sleepy. The two of you sit like that for a while, a comfortable silence between you as you look into the crackling flames.

“You know, you were right,” Kento breaks the silence, his voice a soft rumble.

“Hm? Oh. I’m always right.” You giggle when Kento pinches your waist. “But what exactly was I right about?”

You feel him smile into your neck.

“Your butt is cold. Like an ice cube on my—”

“Kento!” You smack him, laughing and incredulous. He pulls your cold butt further into his lap, playfully grinding up into it. You wriggle around, trying to escape his grasp, but he just tightens his arms around you, his muscled forearms flexing under your hands as you try to pry them off.

“Where are you going?” Kento chuckles, his large, warm hands slipping under the hem of your sweater. “I like your cold butt. A lot. Would you mind if I borrowed it for a bit?”

#kento’s gonna end up warming you up more than the fire the blanket or the hot drink 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨#nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami kento #kento nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami #jinnie fic #warminguplinktag

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sophieinwonderland · 4 months ago

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The Plurality of... Bill Cipher (The Book of Bill)

Spoiler Warning for Gravity Falls, The Book of Bill, and the nature of reality as you know it

Hello dear reader.

I recently found in my possession a strange book with no explanation as to how it got there. A bizarre tome known only as The Book of Bill.

I recognized the name and imagery from someone else's memories. Bill Cipher, a character from Alex Hirsch's hit series Gravity Falls.

It honestly seemed too perfect. I've been doing this "Plurality of..." series where I look at plurality in media. And an important part of Bill's shtick was possession.

It seemed simple enough. I can read the book, learn a bit about Bill and his possession, and then write an article about his plurality. But the reality was anything by simple, with far more than I bargained for.

And by the end of this post, this book will have driven me to break a fundamental rule I've held sacred through my "Plurality Of..." series.

What is Plurality?

Before we begin, I should explain what plurality is for anyone new here. Plurality is a term for being multiple in one body in some way.

We call the body's occupants "headmates". These can be anything from alters in dissociative disorders to spirit guides bound to a mortal, to... yes... even literal demonic possession.

Yeah, even being possessed by a demonic triangle from a 2-dimensional universe is a type of plurality. If there are multiple self-conscious agents of some kind there, it's plural!

Time To Get Weird!

(Art by magentasnail)

Let's catch you up on the basics real quick. Again, there will be huge Gravity Falls spoilers.

In Gravity Falls, Bill Cipher is a yellow a 2-dimensional triangle demon bent on causing chaos.

Through the series, Bill makes deals with multiple characters to possess their bodies. This includes both gaining full control over the body of protagonist Dipper Pines for an episode, and more interestingly, sharing control over the body of Stanford Pines for an extended period of time.

Bill's possession of Dipper left Dipper outside his body like a ghost. But his deal with Stanford is much more plural in nature, where they shared control, with Bill only controlling the body in his sleep.

Obviously real plural systems don't have headmates controlling their body while they sleep like this, but the experience can be seen as analogous to dissociative identity disorder, where it's common to experience blackouts and "wake up" in situations unsure how you got there.

That's all you really need to know about Bill for the time being.

With that out of the way, it's time get weird and dive straight into the Book of Bill!

The Book of Bills

As I begin reading the Book of Bill, I'm given a warning from Stanford Pines that the book will rewrite itself based on the mind of the reader. This seems silly, and I of course dismiss the idea out of hand. Surely there's no way a book could change itself based on who's reading it.

As I venture further into this tome, I find the occasional point of interest. References to Bill living in people's brain, him being an idea, etc.

I stop briefly to ponder that. Why does Bill refer to himself as an idea? Isn't he canonically a being from a physical 2-dimensional world? Him being described as an idea is peculiar, but something I tuck away for the future.

The first thing I find that really piques my interest in regards to plurality is the multiple times that it's just referenced that there are multiple Bills in Bill's head. Such as when Bill refers to "the voices in his head" teaming up.

In the plural community, there's a concept known as median system.

A median system is typically a system which has separate parts that are less distinct from each other. There's a pretty solid case that Bill, having a bunch of Bills in his head, could be considered a median system on his own.

In fact, the book itself actually depicts communication between multiple Bills, in the form of an interview.

And throughout the interview, there are times where the Prime Bill seemingly gets annoyed at the interviewer's questions. As if they are actually different people. While this could be Bill simply duplicating himself and pretending for comedic effect, it could just as easily be that both Bills are headmates in Bill's system.

Bill being a median system is a pretty interesting direction.

As I read on though, the book dragged me down yet another rabbit hole, and raised an important question.

Does Bill Have A Dissociative Disorder???

Let's talk about dissociative identity disorder. There are two main criteria for DID. Criterion A is the presence of two or more distinct personality states. You know, like those Bills in Bill's head.

The second is memory loss.

Recurrent gaps in the recall of everyday events, important personal information, and/or traumatic events.

This is what was on my mind when Bill was describing how he was uniquely gifted with the ability to see into the third dimension, and wanted to teach others this same skill.

But when he tries to recount it... this happened...

To me, this sounds exactly what was described in criterion B. This is also called dissociative amnesia.

And it's not just this one-off example. Bill actually references later that he dissociates (his words) and "wakes up" later after a conquest.

With everything we know, it seems incredibly likely that Bill has DID, or at least a related disorder.

Bill is what he eats

Okay... wait...

So Bill can ALSO imprison the souls of those he eats inside himself, and they can apparently take over Bill's body too???

What actually is going on here? Is this one of Bill's powers? He can just eat entire universes and then whatever he consumes becomes a part of him? Or maybe it's something else...

Maybe if we looked at this less literally and consider the previous hints of Bill having a dissociative disorder then perhaps what is going on is that Bill is introjecting these people.

Maybe whenever he enters somebody's mind, some piece of them remains...

I would love to speculate more on this... But this is the only mention of it in the entire book!

At this point, I begin to reflect on the words at the beginning. Maybe it was true that the book was changing itself to give me what I wanted. Little hints of plurality to keep me reading, to ensnare me in its vicious trap and ultimately drive me to madness.

And the worst part was, I was falling into it anyway. Because I had to know, even if this was a trap, I was in it to the very end. My thirst for knowledge and understanding unquenchable.

Even if I knew I should stop here, there was no going back.

Stanford Pines, Bill's Perfect Host

At last, beyond all of the misdirects that were put in my way, I arrived at the reason that I started on this journey.

Stanford Pines.

I need to say that when I started this journey, planning to delve into what the plurality of Bill and Ford might be like, I never imagined that it would be handled so... Beautifully.

I mean that genuinely!

I love the relationship of these two characters in the book!

They are both very out of place in their own ways. Both are aware of things in their world that are denied by others, leaving them ridiculed and ostracized for it. They manage to form a genuine friendship. Even if Bill was using Stanford the whole time to achieve his Weirdmageddon.

The two compliment each other surprisingly well. Bill provides Stanford with a friend who can get him out of his comfort zone, which is something that I think Stanford really needed.

There's a really fun part of the book where Bill just gets Stanford mind-drunk, which is apparently something he can do.

Bill fills a role in Stanford's life that nobody had since he lost contact with his brother. While Stanford had friend in with Fiddleford, his lab partner, and we do get to see parts of that friendship in the book, they are more like work acquaintances.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. Because in the end, Bill is still an evil demon who was bent on bringing about the Weirdmageddon and was manipulating Ford the whole time.

And when Stanford found out, he tried to shut Bill out. This led to Bill trying to communicate through sticky notes to get Ford to stop ignoring him. He would front in the body at night while Ford slept, and they carried on a conversation through these sticky notes.

Wait... Sticky notes?

This is such an interesting choice for the character! Especially after so many hints of Bill Cipher having some sort of dissociative disorder.

Why?

Because sticky notes are an actual method that real DID systems use to communicate with their alters, as seen in this post from the NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) website.

It's fascinating how, if you were to try to depict how headmates with strong dissociative barriers might communicate, this is one of the ways you would want to do that!

Is this coincidental? Maybe. But the talk of dissociation earlier suggests the author also has at least some basic knowledge of dissociation and how it works. And, perhaps, plurality as well?

Overall, this whole section with Bill and Ford was fantastic, and it was well-worth the read for that on its own.

The End?

I suppose this is the end. I found what I wanted. I got the content I was after. A cool plural story of a guy and his headmate from another dimension who wants to take over the world.

Through all the strange distractions and hints of Bill himself having headmates that seemingly went nowhere, I got more plurality in the book than I expected.

And yet, as I turn the final page of the book, I feel unsatisfied. Unsettled.

"Is that it?" I think to myself.

This is Gravity Falls, a show built on mysteries, and looking deeper than the surface. Surely there has to be more. Right?

What if... all the plurality in this book, is obscuring something deeper? Or maybe hinting at something deeper...

And then... I see it!

After the final page, I come to the About the Author section.

Which means it's time to talk about...

The Plurality of... Bill Cipher Alex Hirsch

Yes, I am going there!

In the beginning, I promised that this post will require me to break a rule I've held sacred through these posts.

That rule... is to never speculate on the plurality of the author.

But, Alex Hirsch, at least in a fictional sense, hasn't exactly shied away from the idea of being "possessed" by Bill. This dates back at least a decade, with him making Tweets like this one.

"Bill Cipher" even did an AMA on Reddit through Alex, playing it off as Bill possessing Hirsch while he slept.

It's a pretty open secret in the Gravity Falls community that Alex Hirsch is "possessed" by Bill. At least in some meta-fiction way that may not be canon to Gravity Falls but isn't quite real either.

And were my analysis to stop here, I wouldn't really be saying anything new or valuable. A lot of this was covered by MatPat on Film Theory.

But there's something I want to go back to that confuses me in this book.

That Bill Cipher... is an idea?

Let's bring this full circle, back to the beginning of the book where Bill mentions that he's imaginary and describes himself as an idea.

These are such weird lines because Bill didn't seem to have originated from people's minds within the narrative of Gravity Falls.

His story is of being a being from a literal flat world. So why then, does he describe himself as an idea? Why does he describe himself as imaginary???

Bill Cipher as Alex Hirsch's Tulpa

While Bill being an idea doesn't make sense if he's speaking as a being from a 2-dimensional world that's real to him, it does make sense if we consider that the Bill talking to us, who wrote the Book of Bill, is a tulpa sharing the body of its creator.

Before going on though, we need to answer an important question. What is a tulpa? The r/tulpas subreddit gives its own answer to this in its FAQ.

The simplest way to describe a tulpa is simply another person who was created intentionally/unintentionally through repeated interaction and shares a body and mind with their creator. A more complicated definition can go as follows: A tulpa is believed to be an autonomous consciousness coinhabiting a brain with their creator, often with a form of their creator's initial choice and design. A tulpa is entirely sentient and in control of their opinions, feelings, form and movement. They are willingly created via a number of techniques to act as companions, muses, and advisers. Tulpa forms can either be visualized in the mind's eye, or, with practice, seen as a hallucinatory figure using a technique called imposition.

And let's stop there on the line about being created as muses, because this is something that's found repeated throughout both The Book of Bill and Journal 3, with Stanford referring to Bill as his "muse."

It's a curious term that doesn't appear in the show, but was added to the lore in these two supplemental books.

The FAQ goes on to explain that while tulpas are often considered to be intentionally created, there are also accidental tulpas that can arise through imaginary friends or from writing characters.

Is it possible to accidentally make a tulpa? Yes - many people join the community after realizing they have had tulpas all their lives, but without knowing what they were called. These "accidental" tulpas often arise from imaginary friends and writing/roleplay characters.

On the point of roleplay characters, something I also haven't mentioned yet is that Alex Hirsch didn't just write the character of Bill Cipher. He WAS Bill Cipher. In the show, Bill is one of the characters Hirsch voices along with Grunkle Stan and Soos.

Writing tulpas and how they come about are discussed a bit more below:

Is this a new phenomena? No, it's a practice that goes back in recorded history at least as far as the Greek philosophers. The present name of the phenomenon is derived from the word used by Tibetan monks in the early 20th century. There's also evidence to suggest dedicated prayer can lead to the development of 'religious tulpas' in the minds of the particularly devout, and on the secular end, writing techniques similar to tulpa development techniques can and have resulted in writers creating accidental tulpas from their characters. Having a tulpa is nothing new, although it's gone by many names throughout the course of history and does so even today. However, we believe we are one of the first groups to address this practice as a psychological phenomena rather than a magical, occult or divine experience.

Tulpamancy and Attention

There was another passage from the book that I found noteworthy.

At the end, Stanford describes what truly sustains Bill isn't power, but attention, which Stanford describes as Bill's "lifeblood."

It's even underlined for emphasis.

Why is this important? Well first, this line goes back to the weird lines earlier suggesting Bill is an idea.

But more importantly, feeding on attention is something which is actually a pretty popular philosophy in tulpamancy. That tulpas feed on and are sustained by the attention of their hosts.

How do I give my tulpa energy? Tulpas are sustained by attention, and energy is a convenient metaphor for this. So, you can give your tulpa energy by interacting with them. It is also possible, through no shortage of work and time on the part of host and tulpa alike, for a tulpa to grow beyond this need and to learn how to sustain themselves.

How much attention/energy/interaction does my tulpa need? During the creation process you should aim to interact with your tulpa daily, anywhere from a few minutes up to a few hours, and narrating to them as and when you can. After they're fully vocal and active, the bare minimum is just acknowledging their existence, but spending time talking to them and interacting with them is very much the point of bringing them into existence. Just don't ignore them, and you'll both be fine.

On Parallels in Writing

Adding another layer, it's likely that Stanford Pines is at least partially based on Alex Hirsch himself.

One point of trivia is that Alex Hirsch has a twin sister, and Gravity Falls was inspired by vacations they would take as children. Dipper and Mabel being based on Alex and his sister is pretty well-known. But towards the end of season 2, it's revealed that their Grunkle Stan is a twin himself, with his brother being Stanford Pines, the author of the journals.

During this part of the story, it starts creating a parallel between the relationships of the younger and older twins, with Dipper (who is based on Alex) bonding with Stanford over how much they have in common. Both are nerds who are into writing and science and uncovering the mysteries of the world. Both are a bit socially awkward as well.

And while not much attention is drawn to this particular connection, both had experiences of making deals with Bill that let Bill takeover their bodies at different points.

Based on the parallels between Dipper and Stanford, one might speculate that Alex based Dipper on his younger self, while Stanford was loosely based on himself as an adult.

The personalities of these two characters are also the most likely to create a tulpa based on the psychological profiles of most tulpamancers.

In 2016, Dr. Samuel Veissiere, a psychiatry professor at McGill University, found the following in his study of tulpamancers:

From coding of qualitative interviews collected in large surveys, the most common tulpamancer profile to emerge is one of a highly cerebral, imaginative, highly articulate, upper-middle class, formally educated person with many consistently pursued interests, talents, and hobbies, but limited channels of physical social interaction. Typical tulpamancers are confident about their talents, but are quite modest and socially shy. They possess – or have cultivated – a high propensity for concentration, absorption, hypnotisability, and non-psychotic sensory hallucinations.

The psychological profile of tulpamancers fits both Dipper and Stanford to a t. And many of these same traits could just as easily be true for Alex Hirsch if these characters were meant to be stand-ins for himself.

Is Alex Hirsch trying to tell us that he's plural?

In the end, this is just a theory. And it's one that I feel nervous making because plurality is so deep and personal. That's why I've avoided speculating on the plurality authors in the past. Even when the writing feels so true to the plural experience that it's hard to imagine that someone who isn't plural wrote it.

So why am I making an exception with this one?

Well, in this particular case, I think that the breadcrumbs are being left intentionally, and if he is plural, then he expects somebody to follow them. I'm not worried that I would be outing somebody who didn't want others to find out.

With Alex Hirsch's love of codes and clues and mysteries, if he were plural, I have to imagine that the hints weren't accidental and he would be wondering if anybody would follow them.

And if I am completely off base and he's not plural, I think that he would still appreciate the theorizing anyway. 🤷‍♀️

But if these are intentional clues that were left behind to hint at a real life plurality, one might ask why.

Why would he want people to know about it, and hint at it in this way?

Well, I think the Book of Bill might have an answer to that too.

Shame is a powerful emotion. But it grows in the dark. The more I've tried to hide my past with Bill, the more hold it's had over me.

Perhaps this line is meant to reflect Alex Hirsch's own feelings. Because many plural systems have felt this same way about their plurality, having hide their relationships to their headmates.

The actual end now

Finally, we come to the real ending of this.

This is, again, just a theory. I don't want anyone taking it as fact. I admit that I could be completely wrong about everything that I've said here.

But if nothing else, it's at least fun to imagine that Alex Hirsch does have a Bill Cipher tulpa in his head that has been acting as his muse this whole time. And it would give a new meaning to the gag of the Weirdmageddon intro saying Gravity Falls was "created by Bill Cipher" all those years ago.

Thanks for reading, and if you have your own muse that you think might be more than a simple muse, be sure to read my guide on how to know if your imaginary friend is sentient.

And if you like this post and want to see more like it, you may want to check out The Plurality of… Avatar: The Last Airbender or The Plurality of… IF

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seriiousgiirl · 8 months ago

Text

𝑀𝓎 𝒜𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝓉𝓋𝒶!𝓁𝑜𝓀𝒾 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁ You had always tried to avoid Loki since his arrival at the TVA. His presence seemed to bring chaos and unpredictability into your carefully organised world, and you preferred to keep your distance. But one day, as fate would have it, you found yourself colliding with him. The impact sent papers flying and your heart racing as you stumbled back, flustered and embarrassed. Loki, ever the picture of confidence, caught your eye with a smirk, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

At that moment, the tension between you crackled with electricity, and you realised that perhaps avoiding Loki wasn't as easy as you had thought... . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. slice of life, TVA Loki, canon divergent, no mention of Sylvie, pure fluff and smut, tension, mutual pining and office romance. NSFW, clothed sex, semi-public sex.

➜ ┊: oneshot ⋅ 11K words.

The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above was a comforting constant as you sat at your desk, meticulously sorting through the day's paperwork. Rows of neatly organised files surrounded you, each one a testament to the precise and orderly world you had come to love at the Time Variance Authority.

In fact, you had always liked working at the TVA.

The structure and predictability of your job were a balm to your mind. Every morning you arrived at the same time, greeted by the same faces, and slipped into the same rhythm of work. It was calm, peaceful even, as your duties revolved around filling papers and ensuring everything was in order. The sense of security it provided was unparalleled. You had never known anything else, and you didn't need to.

You weren't a field agent, tasked with the dangerous job of apprehending Variants. No, you were just a simple, normal, office employee. The closest you had ever come to the excitement and peril of the outside world were the stories shared by Mobius. His tales of daring chases and complex cases were fascinating, yet they felt like tales from another realm.

You preferred the stability of your office, far removed from the unpredictability of the timelines.

But everything changed the moment Mobius walked into the office with his new favourite companion in tow: Loki. The God of Mischief himself had entered your realm, and with him, he brought chaos and mischief.

Loki's presence was impossible to ignore. He moved through the office with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his every step commanding attention. Conversations halted mid-sentence as heads turned to follow his steps. Whispers spread like wildfire, each tale more elaborate than the last, painting Loki as both a dangerous renegade and an irresistibly charming man.

Loki had a way of making everyone feel like they were the centre of his universe, if only for a moment. His mischievous smile, the glint in his green eyes, and the smooth cadence of his voice seemed to enchant everyone he encountered. The effect was especially noticeable among your female colleagues. They flocked to him, their laughter ringing louder, their smiles brighter, each one hoping to catch his attention.

You tried to remain detached, to focus on your work as you always had. After all, you prided yourself on your professionalism and your ability to maintain order in the midst of distraction. But it would be a lie to say you were unaffected. His charm was like a siren's call, drawing you in despite your best efforts to resist.

Not that Loki noticed you. In fact, you two had never even spoken.

You preferred to stay hidden behind your desk, your head down, your fingers flying over the paperwork. The uniform you wore, identical to everyone else's, served as a kind of camouflage, blending you into the sea of TVA employees. It was easy to be invisible, and that was exactly what you wanted—right?

While others seemed to bask in the glow of his attention, you observed from afar, your heart a quiet drum in your chest whenever he was near. You couldn't deny his charm or the way he seemed to draw everyone in, but you weren't eager to be caught in his orbit.

The idea of his sharp eyes turning your way was both thrilling and terrifying. You told yourself it was better this way. Better to remain unnoticed. Yet, you couldn't help but watch him, stealing glances whenever you were sure he wouldn't see. His interactions with Mobius were particularly endearing. They seemed to share a friendship that was both unexpected and intriguing, that you could only admire from a distance.

One afternoon, while filing away another stack of reports, you overheard snippets of conversation from across the room. Loki's voice, rich and mocking, drifted over to you. "Mobius, you really think these people can keep the timelines in check? They can't even keep their desks tidy."

You glanced up just in time to see Mobius chuckle, shaking his head. "Don't underestimate the people here, Loki. They're the backbone of the TVA."

Loki's gaze swept across the office, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed to linger in your direction. You quickly ducked your head, focusing intently on the papers in front of you, praying he hadn't noticed your stare.

"Did you see that? Loki looked right over here!" one of your coworkers working right behind you exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her friend, a usually reserved archivist, blushed and nodded. "He did, didn't he? I thought I was imagining it."

"Imagine, the God of Mischief himself glancing our way. Do you think he noticed us?"

She shrugged, but her smile betrayed her delight. "Maybe he did. He's so... mesmerising and handsome..."

You tried to ignore their chatter, burying your attention deeper into your work. Yet, it was impossible not to feel a pang of something—envy, curiosity, or perhaps… a mix of both.

As their excited whispers continued, you risked another glance in Loki's direction, as if to confirm whether he was looking at you or not. This time, you noticed that his eyes were not focused on you but the girls behind you.

With a quiet sigh of relief, you realised that you hadn't been the target of his piercing gaze in the first place.

Thankfully, after that little distraction, the rest of the day passed in a blur of paperwork and muted conversations. The excitement caused by Loki's presence gradually subsided, leaving a buzz of residual energy that lingered in the office.

When the clock finally signalled the end of your shift, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. It was time to bring your finished reports to the archives and be done with your day. You gathered your files, neatly stacking them into a folder, and stood up, stretching your stiff muscles.

The office had started to empty out, your colleagues drifting away to their own routines and lives. With a last quick glance around, you made your way to the archives, the path familiar and comforting—The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights the only sound.

As you approached the archive room, you pushed open the door to the archives, the cool air and musty scent of old paper welcoming you. The room was dimly lit, rows of shelves stretching into the distance, each one filled with the meticulously organised records of the TVA.

You made your way to the designated section, classifying your report with practised ease.

As you slid the last folder into place, a sense of accomplishment settled over you. The day's work was done, and you could finally retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your quarters. You turned to leave, your thoughts already drifting to the comfort of your routine, when you suddenly collided with someone.

More precisely, your face collided with a solid, well-muscled chest, the impact sending papers scattering wildly to the floor around you. The chaos of fluttering documents mirrored the frenzy in your chest as your heart plummeted, preparing for the inevitable apology.

The warmth of his body enveloped you, the scent of his cologne, a heady mix of musk and spice, filling your nostrils. His hand, rough and calloused, gripped your wrist, anchoring you to his chest to steady you.

"I’m so sorry, I didn’t—" you began, looking up to meet the gaze of the person you had so clumsily bumped into. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized him. "Loki," you whispered, the realisation stealing your voice. The God of Mischief himself, tall, dark, and disarmingly handsome, gazed down at you with an arched eyebrow. His thin lips curled into a smirk, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"What have we here? The diligent office worker, causing quite the mess. How… unexpected." Loki's throaty chuckle filled the air, sending shivers down your spine. "No harm done, little one. It’s ok."

In a flurry of nervous energy, you dropped to your knees, gathering the scattered parchment with frantic hands, desperate to regain some semblance of control. Loki joined you, his movements graceful and deliberate as he shared in your task. The closeness of his body sent your heart into a frenzied race, each brush of his fingers against yours leaving you reeling from the lightning bolts of sensation.

As you offered the final document, you dared to lift your gaze to meet his. His expression remained amused, but you swore you caught a glint of something more—a glimmer of curiosity or perhaps longing—hidden within the depths of his emerald eyes.

"Thank you, Loki," you breathed, attempting to steady your trembling hands. "I didn't mean to—"

"No need for apologies, Y/n," he interrupted gently, his voice deep and rich, a melodious rumble that seemed to echo through your very soul. Standing, he extended a hand to help you rise, his touch possessing an otherworldly warmth that seemed to seep into your very bones—he was perhaps a lot of things, but a gentleman and a prince, for sure.

You could feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne—spicy and forbidden—wrapping around you like a seductive fog. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in this private sanctuary until—his words registered fully in your mind, and you blinked in surprise.

"Wait, how do you know my name?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion and curiosity.

Loki's smirk widened, a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh, Mobius often talks about you and your amazing work. He speaks quite highly of you, actually."

Your eyes widened further, a mix of disbelief and a strange, fluttering sensation in your chest. "Mobius talks about me?"

"Indeed, I mean he is your boss," Loki said casually, as if discussing the weather. "He says you're the best at what you do, always meticulous and efficient. It seems you've made quite an impression on him."

You felt a blush creeping up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and pride. Mobius had always been kind, but you had no idea he thought so highly of you. And the fact that Loki, of all people, knew about it was both flattering and daunting. "I... I had no idea," you stammered, trying to process this new information.

Loki chuckled softly, the sound rich and surprisingly comforting. "Well, now you do."

You met his gaze, your heart racing at the intensity of his eyes. For a moment, you felt something, a bridge between your orderly world and the chaos he represented. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"Thank you," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That means a lot."

Loki's expression softened, and he gave a nod of courtesy. "You're welcome, Y/n. Keep up the good work."

With that, he turned and went his way to classify his own files, leaving you standing in the dimly lit archive room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. The encounter had been brief, but it had left an indelible mark, shaking the foundations of your carefully constructed world.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next day at the TVA started just like any other. You slipped into your routine with the ease of long practice, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you processed reports and organised files. The office buzzed with its usual hum of activity, a comforting backdrop to your meticulous work.

Despite your best efforts to maintain your focus, your mind kept drifting back to yesterday. The memory of his intense gaze, the way he had spoken your name—it all lingered in your thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

You watched Loki from afar, just as you had done before. He moved through the office with his characteristic blend of grace and mischief, drawing attention wherever he went. He conversed with Mobius and other agents, his laughter echoing through the grand office. You told yourself that nothing had changed.

You were still just a diligent office worker, content with your quiet, orderly life.

But now, knowing the weight of Loki's gaze, something inside you had shifted. It left you feeling unsatisfied, hungry for more. And that morning, you found yourself stealing glances at him more often, your heart skipping whenever he was near. But despite your best effort to catch his attention, nothing changed… What were you expecting? Perhaps you hoped Loki would greet you, a playful smile on his lips, and make a comment about how amusing it was when you had bumped into him the day before.

Maybe you wanted him to acknowledge your presence for once?

No, you had to be content with what you had. You reminded yourself of this as you filed another report, trying to quell the restless desire that had taken root inside you since yesterday. Your job, your routine—they have always been enough. They had to be enough.

When it was finally time for lunch, you gathered your things with a heavy heart and made your way to the cafeteria. The anticipation from the morning had left you drained, a quiet disappointment settling in as you went through the motions of selecting your usual meal. The familiar tray of food did little to lift your spirits…

You navigated the crowded cafeteria, scanning for an empty table. As you unwrapped your sandwich and took a bite, your thoughts wandered back to Loki—Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the figure approaching your table until a shadow fell over you.

You looked up, startled, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was.

"Do you mind if I take this seat?" Loki asked, his voice smooth and confident.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The cafeteria noise seemed to fade into the background, and all you could focus on was the intensity of his gaze. "Um, no, I don't mind," you managed to say, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.

Loki smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and sat down gracefully. "Thank you. It's rather crowded today, isn't it?"

You nodded, trying to steady your racing heart. "Yeah, it usually is around this time."

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. You took another bite of your sandwich, your mind racing with questions. Why was Loki sitting with you? What did he want? Loki seemed to sense your unease. "I hope I'm not disturbing your lunch," he said, his tone casual. "I simply thought it might be nice to have some company—Mobius, unfortunately, is entangled in an important meeting." He said, in a dramatic tone.

You blinked in surprise, not quite believing your ears. "No, it's fine. I... I usually eat alone, or with my colleagues when they are free..." The last part was a lie, and he seems to pick up on that based on his smirk.

"Well, then I'm glad I could change that today," Loki replied, his smile charming.

As you took another bite, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was the moment you had hoped for all morning. Yet, now that it was happening, you felt unsure of what to say or how to act.

Loki's gaze lingered on your face, a hint of curiosity glinting within his deep green eyes. He picked up his sandwich, taking a bite as he observed you with an air of calculated interest. The silence lingered for a moment more, heavy with the unspoken thoughts that coursed through your minds.

You, feeling the weight of his scrutiny, attempted to break the tension. "So, uh, how did you end up working here with Mobius anyway?" You asked, feigning nonchalance as you tore off a piece of your sandwich, your cheeks flushing at the question's clumsiness. “I only heard part of the story…”

Loki chewed, swallowed, and then replied with a playful grin, "Oh, a lucky encounter really—or perhaps, a misfortune for Mobius. He needs my help and expertise on variants, as I am one myself. Now, here I am, tapping away at a keyboard when they force me to behave and avoiding the wrath of the All-Father when I’m on the missions outside."

You chuckled, relieved by the ease in his response. "Well, it's a good thing for us then, right? A Loki by our side is quite unexpected." You smiled shyly, feeling a strange warmth bloom within your chest.

Loki's eyes sparkled, a mischievous glint dancing within them. "Indeed, and the office would be a far duller place without my charm and wit." He playfully winked, his confidence intoxicating.

You laughed, feeling a giddy thrill coursing through you. But, you weren't going to admit he was right.

Loki leaned back in his chair, his arms resting casually on the table, a picture of unbridled leisure. "Enough about me, Y/n, tell me, what brings you joy in your daily office life?" His eyes held a glint of curiosity, a genuine interest in your life that made your heart swell with warmth.

You hesitated, taken aback by the earnestness in his question. "Well, I enjoy helping people. Organising meetings, coordinating schedules, ensuring everything runs smoothly, filling my reports in time," you admitted, your eyes flickering downwards in a display of coy modesty. “Nothing interesting…”

Loki's lips curved into a grin, the corners crinkling as he nodded. "Ah, the unsung heroine of bureaucracy. I can see why Mobius values your efforts so highly."

You smiled at the compliment, the praise melting away some of the insecurities that had plagued you throughout the day. "Mobius is an excellent leader. I'm glad to be part of his cause." Loki's teasing tone, combined with his genuine admiration, made you feel as if you were basking in the sun. His praise shone like gold, a moment of validation that left you beaming with pleasure. The teasing, though playful, was underpinned by respect and appreciation, a rare and heart-warming combination that left you feeling cherished and seen.

Loki chuckled at your response, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took another sip of his coffee. "His cause? I can see why Mobius's empire would crumble without your guiding hand."

Waving your hand, you brushed off his words with a blush, "Please, I'm hardly that important." You smiled sheepishly, genuinely flattered by his praise.

"On that note," Loki began, his tone teasing and playful, "I'm curious, Y/n. How was your morning? Mine has been so busy, I didn’t have the time to stop by your desk. I hope you’ll excuse my terrible manners."

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, realising how childish you had been to think Loki was avoiding you this morning. Clearly, he had been working hard, and here you were, cursing yourself for jumping to conclusions. You paused, before speaking. "Well, it was... hectic. A few reports due, a meeting cancelled at the last minute, and a printer malfunction to top it off."

Loki's eyebrows rose, feigning shock. "A printer malfunction? Oh, the horror!" His teasing tone was laced with an amused sincerity that put you at ease, a respite from the chaos of your workday.

You couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, the tension dissipating as you found solace in his company. "I know, right? But, I'm glad it's almost over. Tomorrow's a fresh start."

"Speaking of tomorrow, Y/n," Loki leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I'll be in the office again, of course. But, perhaps we can repeat today's pleasant interlude for lunch?" He winked, his charm as powerful as the sweetest nectar.

Your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body at the suggestion. "I... I'd like that." You managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki grinned, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. "Excellent. I look forward to more delightful conversations with you, my dear Y/n. I’m glad we finally have the chance to talk."

With a nod, Loki stood, his hand brushing against yours once more as he gathered his things. Another shiver raced up your spine, the electrifying sensation leaving you breathless. "Until tomorrow, Y/n."

"Until tomorrow," you whispered back. Loki's eyes twinkled with mischief as he offered you a dazzling smile. He then turned and left the break room, his teasing words echoing in your mind.

As you watched him go, you felt breathless, your heart thudding in your chest. A dreamy smile tugged at your lips, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what tomorrow might bring. With a contented sigh, you finally left the break room a few moments later, the encounter replaying in your thoughts.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It seemed like fate liked to put you back in your place, reminding you of the reality of your daily life. A last-minute meeting left you no choice but to skip your lunch and forgo your usual break time—and in the process, the beginning of your lunch routine with Loki. With no time to leave a note on Loki's desk to excuse yourself, you were hurriedly ushered into the meeting room.

The meeting was a whirlwind of instructions and assignments, each one piling onto your already considerable workload. You barely had a moment to catch your breath as tasks were handed out one after another. By the time the meeting finally concluded, you felt drained and overwhelmed, a far cry from the excitement and anticipation you had felt earlier in the day at the prospect of spending time with him.

You wondered what Loki might think.

Would he understand, be angry, or would he see it as a sign of disinterest?

You could rack your brains and think of all the possible scenarios, at that moment you had no other choices than standing in the grand archives room, searching for a useful file related to a new variant case. The quiet, dusty atmosphere of the archives was a stark contrast to the bustling activity of the office. You moved between the towering shelves, your fingers trailing along the spines of countless folders and documents.

As you pulled out one of the files you needed, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. Your encounter with Loki had felt like a brief escape from the monotony of your routine, a tantalising glimpse of something more. Yet, here you were, back in the grind of your daily duties.

And at that moment, you knew, why in the first place you didn’t want to have business with him.

Sighing, you hugged the file to your chest and headed towards the next row of documents. Now, on your tip-toes, you stretched, trying to reach the file that seemed to taunt you from its lofty perch. Suddenly, a familiar masculine scent hung in the air, a perfume that left no guess to who it was as you felt a body press against your back. Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected contact, and you closed your eyes, savouring the warmth.

A warm shiver ran down your spine as his breath ghosted over your ear, whispering, "Need help, Y/n?" The vibration of his voice was enough to steal your breath, and yet, it was his hands—strong yet gentle—that did the real work, lifting you to stand on the tips of his feet.

The file was within your grasp, and as you brought it down, Loki's arms slid around your waist, giving you a momentary squeeze before releasing you. His palms lingered for a moment, leaving tingles in their wake, before dropping away. As you turned around, trapped between the shelves and Loki's towering figure, you met his gaze, his green eyes flickering with a mix of temper and concern. His presence, looming and overpowering, made your heart race, a mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

"I see you're avoiding me," he said, his voice a low growl, thick with displeasure, as if you'd wronged him deeply. "That's not a good idea, Y/n. I don't like to be fooled around, or left waiting." Your eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze as he added, "I thought it was over," a sharp bite to his words. "I thought you were finally not avoiding me anymore."

A wave of heat flooded your cheeks, and you felt yourself shrink back under his unrelenting scrutiny. "Loki, I—" You struggled for words, the guilt you'd managed to suppress threatening to bubble over. "I-I'm sorry. The meeting at the last minute left me no choice," you whispered shakily.

Loki's gaze was unyielding as he questioned, "You could have found a way. If you wanted to."

You swallowed, your voice wavering. "I promise, I wasn't avoiding you. It's just... things have been hectic."

His eyes narrowed, the anger in them a slow burning fuse. "You've been avoiding me since I arrived, Y/n. Don't try to deny it.” Your heart leapt into your throat, and you found yourself at a loss for words, utterly speechless.

Loki stepped closer, crowding the space between you, his heat a palpable presence, as he continued, "If you've changed your mind, if you don't want me anymore, then say it. Don't leave me guessing and waiting for something that might never come." His voice was a demanding rumble, laced with frustration and hints of something more, a need that twisted through you like a thorn.

In that tense, intimate space, you felt the weight of his words, a heavy burden that left you unable to move, unable to deny the truth of what he said. As the seconds stretched on, your breath hitched, and you couldn't seem to break free from his captivating gaze.

Loki's voice, a low, menacing growl, filled the space between you, his words heavy with unspoken threats. "I'm not used to being ignored, Y/n. In the beginning, I thought maybe you hated me, but then..."

His hand, large and commanding, began to move, trailing alongside your thigh, the contact upon your skin only separated by the thin fabric of your tights, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a soft gasp, your breath hitching as he continued, "I caught you staring at me more than once. Why, Y/n, if you didn't want me, would you spend so much time looking at me?"

The intimate touch, coupled with Loki's intense scrutiny, left you breathless, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the right words. "I-I..."

He leaned in, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "Tell me, Y/n. Tell me what's really going on, and why you never seemed to be happy to see me."

The heat from his hand radiated through you, the pressure of his fingers making you needy. Your heart raced, and you licked your lips, the truth, so long denied, bubbling to the surface. The weight of his unyielding gaze forced you to confront the desires you'd been suppressing. It was a moment where you could no longer hide.

"What game do you play, Y/n?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Do you enjoy the chase? Or are you afraid of what you'd find if you let me in?"

As Loki's hand lifted your shirt and the other slipped beneath your skirt, you felt a surge of heat flood your body, mingling with the fear of discovery. His fingers grazed the warm, soft skin of your inner thigh, inching closer to the forbidden territory between your legs.

"No, Loki, we're at work," you stammered, your voice shaking as you tried to push his hand away, but you weren’t truly convincing in your actions. "Someone might find us."

But Loki's grip on your thigh was firm, unyielding, as he continued his relentless pursuit. His eyes held a burning intensity, the lust and need there impossible to ignore. "I won't stop, Y/n, until you tell me the truth," he growled, his voice thick with desire.

You squirmed beneath his touch, a whirlwind of emotions crashing within you. Loki's fingers traced the delicate skin, daring to graze the damp fabric that hid your most intimate secrets.

"I've tried the kinder method, Y/n. Coaxing, seduction, but I can't stand it any longer," he said, the frustration in his voice giving way to raw need. "I need to know what's at the heart of this game you play."

You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and heavy, as his hand slipped beneath your panties, his long fingers teasing the slick heat that awaited him. His thumb brushed against your clit, sending shudders through your body, as he pressed on with a single-minded determination.

Loki's fingers delved deeper into your moist folds, his thumb continuing to circle your clit in a slow, tantalising rhythm. Your body arched into his touch, the pleasure building within you like an inferno, threatening to consume you whole.

His hand moved with an unhurried, almost languid pace, as if savouring the moment, and you couldn't help the moans that escaped your lips. Your nipples hardened against your shirt, straining towards his touch, as the heat between your legs intensified, your arousal slick and voracious.

You clung to his TVA jacket, your legs trembling, as Loki continued his relentless pursuit of your pleasure. The room around you seemed to shrink, narrowing to a single point of focus, the hand that teased you mercilessly.

His other hand gripped your jaw, forcing your head back and to meet his gaze, exposing your throat to his hungry gaze. "Tell me, now. Why do you push me away when you so clearly desire me and my attention?" he growled, his voice heavy with need, as his thumb continued to tease your swollen bud.

The room seemed to spin, the world outside the archives fading away, leaving nothing but the two of you, trapped in a web of lust and deceit. You bit your lip, the truth threatening to spill from your lips, as the line between pleasure and defiance blurred. The God of Mischief's touch, once a source of tension, now threatens to unravel the very core of your being.

You tried to deny his claim, to insist that you never wanted his attention, but the words caught in your throat, because they were lies. The pleasure he'd wrought, the vulnerability he'd exposed, left your denial hollow and meaningless.

But before the moment could resolve, Mobius' voice echoed through the archives, shattering the intimate spell. "Loki! Y/n! We've got a situation," he called out, his voice urgent.

Loki's hand stilled, his eyes never straying from yours for a moment. Then, with a wicked smirk, he pulled his hand away, bringing it up to his lips. Your breath hitched as you watched, wide-eyed, as he licked and tasted your juices, a sinful act that only served to heighten your arousal.

As Loki stood, the air around you thick with unsated desire, he said, "If you really don't want me, I won't press you any further." His tone was teasing. You felt hot and bothered, the lingering touch of the God of Mischief leaving you reeling. Loki's gaze held a challenge, a promise of what might have been.

The aftermath of Loki's touch lingered, a burning ember that refused to be quenched. The cat and mouse game had intensified, and the passion between you was more volatile than ever before.

Mobius appeared at the scene, his brow furrowed as he took in the sight of the two of you, standing so close, the air between you thick with unspoken desire. "Y/n, Loki. What are you doing here? We have so much to do," he said, arching an eyebrow in disapproval.

He scolded you both, his voice laced with frustration. "You need to focus on the task at hand. There are countless Time anomalies to fix. Geez!"

The remnants of your heated encounter, the lingering scent of your arousal, and the smirk on Loki's face, escaped Mobius' notice. He seemed unaware of the tension that had just passed between you, his focus solely on the work at hand.

"Right. Sorry, Mobius," you mumbled, your cheeks flushed, as you tried to compose yourself, discreetly fixing your skirt. Loki, however, gave a nonchalant shrug, his eyes never leaving yours.

Mobius sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Alright. Let's get to work then. We'll need to prioritise the most urgent cases first."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

If you really don't want me, I won't press you any further.

How dare he?! Of course you wanted him.

You had always prided yourself on being wise, diligent, and organised. Your life at the TVA was meticulously structured, each task carefully planned and executed with precision. Yet, after your last encounter with Loki—heated and intense in the archives room—everything you prided yourself on seemed to be slipping away.

The conversation replayed in your mind endlessly. His words, his piercing gaze, the way he had called out your supposed avoidance. You had tried to explain, to justify your actions, but it seemed nothing was enough for him (and you had to admit that you didn’t explain yourself clearly...). But, in any case, how dare he insinuate that you were avoiding him? When he had never talked to you before, it wasn’t avoidance, right?

How dare he tease you with such intensity and then claim he wouldn’t press you further?

All day, you found yourself restless and unfocused, a stark contrast to your usual composed self. The neat stacks of paperwork on your desk seemed to mock you, a reminder of the order you once maintained but now struggled to uphold. Your mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of Loki. Loki, Loki, Loki—it seems like he was the only one in your mind since he had arrived, and now you couldn’t deny yourself.

You were relentless, hungry, and angry. Angry at Loki for his reckless actions and accusations, but also angry at yourself for letting him affect you so deeply. It didn’t sit right with you that he would provoke such a reaction, then leave you to deal with the aftermath alone.

As you worked through another stack of reports, you couldn't shake the feeling of injustice. You had been busy with one meeting—just one—and yet, it felt like your entire world had been turned upside down because of it.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. The rational part of you knew you needed to regain your composure, to return to the calm and collected person you had always been. But the emotional part of you, refused to be silenced.

Maybe it was time to confront him, to make him understand your side of things. Maybe it was time to stop letting him control the narrative and to reclaim the order and stability you had always cherished. The thought of facing him again sent a thrill of both fear and lust through you, but you knew it was something you had to do.

After all, you had always prided yourself on being wise, diligent, and organised.

And you would be those things again—no matter what Loki might throw your way.

Suddenly, you stood up, files in hand, and took a deep breath, trying to gather the small part of your bravery that you never thought you had. With what you hoped was a confident stride, you made your way to Loki's desk. He seemed to be doing everything but working, lazily twirling a pen between his fingers.

You didn't hesitate. Approaching his desk, you firmly placed the files down and, in one smooth motion, sat on the edge of his desk crossing your legs as you did so. The fabric of your skirt lifted, revealing a tantalising glimpse of your thighs, a deliberate tease that left you exposed and vulnerable. Your eyes locked with Loki's, daring him to look, to invade your space, to claim what he coveted.

Loki's gaze flickered to your thighs, his eyes lingering on the tender flesh before snapping back to meet yours. The spark of curiosity and amusement in his gaze flared into a fire, the heat of desire stoked by the brazen invitation you'd issued.

"Not working, I see," you called out, your voice sharper than you intended. "While the rest of us are buried under mountains of paperwork and last-minute meetings, you're here playing with a pen."

Loki's eyes sparkled with interest, and a slow smile spread across his lips. "Ah, Y/n. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" His tone was smooth, almost mocking.

You straighten your posture, trying to maintain your composure. "I wanted to talk to you about our last conversation. You accused me of avoiding you, and I need you to understand that I wasn't. I had responsibilities, a meeting I couldn't skip."

Loki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Responsibilities, yes. But I wonder if you were using them as an excuse."

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Excuse? No, Loki, I take my work seriously. Just because I have duties doesn't mean I'm avoiding you." You whispered, trying not to bring too much attention to the two of you.

He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving the pen as it continued its slow, sensual rotation. "But why were you avoiding me before all this, Y/n?" Your gaze lingered on Loki's fingers, now keenly aware of the pleasure they could bring. The memory of his touch between your legs, the way he sent shivers down your spine, made you bite down on your bottom lip to suppress a shudder of desire.

You felt a surge of arousal, your thoughts racing as you struggled to form a response. "We never talked before, Loki. We weren't acquainted, so I didn't see a reason to approach you."

He studied you for a moment, his gaze intense and probing. "That may be true, but it doesn't explain the way you stared at me. The way your eyes would linger, watching me from afar."

A flush crept up your cheeks at his words, and you felt a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. "I... I wasn't staring," you stammered, trying to downplay the truth. "I was just... observing."

Loki's lips curved into a sly smile. "Observing, were you? Interesting choice of words."

You felt your face heat up even more, and you quickly hushed him, not wanting to delve deeper into your own feelings. "Loki, please. This isn't the time or place."

Loki's eyes gleamed with mischief as he teased you further. "Perhaps, Y/n, but what if I'm not done with our little conversation? Presenting yourself with so much boldness I never thought you could have in you."

As he spoke, his hand crept upward, the movement so subtle that only the sharpest observer would notice. It ghosted up the inside of your thigh, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but tremble at the sensation, your body betraying your feeble attempts to resist his advances. "Loki..." you breathed out, your voice a mix of desire and caution.

"Do you want me to stop?" Loki asked, his voice a velvety growl. His hand paused, hovering just above your knee, waiting for your reply like a predator eyeing its prey. “I assume that if you are here, after all, it’s because you actually want me—at least, more than you care to admit.”

You hesitated, your heart racing as his finger lingered tantalisingly close to the forbidden territory. Loki's gaze was intense, piercing right into your soul, leaving you both exposed and vulnerable.

"No, but…" you whispered, the word escaping your lips before you could fully process its implications. Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, a testament to the turmoil raging within.

Loki's lips curved into a sly smile as his hand resumed its journey, inching higher up your inner thigh. Your breath hitched, the sensation of his touch sending shivers through your body. Just as you felt yourself falling deeper into the enchanting vortex of desire, your pragmatism reasserted itself.

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, the skirt falling back into place, concealing the trail Loki's hand had just traced. "I'm sorry, Loki," you said, your voice steady, "but I'm here to give you these reports, and nothing more." Your eyes met his, a challenge in their depths, daring him to contest your words. "You've got work to do, after all."

Loki's gaze didn't waver, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you wondered if he would defy you, but then he nodded. "Very well… Y/n. I'll get to work." He talked through his teeth, and you knew he wasn’t pleased. As you stepped back, you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable bulge pressing against the seam of Loki's tight pants. The hard outline, clearly visible beneath the fabric, left no doubt as to the reason behind his frustration.

Your eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze as you felt a flush of heat spread across your cheeks. The knowledge that simply being in your presence had triggered such a strong response in Loki was both intoxicating and surprising.

You gave him a brief, reassuring smile before turning on your heel. "I'll leave you to your work now, Loki," you said, your voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions coursing through you. You placed the files on his desk, your fingers brushing against his momentarily. There was no way things were going to be the same after that.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

After your little break at Loki's desk, the rest of the day took a nosedive. Meetings piled up, deadlines loomed larger, and the usual hum of the office became an overwhelming cacophony. Every time you glanced at the clock, the hands seemed to have barely moved, and your workload only grew.

Paperwork seemed to multiply, each new task more urgent than the last. Your usual efficiency was tested to its limits, and you found yourself making more trips to the archives room, fetching files and data for reports that never seemed to end.

The frustration you had felt earlier in the day transformed into a relentless drive to get through your tasks, fueled partly by your need to prove to Loki—and to yourself—that you were as dedicated and capable as you'd claimed. Yet, despite your best efforts, the mountain of work refused to shrink.

Before you knew it, the office had emptied out. The usual chatter and activity died down, replaced by an eerie silence. You glanced at the clock and realised with a start that it was well past the end of the workday.

You sighed deeply, rubbing your tired eyes. Your desk was still covered in unfinished paperwork, and the dim lighting of the office made the stacks of files look even more daunting. As you leaned back in your chair, you felt the weight of the day's events pressing down on you.

A part of you considered calling it a night and leaving the rest for tomorrow, but another part—pushed you to keep going. You had made a promise to yourself, and you intended to keep it, even if it meant staying late.

Just as you were about to dive back into your work, you heard a soft knock on your desk. Looking up, you were surprised to see Loki standing there, his usual air of confidence softened by a hint of concern.

"Still working, Y/n?" he asked, his voice gentle. "You should know when to take a break."

You managed a tired smile. "I lost track of time. There’s just so much to do with this new case."

Loki's gaze softened, and he took a step closer. "Even the most diligent need rest. Let me help."

You blinked, taken aback by his offer. "Help? You?"

He chuckled softly. "Don't sound so surprised. I may be a god of mischief, but even I can lend a hand when needed."

Despite your exhaustion, you felt a warm flutter in your chest. "Alright," you said, scooting over to make room for him. "But no tricks."

Loki grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. "No tricks, I promise. Just a bit of assistance."

As he settled beside you and began sorting through the paperwork, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and gratitude. Maybe, just maybe, the rest of the night wouldn’t be so bad after all. The two of you started to work in silence, an oddly comfortable atmosphere settling between you. The rhythmic shuffling of papers and the occasional scribble of a pen filled the air.

Despite the exhaustion tugging at your limbs, you found solace in his quiet companionship.

Loki worked beside you with surprising efficiency, his long fingers deftly sorting through documents and making notes. You stole a few glances at him, still finding it hard to reconcile the image of the mischievous god with the diligent assistant now by your side. Minutes stretched into hours, and the initial tension gradually eased. It was almost easy to forget the tumultuous events that had brought you to this moment.

But then, breaking the silence, Loki suddenly spoke up. "Y/n, about yesterday in the archives room..."

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a rare seriousness in his eyes, a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

"I need to apologise for my behaviour," he continued, his voice low and sincere. "I should have asked for your consent before touching you. It was inappropriate and disrespectful."

You were taken aback by his apology. Loki, the God of Mischief, admitting fault so openly? It was a side of him you hadn’t expected. "It’s... okay," you managed to say, though the memory of his touch still lingered, both exhilarating and thrilling. "I appreciate your apology, Loki."

He nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. "Thank you for understanding. I’ve spent so long using charm and manipulation that I sometimes forget the importance of boundaries."

Feigning offence, you raised an eyebrow and asked, "So, have you been manipulating me all this time?"

Loki’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly shook his head. "No, not at all. It’s not like that. I haven't been able to control myself around you because... well, I’ve actually been looking forward to spending time with you and learning more about you."

Your feigned offence melted away, replaced by genuine curiosity. "Really?”

Loki let out a sigh, his voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Yes. You intrigue me, Y/n. You're like a puzzle I can't solve. I'll admit, yesterday, I was eager for our lunch, and when it didn't happen, it was my own temper that frustrated me, not you."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Well, you certainly know how to leave an impression, Loki."

Loki hesitated for a moment, then shyly took your hand in his. The unexpected warmth of his touch sent a shiver up your spine. His fingers were cool and smooth, contrasting with the warmth of your own. He looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I have a confession to make," he said softly, lifting his eyes to meet yours. "I’ve watched you from afar too. I tried to catch your attention so many times, but it seemed like whatever I did, you never noticed me."

You looked at him, taken aback by his admission. "You were trying to catch my attention?"

He nodded, his gaze earnest and open, a rare vulnerability shining through. "Yes. It frustrated me to no end. You were always so absorbed in your work, so dedicated. I admired that about you, but I also felt... invisible."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had never imagined that Loki, with all his charisma and presence, could feel invisible. You squeezed his hand gently, the simple touch conveying more than words ever could. "I noticed you, Loki. More than you might think."

Loki's eyes softened, his guarded expression melting away to reveal a tentative smile. "I’m glad to hear that. I suppose we were both watching each other from a distance, too afraid to make the first move."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief and connection wash over you. "Maybe it's time we stopped watching from afar and started getting to know each other."

Loki's chuckle was soft, and his thumb brushed across your knuckles sensually. "I believe that's an invitation I would be more than happy to accept, Y/n." For a moment, you both sat there, hands intertwined, the weight of unspoken words and past misunderstandings lifting.

After a moment, Loki's eyes gleamed with a newfound confidence as he held your hand, his smile playful and inviting. "Y/n, I take it that means you're open to the idea of us getting to know each other better, hmmm?"

The atmosphere between you grew thick with anticipation, charged with the electricity of unspoken desires and the lingering heat from the moments before. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between you, the undeniable longing to explore the depths of what could be. You returned Loki's smile with a shy one of yours, a knowing look in your eyes. "I would like that, Loki. Very much so."

At your words, Loki smirked, a dangerous light in his eyes as he led you through the halls, his grip on your hand tightening. He could feel your heart racing, and it was a thrill. The office was empty, the staff long gone, and the only light was from the halls, casting shadows that danced along the walls.

As you neared the elevator, Loki pressed you against it, his other hand tangling in your hair as he captured your lips in a needy and impatient kiss. His tongue danced with yours, a masterful display of dominance, and you found yourself moaning into the kiss. It was raw, primal, and everything you never knew you needed.

Amidst the heated passion, you managed to gasp out, "Loki, what are we doing?"

He pulled back from the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with sinister hunger. "Exactly what we've both been craving, my dear Y/n," he murmured, his voice dripping with desire.

The sound of the elevator ding broke through the haze of desire, and the doors opened. Loki wasted no time, pushing you inside and pinning you against the wall with a hunger that matched the intensity of his gaze. His hands moved with practised skill, swiftly removing your blazer as his lips sought out the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Then, Loki's hand gripped your hips, as he tore at your blouse as he unveiled your pert breasts. His lips crashed onto your neck, his teeth grazing your skin marking you, and you couldn't help but arch into him.

He kneeled before you, his hands sliding your skirt up, revealing your lace panties. With a smirk, he lowered his head, his tongue snaking out to lick at the lace. Your hands clutched his dark hair, your body trembling as he tasted you through the fabric.

"Please, Loki," you begged, your voice shaking. Loki's eyes flashed up to yours, and he smiled wickedly before standing, pulling your panties and underwear down, leaving you completely naked. He admired your body for a moment, his eyes lingering on your wet pussy, “Mine, little one.”

"Oh, Loki," you moaned, your head falling back as pleasure coursed through you. The sensation of his tongue sent shivers down your spine.

Loki laughed darkly, his tongue continuing to tease you, "Patience, Y/n. We're still in public, after all."

He stood, pulling you against his still fully clothed body, "But that doesn't mean I can't tease you." He trailed kisses up your neck, his hands moving to your breasts, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipples.

You whimpered, your head falling back as you begged for more. "Loki, I need you. I want you to take me, to have me."

Loki's eyes brightened, his hunger for you palpable. "You'll have me soon enough, Y/n. But first, I need to confess something."

You looked at him curiously, your hands moving to cup his face. "Anything, Loki."

He leaned in, whispering into your ear, "I've wanted to do this to you for so long. To claim you, to make you mine, to fill you with my seed and watch as you scream my name. It's been a burning desire that has consumed me— ever since I arrived here."

A shiver ran down your spine as his words washed over you. "And now?" you breathed, your voice trembling with want.

Loki smirked, "Now, it's finally happening, Y/n. Tonight, you're mine, and I'm going to pleasure you in ways you've never even dreamed of."

His lips captured yours in a scorching kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, demanding your surrender. You gave it willingly, your hands tangling in his hair, your bodies pressed tightly together.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with lust. "Come, Y/n. Let's find a more private place where I can truly show you the depths of my desires." Loki scooped you into his arms, the warmth of his body enveloping yours as you looked into his eyes. A knowing smile played on his lips, his eyes dark with lust, promise, and affection.

As the elevator dinged, signalling its final destination, Loki stepped outside, cradling you like a precious treasure and in one smooth motion, he retrieved your discarded clothes from the floor and tucked them under one arm, ensuring that your modesty remained intact.

As the elevator doors opened, Loki strode out confidently, his steps sure and purposeful. Once in his room, he carried you over to his bed. Loki set you down gently, your legs dangling off the edge as he moved to stand in front of you.

You could feel the heat coming off him in waves, the lust in his eyes driving you wild. "Loki," you breathed, your hands reaching up to grip his shirt. "Please, don't make me wait any longer."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours before he whispered, "Then wait no longer, Y/n. Tonight, all your desires will be met." He leaned down, his kiss was desperate, hungry, and consumed with the need to have more of you. Loki's strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. His massive erection pressed against your stomach, a hard, insistent reminder of his desire for you.

Your nipples hardened against the fabric of his shirt, aching for his touch. You arched into him, your tongue eagerly meeting his as he explored your mouth with the same lust he had in his eyes.

Loki growled, his teeth grazing your neck as he trailed kisses along your jawline. You shivered, your breathing ragged as he cupped one of your breasts, squeezing it firmly. He pinched your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and arch even more into his grip.

He kissed down your chest, and he took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking it hard while his fingers played with the other. You moaned, your hands fumbling with his belt, unbuckling it as he switched to the other nipple. Your fingers found the hard length of him through his pants, stroking through the fabric. He groaned, releasing your breast to yank his pants and boxers down, springing his cock free.

Hot breath ghosted over your now-hard nipple as Loki looked up at you, his eyes burning with lust. "Touch me, Y/n. Make me feel how much you want me."

Without hesitation, you wrapped your hand around his thick shaft, squeezing it firmly. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to stroke him. The tip of his cock glistened heavily with precum, and you smeared it across your sensitive nipple, making you gasp and arch into him.

Loki's hand slid between your legs, his fingers making contact with your swollen clit. You cried out, your hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more. Loki's other hand moved to your hair, gripping it tightly as he leaned you back against the soft fabric of his mattress. He kissed you again, his tongue invading your mouth as he rubbed your clit and stroked your entrance. You could feel the slick heat building between your legs, your desire for him growing with every touch.

He broke the kiss, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "Beg for me, Y/n. Tell me how much you want my cock in your tight little pussy."

Your heart thundered in your chest, the desire to please him and experience the pleasure he promised overwhelming. "Please, Loki," you panted, your voice hoarse. "I need your cock inside me. I want you to fill me up, to make me yours." Your gaze locked onto his as you reached for the hem of his shirt, your fingers trembling with anticipation. With a gentle tug, you pulled the fabric upwards, revealing his chiselled chest, his body a testament to the Gods.

Loki smirked, his eyes dark with lust. "Then spread your legs, Y/n, and let me claim what I want." He shifted his position, his muscles rippling as he moved, the sight of him sending a shiver down your spine. Your fingers trailed over his sweat-slick skin, feeling the heat radiating from his body. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his chest, your senses alive with the scent of his masculine aroma.

Finally, you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, filled with desire. "You're handsome," you whispered, your voice soft and breathless. Then, you did as he commanded, spreading your legs and lifting your hips as he slipped two fingers into your slick depths. You moaned, your back arching as he began to fuck you roughly. The sensation of his fingers inside you, coupled with the feeling of his cock in your hand, pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Loki smirked, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, his thumb brushing against your jawline. "And you, Y/n, are the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on." Loki's fingers trailed down to your core, parting your folds and teasing your clit. His touch was electrifying, your body arching into him.

"Faster," you whimpered, your body aching for more. "Please, Loki, fuck me faster."

Just as you were about to climax, Loki pulled his fingers out, leaving you gasping and panting. He positioned his cock at your entrance, rubbing the head against your swollen lips. "Now, Y/n," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "Come for me."

You nodded obediently, your eyes wide with need. Loki thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful motion. You screamed, the sensation of his girth filling you pushing you over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over you as you clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you.

Loki began to thrust, each stroke filling you completely, his cock slick with your juices. You met his thrusts, your hips rocking back against him as the heat between your legs intensified. Loki grunted, his pace increasing as he neared his own climax.

"Cum for me, Y/n," he panted, his voice strained. "Make me feel like a god when I fill you up."

You moaned, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "I-I'm close, Loki, I'm so close."

Loki's eyes glimmered as he watched you, his hands roaming your body, leaving a trail of fire as his fingers glided over your skin. "If only the others knew how filthy their diligent coworkers were," he whispered, his voice dripping with mischief. "How you crave the touch of a god, longing for your chains to be broken and your true desires to be unleashed." He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands continued to worship your body. His fingers trailed over your breast, teasing your sensitive nipples once again.

"You're a goddess in my eyes, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with reverence and desire. "A divine being, deserving of nothing less than the deepest worship and most carnal of pleasures."

Loki's thrusts became more forceful, his hips slamming into yours as he reached his peak. He roared your name, his cock jerking as he filled you with his hot seed. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as you experienced another, more intense orgasm, the two of you lost in each other's arms.

Finally, as the aftershocks subsided, Loki pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. He leaned in to kiss you deeply, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"That," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur against your skin, his breath warm and enticing as he nestled beside you, his arm draped possessively around your waist, "Was only the beginning, my dear Y/n. The beginning of us getting to know each other, of us exploring each other's desires."

You smiled, your chest still rising and falling with the lingering intensity of your shared passion. Pressed against him, you basked in the warmth that enveloped you, the aftermath of your lovemaking leaving you both fulfilled and content. Loki's grin widened, a glimmer of promise dancing in his eyes as he bestowed a final, tender kiss upon your lips. Holding you close, his presence a comforting anchor, he nuzzled against your neck, his touch gentle and reassuring.

In the quiet of the moment, the stillness punctuated only by the rhythm of your breaths and the soft rustle of sheets, you suddenly became acutely aware of the depth of your feelings for him.

"Loki," you murmured, your voice a mere whisper, "I..." Nerves fluttered in your stomach, but the love swelling within you eclipsed any apprehension. "I love you."

Loki's embrace tightened around you, his gaze locking onto yours, his emotions laid bare in his eyes. A soft, tender smile graced his lips as he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours. "Plot twist, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against your skin, "I love you too."

The words hung in the air, a tangible declaration of the bond that had formed between you, binding you together in a web of love and desire. And as you lay entwined with Loki, you couldn't help but wonder that each moment had led you here, to this bed, with Loki's arms around you and his heart beating in sync with yours.

You traced lazy patterns against his chest, savouring the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. The rise and fall of his chest matched the rhythm of your own, a soothing melody that filled the room with a sense of peace.

As the minutes stretched into hours, you lost track of time, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Words became unnecessary, replaced by the silent language of touch and gaze, of shared breaths and lingering kisses.

And in that suspended moment, surrounded by the warmth of Loki's embrace, you knew that this was just the beginning of a journey filled with love, passion, and endless possibility.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next day at the TVA seemed like any other, with paperwork piled high and the hum of activity filling the air. You tried your best to act as though nothing had changed between you and Loki, but the memory of your shared confession lingered in the back of your mind, adding an extra layer of tension to your interactions.

As you made your way through the office, Loki fell into step beside you, his demeanour relaxed and nonchalant. "Good morning, love," he greeted you casually, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You froze mid-step, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as Loki's endearment hung in the air. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Mobius raising an eyebrow in surprise, his gaze flickering between you and Loki with keen interest.

"Love?" Mobius echoed, his tone laced with amusement. "Since when did you two become so... affectionate?"

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to regain your composure. "Uh, it's nothing, Mobius," you stammered, shooting Loki a warning glance. "Just a... figure of speech."

But Loki merely smirked, undeterred by Mobius' scrutiny. "Oh, it's much more than that, Mobius," he replied, his voice dripping with mischief. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

You groaned inwardly, realising that Loki had no intention of letting you off the hook. With a resigned sigh, you shot Mobius an apologetic look before turning back to Loki. "Fine," you conceded, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But let's keep the pet names to a minimum, okay?"

Loki chuckled, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "As you wish, honey." And with that, he sauntered off, leaving you to face Mobius' raised eyebrow and knowing smirk alone.

As you returned to your work, you couldn't help but shake your head at the unpredictable chaos that seemed to follow Loki wherever he went. But despite the embarrassment of the moment, you couldn't deny the warmth that blossomed in your chest at the thought of being called "love" by the God of Mischief himself.

❛ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ❜

#loki #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki x female reader smut #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #loki x f!reader #loki oneshot

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centrally-unplanned · 5 months ago

Text

To talk about monopoly & antitrust, I want to start off with your first day in Econ 101, when you learn "how prices work". The toy model that nearly everyone learns as one of the first things ever is that classic supply-and-demand graph of price and quantity; you know it, I don't need to show it. And in relation to how firms set price in a market, the explanation you get is something like:

"In a world with perfect information, zero transaction costs, rational agents, and no barriers to entry, new firms and/or increased output will enter the market until marginal price equals marginal cost"

This (seemingly) portrays a model where new companies "entering the market" is how prices go down. Like say there are Firms A, B, and C, engaging in oligopolistic pricing for a normal good; what happens is some new Firm X (with the same production costs) emerges with the sole business strategy of "offer prices lower than them because they are skimming" and it drives everyone's prices down in a race to the bottom. That, in a sense, competition between identical firms drives the price equilibrium.

That isn't very true, not in practice and not even theoretically; the 101 stuff just sort of biases you to see it that way. Firm X above is being rational in one way but silly in others; why would it enter a market where its competitors are making healthy profits just to fuck that up, knowing it has no advantage they can't immediately replicate in response? And pay all the fixed costs other firms have already paid to make that 0.1% profit? In real life firms almost never do this, they compete over (actual or perceived) advantage or market segmentation. And it also means that - if all firms are truly the same in a market - cooperating on price, far from being aberrant behavior, is the natural thing to do. Why would I look at my rival firm and lower my price to "undercut" them, knowing that they 100% can just lower it too? We both lose, immediately. In practice, companies often set their prices by looking at the prices of competing firms and matching them!

Many things actually drive the price equilibrium of course, but one of the biggest - and most useful for our purposes - is the substitution effect. If companies defacto cooperate on prices all the time, why is the price not infinity? Well because if you are selling steaks and set the price to infinity, I'm not gonna buy it! I can just buy chicken, for me it's pretty much the same. And chicken is cheaper to make than steak. As a chicken firm, I totally can set my price under your steak and you can never, ever match it; that is a real advantage, one from asymmetries of production. The price of steak is driven by the need to compete with chicken much more than it is driven by the need to compete with "other steaks". And so on down a chain of a million desires and costs and needs.

So to wrap this around to antitrust, there is a common idea out there that monopolistic pricing is increasing from the past because if I look at different industries, so many of them today are consolidated into 2-3 big firms. Your grocery stores are all Giant or Safeway or w/e it is in your city, if you are buying a TV Samsung & LG are half the entire US market. How could these companies not collude on price? Of course they do, and they don't need explicit agreements that would violate extant FTC regulations to do it; they can just softly communicate and feel out cooperation. So you gotta break them up and change the rules so they can't do that.

The trap is thinking this is any different if it was 10 firms - it really isn't! Maybe marginally, sure, and if it was 2000 firms yeah okay the sheer chaos would probably create some price churn; but in the past prices were not driven down by the diversity of firms making price cooperation impossible. The long history of guilds, business associations, chambers of commerce, and so on shows that they had plenty of avenues for cooperation - and often did straight-up set prices. Meanwhile, when Wal-Mart, Target, Aldi, and others all cut prices at around the same time, they are not mainly competing with each other. If they were they would just mutually agree to not do that, without even saying anything! How stupid do you think they are? That isn't hard to do. Instead they are competing with Amazon; with boutique local stores; with restaurants; with the changing price of labor; with shifting consumer sentiment and expectations. The industry concentration doesn't matter.

Until it does of course! Because what is the substitution good for oil? They exist of course, but they ain't cheap; people will still buy gas at gigantic ranges of prices. Here, the fundamental structure of the market is monopolistic - and also a geopolitical clusterfuck, but let's not get into that. Producers openly rig prices sometimes, and antitrust actively regulates against it, and it is a hot mess of governments and companies and all that. Are people who hold patents engaging in monopoly pricing? Obviously, that is the point of patents! It is by design; but there are tons of arguments to be made around creeping exploitation of the IP system. Sometimes hundreds of firms in a dominant market niche will offer complex, bundled products where the price of each piece of obfuscated and the value is subjective, but consensus is you can't not buy the product or you will be screwed and since you can't tell what the product even is, let alone how valuable it is, you can't object when they set the price - I hear these are called "universities", but they go by other names in other sectors.

All of the above are something like "monopolies", which maybe are getting worse over time, but they are monopolies for different, product-specific reasons. I think there is a good deal of FTC work and other reforms that could be done in the US to identify areas where this kind of rent extraction is happening. But what it doesn't look like is opposing blanket industry consolidation. And in fact the correlation is honestly pretty weak. Because identical firm competition does not drive the price equilibrium.

#antitrust discourse #This is not a review of Biden's FTC policy - they are aware of this reality at least in part #This is obliquely a critique of Matt Stoller he is not aware of this

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semisolidmind · 6 months ago

Note

How do you think season 5 would’ve gone in your Bad End or Twice As Bad AU?

ok, so

y'know how, since season 4, mk has been going through the whole “i don’t want to use or even acknowledge my monkey form because it makes me feel like a monster” thing? well, bad end/twice as bad mk doesn’t have that hangup to address, because he’s spent his entire life up until the shows’ events in that form, training and living in it. he knows no other way.

he is an incredibly powerful monkey demon; he is the harbinger of chaos, and he's fine with it.

his “mortal” form is the one he’s been having visions and confrontations with. (i imagine the ink curse in s4 using his mortal form to taunt him about being weak now that he's got mortals he cares about– "keep on compromising for them, and you'll end up just like them; too small and insignificant to ever make a difference.")

instead of having to face his fear that he may be dangerous (because as a crazy powerful monkey demon trained by the two other most powerful monkey demons in the universe, of course he is), his mortal self is trying to tell him that he doesn't have to be a monster like wukong. death and rampant destruction don't have to be his legacy.

the mortal mk in his meditative visions tells him that caring for his friends doesn't make him weak or undeserving of his power and lineage. the visions he has during the guardian trials (and the guardians themselves) tell him that in order to be a real hero, he has to care about those that his training would tell him are "lesser" than him (also that his friends aren't worth less just because they don't have a ridiculous amount of power).

mk would learn to accept that every being in the world has value, regardless of their status. nuwa would tell him this as well, when he meets her.

season 5 would be bad end/twice as bad mk's journey of accepting that he has a mortal heart, and that caring for others has immense power all on its own. he must choose to be the change to the status quo.

he'd always known he was an "agent of chaos," but the events of season five cement in his mind that he was brought into the world for a reason. just that now, he alone gets to decide what that reason is.

----------

as for his mentors...

getting captured and re-bound by the gold fillet wasn't exactly on the monkey king's itinerary, and he's majorly pissed. he levels the surrounding area about it, and decimates all of the soldiers sent to subdue him (regardless of how agonizing the tightening spell is; the pain just makes him angrier). he breaks every ward and barrier placed against him, tears apart any enemy who dares to come close. his rage is a force to be reckoned with.

wukong had sworn he'd never be subjugated by heaven ever again; he's definitely not just gonna let this slide. the celestial realm will suffer for their breach of the tentative peace they brokered by leaving the monkey king well enough alone.

as the only one that gets captured after his fit of rage, he only has to get himself out of celestial prison. easy, despite how many wards are placed on his cell (it's not like heaven has ever been much of a threat to him before, after all). he has to get back to the group, for his family's sake. nothing will stand in his way.

macaque only barely dodges getting locked into a fillet as well, and uses his advantage to launch a sneak attack on nezha and li jing; this forces them back and gives the gang their chance to escape in the chaos caused by the monkey bros.

the shadow general takes the distraction provided by wukong's rampage to get reader and everyone else somewhere safe. from there, the gang helps mk find all the stones, defeat the guardians trials, and eventually make their way to the pillar.

both wukong and macaque try to stop mk from sacrificing himself (in-between fighting the nine-headed demon), and reader tries to talk him down from it. however, she can't argue with the look of quiet determination on his face..she knows that he's made up his mind. with tears in her eyes she embraces him, then lets him go.

wukong tries to go after him, but one look at reader stops him. she's...she's accepted his decision. just like she always has. maybe...maybe this time, wukong should too. he sheds tears and holds onto his wife... but doesn't follow his son into the pillar.

the world goes silent, before bursting back to life.

the stones are destroyed, the nine-headed demon dissapears, and things go back to almost normal.

----------

—i imagine reader, with her skills as a peacemaker developed from her centuries as queen of flower fruit mountain, is the one who keeps everyone calm and grounded throughout their ordeals. she's gotten to know them all through her adopted charge, and keeps them on track.

—now it'd make sense for reader to be left relatively safe on ffm, but given the state of the universe in this season, the monkey bros aren't about to let her out of their sight (weird end-of -the-world-again family road trip). they don't care much for the rest of existence, but even they have to acknowledge that they'd prefer the world and their mountain unbroken.

—the pagoda sequence is a very emotionally tense one for reader and the boys in twice as bad. reader relives being stolen and the early years of her imprisonment; after they break her out of the hundred eyed demon's spell, she won't look at either of them and flinches away when they try to touch her; little does she know, her husbands relived the same thing (plus all the other bad shit they've done). they've learned enough compassion for her to feel a bit of shame.

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au #spoilers kinda

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deltamb3r · 7 months ago

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Your CotL OCs (Narilamb children I guess?) are so cute! I wish I could see them more.

And, yeah! I think I've got an idea! Let them meet their uncles and aunt!

A little late but here you go! I've completely redesigned my NariLamb children! owo (Clothes may change along the way tho)

And while I cannot yet show any children/bishop interaction, lemme tell each one has their bond with them :3

We have:

Mia, the eldest child

She's the little princess of the cult, very well behaved child and a beacon of light for the lives of those around her. She takes both good and bad traits from both her parents. Sometimes she acts a bit spoiled when not in a good mood, but generally she's good at heart. She bonded with Shamura the most.

Ovinnik, the middle child

Ovi for short, he takes his looks mostly from his dad, even though he's a bit of a scaredy cat. He doesn't have lots of self esteem, little by little he's improving his skills both in cult managing and fighting. He tries to act cool sometimes to hide his insecurities, but the cat gets out of the bag very quickly. He wants to become as strong as Baal and Aym someday. He bonded with Kallamar, obviously.

Sole and Luna, the Lamb twins and youngest children

Agents of chaos in the cultgrounds, always trying to elaborate pranks and making their parent's life much difficult. Both their names and Aesthetic is dedicated to Baal and Aym, which they love to play with. Sole looks like a really young Lamb, while Luna takes more from Narinder. They bonded with Leshy and Heket the most, as they enable their prankster behavior a lot, much to their parent's exhaustion.

#ask #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl au #scarlet oblivion au #fankid #narilamb shitten #narilamb #true devotion

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itsmarsss · 3 months ago

Text

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] Bonus - Trippin' Balls

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn’t exactly considered classy, Stolas.)

A truth serum and emotionally repressed demons. What could go wrong with that?

pt 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus

Word Count: 7,045

Warnings: truth seekers episode. hallucination, depictions of various types of trauma, uncomfortable hallucination scene involving boundaries being pushed, don't hate me for reader's hallucination, sexual remarks, jokes and innuendos as always, dhorks are their own warning i dont like the mfers lmao

Look who's back!

You sigh as you watch Blitzø hang from a window frame, trying to climb it. “‘Kay, Blitz, I get it, can we please just go now?” It’s been a long day and, as endearing as his shenanigans can sometimes be, you’re all way too tired for him to be doing all this.

“Shhh, remember- we can’t be seen!” He whispers in reply, right before his hands slip, causing him to promptly fall off his ass from the dumpster he’d been hovering over, landing on the pavement.

“Pardon my words, sir, but you’re currently being the loudest,” Moxxie points out, and it’s objectively true. All his unnecessary tumbling out of stuff and rolling on the ground has been making much more noise than the rest of you combined.

Millie walks off into the portal, Loona already waiting on the other side of it, laughing at the way Blitzø stands back up at lightspeed just to shove his finger on Moxxie’s face. “You shush your dick-sucking lips, Moxxie.”

“Dude,” you call him out, “he’s right. Stop tumbling out of stuff like you’re some secret agent or something.”

“Well fuck you too, bitch! I’ll have you know I stuck a perfect landing.”

Finally changing out of your human form, you decide it’s best not to argue with him if you want to get home any time soon, settling on rolling your eyes and just agreeing with him instead. “Yeah, sure. Very cool. Can we please go now?”

You can just feel he’s right about to insult you in some way when his expression shifts: his eyes widen at the sight of something behind you. “Fuck, shit, Mox, get down!” He yells out, and you don’t even get any time to look back and see what it is that he saw before he tackles both you and Moxxie to the ground and, out of the corner of your eye, you can clearly see what you assume are two tranquilizers land exactly where the two of you just stood. And then you see them.

“Loona! Close it!” Blitzø yells, and you watch as Loona complies, hurriedly closing the portal that led directly to the meeting room in the I.M.P. office, leaving the three of you stuck on Earth.

And, in the middle of all the chaos, that’s when they get you.

All you can register before blacking out is Blitzø screaming in pain at being covered by something, some sort of glowing net. And then everything goes dark.

Shit.

[. . .]

You start panicking the very moment your eyes begin to flutter open, your sight begins to focus and you begin to gain your bearings after being out for who-knows-how-long, assuredly from the damn tranquilizers. Looking around, you gather that you, Blitzø and Moxxie have been tied up to chairs with your backs turned to each other. You pull on the ropes that tie your hands together on the back of your chair, but to no avail, and you hear Blitzø scoff at your attempt.

“Blitz! You’re awake?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t work. I tried. Maybe I should’ve bought that online course on untying army-grade knots.” He shrugs.

“Fuck. Where even are we?”

“Some government facility, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, take a better fucking guess!”

“Hello?” Moxxie mumbles, beginning to wake up as well.

“Mox?” You call.

“What’s going on?” He asks, groggy from the tranquilizer still.

The agents show up out of, seemingly, nowhere. It would be creepy if they didn’t look (and sound) so utterly unqualified and absurdly pathetic. “Y’all finally awake, huh? Your partner there’s been awake for a while.” The blonde woman tells you and Moxxie.

Blitzø immediately starts talking. “Look, shitbag, it takes a lot to keep me down, alright? I took a fuckton of tranquilizers in the college I dropped out of.”

Now that’s new. “You went to college?”

He arches an eyebrow at you. “Why you so surprised?”

“You never told me about that.”

He shrugs. “Eh. Never told you ‘bout the time I was strapped nipple-first to a car battery either, so-” The other agent points a light directly to his eyes, making him squint. “Oh, okay-”

“Tell us, demon scum, who do you work for? Satan?” The guy asks.

“Heh, I wish. The guy’s hot as fuck,” you remark, and Moxxie laughs. By now, you know you’ve all silently agreed to pull the annoying card on them.

They pass the light between each other, the woman now holding it to your face. “How did you get to our world from the afterlife?” She asks, but gives you no time to reply, as the light is passed to the guy again.

“Why are yous killing humans?”

And back to her. “When did you show up here?”

“Damn, that’s a lot of questions,” you point out.

It seems annoying enough, as the man lets out a frustrated growl. “You-”

Blitzø cuts him off. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna stop you right there, bitch. First of all, we just woke up from a veeery nasty shock and I’m still feeling fucking woozy, so I’m gonna request you fetch us some coffee before we get into this. I mean, everyone gets coffee in shitty movies with scenes like this, am I right? I want something iced, bitch. Y/n?”

“Ooh I’d die for some hot chocolate right now! Mox?”

“I’ll have a neapolitan cappuccino, more ‘capu’ than ‘ccino’, make sure it’s got no more than four ounces of milk, the beans won't have the right texture otherwise. And make sure they spell my name correctly on the cup, they always put Foxy or Roxy, I hate that. If you can’t handle that I’ll have a venti traditional misto, please use soy milk, with two blonde shots, affogato and ristretto! I’d also love three vanilla pumps at the very bottom and add the coffee after, and-”

You’re surprised they let him keep going for that long before the man interrupts him. “Enough! We aren’t getting yous coffee!”

“Wow, I was getting massive douche chills just there, Mox, congrats!” Blitzø comments, and he actually sounds proud.

“It was beautiful!” You exclaim.

The lady crouches down to be at eye level with Moxxie.

“If we have to, we are willing to resort to torture methods to get answers out of you nasty Hell beasts.”

“Ooh, you promise?” You ask her, turning up the fake-excitement in your voice, just to piss them off.

“When you say torture do you mean physical or psychological? Physical seems counterproductive. I mean, we’d likely tell you anything if it meant an end to the pain, and you would have no way of knowing what was true.” Moxxie tells her, matter-of-factly, and he’s not wrong.

“Or we might like it too much, and then you got a whole new thing to deal with,” Blitzø adds.

You nod. “We’ve done roleplay rougher than whatever this is.”

The man in front of you quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “What do you mean by that?” Now he’s just asking for this. Blitzø grins.

“Ah, you’re stupid, huh? I can work with stupid. Daddy likey dummy.”

Moxxie can’t contain his laugh at that one, stomping his feet on the ground at Blitzø’s words. “Good one, sir! Daddy likey-”

You can’t keep yourself from laughing, either, when the two agents all but jump back in disgust at what was said.

“You better stop laughing at us!”

“Yeah!”

“But you make it so hard!” Moxxie exclaims.

“You know what else is hard?” Blitzø goes, and it sends the three of you into a laughing fit again.

“Hey!” The man picks Blitzø up with some difficulty. “You are the ones at our mercy.”

Moxxie turns their attention back to himself. “It’s hard to resist, I’m really sorry. I mean, considering your approach thus far you’ve had us tied here for what? Hours? And you haven’t even had us confirm what exactly we are.”

The two idiots share a look between themselves before the woman speaks up. “Well, what are you?”

“I’m a virgo!” He mocks.

“Ha!” Blitzø yells, proud of him, and the man actually looks done this time, letting Blitzø down.

“Ooh, a smart guy, huh?”

His partner looks increasingly annoyed too. “One more quip out of you and we’ll shut you up.”

“Ooh, keep talking dirty,” you purr, and Blitzø immediately matches the energy.

“Getting kinky!”

Both agents jolt backward in disgust, the guy even letting out a horrified screech which, frankly? A bit too much, isn’t it? “We aren’t playing any of your vile demon kinks!”

“I mean, that's what it sounded like back there, you sickos,” Blitzø continues taunting.

“What else do you wanna do to us?” You ask them, raising an eyebrow suggestively, in an over-the-top attempt at ‘flirting’ meant to disgust them even further.

Moxxie catches on. “Please don’t give them ideas!” He exclaims, sounding purposefully fake in the request, as if he wants them to get ideas. Honestly, you’re pretty impressed.

“Why not? I know the shit you’re into,” Blitzø states, and for a second Moxxie’s pleased expression falters.

“Ah!” The man yells. “We are not getting kinky with you!”

You fake-pout, making eye-contact with him. “Why not, big boy?”

“I- I-”

“Oh, you’re good.” Blitzø compliments.

“Thank you.”

The lady pats her partner’s shoulder. “Calm down, One.” That’s the alias? They’re ‘One’ and ‘Two’? Pathetic. “Don’t let these monsters get into your head.”

You can’t contain it. “Aw, but we’re all so good at head!”

‘Two’ growls and the three of you laugh.

“So, aren’t we gonna get our phone call, bitch?” Blitzø asks, annoyed.

‘One’ crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, that entirely depends. Who are you gonna call?”

“Your fat mom! Thanking her for a fat time!” Blitzø blurts out before the agent even finishes speaking entirely.

“Nice try, demon. His fat mom is dead!” ‘Two’ yells out, and the man promptly starts crying.

Okay, things are getting too weird now. And incredibly annoying. So much for getting home soon.

“Stop insulting my mother! She’s dead!”

Eh, you’ve got nothing to lose. “Okay. No more about your mom. Can’t you guys just let us go or something?”

“No?” Both agents reply, at the same time.

You shrug. “Tried.”

“You thought that was gonna work?” Moxxie asks.

“I’m all out on the inconvenient comments.”

“Hey, let’s just leave them here until they feel like talking,” The lady tells ‘One’ with a grin. You all try to tug on the ropes again as soon as they’re out of the door, but still to no avail.

“That online course really would’ve paid off right now,” you point out.

“Hey, don’t worry, we just keep being obnoxious and they'll eventually slip up and we’ll get a chance to get out. Let’s just keep fucking with them until they get so frustrated they stop thinking clearly, it usually works.”

“I guess.”

Moxxie tugs on the ropes again. “I’m just worried about Millie. She’ll be on her way by now, I'm sure.”

“Ugh, she'll be fine, Moxxie. It would take a fucking hippo to take down that woman when she’s upset.”

“He’s right, Mox. Millie can handle her shit.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never dealt with the human government before. She’s in danger!”

“Uh, are you guys seeing this too?” You ask, as you see a green fog slowly spread through the floor of the room.

“Do you ever honestly shut up about Millie? It’s always ‘oh, how's Millie?’, ‘I can't tonight, I’m hanging with Millie’, ‘I'm so worried about Millie’ and she’s always five fucking feet away from you, it’s pathetic.” Blitzø complains, and he actually sounds pissed.

“That was… oddly personal.” Is all Moxxie says in response.

“Yeah dude, you alright there?”

“No you’re right, I don't know why the fuck I just let my guts spill like that.”

That’s a little weird, alright, but are they not seeing the actual, much bigger issue going on right now? “Okay, look, do you guys not see this weird fucking green fog all around?”

Moxxie looks down and, sure enough, is startled when he finally notices it. “Fuck, they’re filling this room with something!”

“Yeah no shit, Moxxie, that’s what I just said!”

“Fuck, the hell is this?” Blitzø asks.

Moxxie squints, looking around a bit more before declaring “I think it’s some kind of airborne truth-telling serum.”

“Oh, you just guessed that’s what it is?”

“Well, uh, just ask me something specific I wouldn’t normally tell you.”

“Okay. Uh… does Millie ever peg you?” Of course that’s what he asks.

“Sometimes,” Moxxie replies instantly without a care before what he just admitted dawns on him. “Wait- ew! Fuck. Why that?”

“Heh. I knew it.”

“Hey why’s that so funny?” You’re speaking before you even process it. “You begged me to peg you for like wee-” Woah. So that was not supposed to come out.

Blitzø interrupts. Thankfully. “Heeyyy, hey, how ‘bout we all shut up?”

“Your suit is tacky!” Moxxie blurts out, as if he’d been holding that in. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“And you have shitty taste in music,” Blitzø blurts right back out. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

“You said you liked that musical I recommended to you!”

“I lied! I left halfway through. I lied to you guys so many times! I’ve lied to Looney before too! Oh my sweet, sweet, Looney, I hope she’s alright she must be so scared-”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yeah, like you don’t absolutely suffocate Loona. You talk about Moxxie and Millie but you’re so much worse with her. She's fine.”

“You take that back, she’s my daughter and it's different!”

“Is it really?”

“I don’t hear you saying shit about how Stolas treats his daughter.”

“Oh I didn’t know Stolas was in this room with us!”

“Oh I bet you wish he was.”

“Well you know who’s also not in this room with us? Your horse. You know why? Cause it’s not fucking real.” Only after all of that does it actually cross your mind that these aren’t things you should be saying. Curse Moxxie for being right about the truth serum. “Oh my- shit I’m sorry.”

“Oh you did not, you bitch! Lavender Magic Bubble Tea is real and she loves me!”

“As real as y/n’s shooting skills.” Moxxie laughs.

You turn your head to face him at lightspeed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“I’m sorry, shit, I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

“I’ll have you know I am improving!” You yell out before you promptly start crying.

“She's improving, Moxxie!” Blitzø defends.

It’s not long before the three of you become a big crying mess, apologizing to each other over and over again through your tears.

[ . . . ]

“Moxxie, this is all your fault!” Blitzø spits.

“How is this my fault?” Moxxie tugs on the ropes that bind his wrists together behind the wooden chair once again as he cries, but it’s not useless this time around.

The ropes fall graciously to the floor as he sets himself free, standing up to walk right into… what even is this? The empty dark room he’d just been in somehow morphs into an almost endless golden staircase, soft white clouds enveloping its surroundings. It makes him cough.

“Guys? I can’t see you. God, this smells awful.”

Moxxie doesn’t question it. He climbs the steps eagerly, wondering what it is he might find at the top.

“What’s that music?” He asks out loud as a melancholic melody takes over the atmosphere. He keeps climbing, and climbing, and climbing until he reaches steps high enough that he’s able to see the top, only to find…

“Blitz? Is that you? Is this a prank? Because I swear to Satan-”

“It is no prank, bitch!” Blitzø, who, for some reason, is dressed in something weirdly similar to the Phantom of The Opera, mask covering the burn marks on his face and all, interrupts.

“Hey! Why do you sound like that?” Moxxie questions, as his appearance doesn’t seem to be the only thing that’s different about his boss- his voice lower, more dramatic and… was that an accent he could hear?

“Because you, my precious little bitch boy, are trippin’ balls!” Blitzø declares, and, in this bizarre chain of events, it does seem like the best explanation as to why the imp sits by an organ at the top of a golden staircase in the sky, somehow playing a perfect melody that just compels Moxxie to sing his worries instead of talking about them. It still freaks him out.

No, what? How could this be? I’ve never tried acid, ‘shrooms or DMT It’s a bad trip, oy gevalt! Of course, Blitz, this would be your fault! My lungs are full of honesty Would you promise me that you won’t judge?

Yes, bitch

Not trying to divulge too much But I’m in too deep So, first of all, fuck you!

What?

This is just typical Well, two can play in this game of dismay ‘Cause, if you’re here causing frustration, I’m torturing you in your hallucination!

[. . .]

Blitzø doesn’t know what this place is or how he got there, but this definitely wasn’t the same dark room he was in just a couple seconds ago. In fact, this barely even looked like the same reality he was in just a couple seconds ago. It’s still empty in this new place, but everything around him looks warped, fake. He’s covered in some sort of red goo that he can’t help but try to smell, and, for some reason he can’t comprehend for the life of him, he’s dressed like a circus clown, because of course that couldn’t be left out from this bizarre nightmare sequence he was living though.

More red goo falls onto him, causing him to fall from his chair, to which he was somehow not bound anymore, and onto the muddy ground, but it’s not like that was the weirdest part of all of this. The goo morphs into some kind of cartoonish version of Moxxie, oddly similar to Blitzø’s own drawings of the imp, and this Moxxie-like creature speaks rapidly to him with words he can barely process, let alone comprehend.

“I simply follow your orders. It isn’t my fault your orders are as nonsensical as sun-tanning bed left out on the cold rainy porch of a fresh april shower-”

“Why are you talking like that? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I am simply speaking Satan’s plain English. Perhaps you should crack open a dictionary sometime. And then maybe you could understand half of the frivolous things I carry on and on about in my many rants about upbringings. It is my honor that you should-”

“Shut up!”

[ . . . ]

Fog.

All you can see all around you is fog. The same green fog that you’d warned your friends about now consumed everything.

You try to blink, to squint, to somehow see anything beyond it, but to no avail, as it was so thick you couldn’t even see your own hands as you tried to wave them around in front of your eyes.

But wait… you were waving your hands around. How?

Standing up, you realize that, just like your hands, your legs had somehow been untied from the wooden chair, leaving you free to take Moxxie and Blitzø and run out of-

Where were Blitzø and Moxxie, anyway?

For all the dead silence indicated, you seemed to be alone in the room, no sign of them anywhere near. You walk around, mind spiraling with all sorts of awful possibilities. Maybe they were still there and the fog had made them pass out. Shit, the more time passes, the more it takes over the space, and you conclude it’s sure to suffocate you soon enough.

Coughing as you feel the substance fill your lungs with each breath you take in, you call out their names, voice hoarse from the lack of air. You call them once, twice, three, four, ten times, until it dawns upon you that they are simply not there, and panic sets into you. If they're not here with you, where are they? What if they're hurt? What if they're-

No.

You let yourself fall to the floor, defeated, and the tears immediately start to come out. What were you supposed to do from here, trapped, alone, scared… dying? How were you supposed to help?

Is this how you die? You’re gonna-

“You’re gonna die like this? That’s pathetic.” A familiar voice makes its presence known from somewhere behind the fog. It takes a single blink for it all to fizzle out, leaving the room almost completely dark and empty, except for…

It can’t be. “Verosika?”

She paces back and forth in front of you. “What, embarrassed? I couldn’t miss this for shit. This might be the best day of my life, really.”

“Verosika, Blitz- he-”

She scoffs, flipping her hair with the back of her hand. “Ugh, enough about the pathetic little imp! This is about you. And about me, I’m enjoying this very, very much.”

“You have to call I.M.P, they-”

She leans closer, looking down at you, and it makes you feel smaller than you’ve ever felt before. Her tall figure looms over you, and it’s easy to imagine how pathetic you look in comparison to her right now. She lifts your chin with her pointer finger and then squeezes your cheeks together. The action alone calls you helpless in all languages you can think of. “Shhh, shhhh. Come on now, you can’t do anything to help them. You’re dying. Ha! Isn’t that hilarious? You’re dying! And so are they. And there’s nothing you can do to stop that.”

With your cheeks squeezed together with increasing strength, you struggle to talk back. “That’s not fucking true, you-”

“Hey, I’m not the one saying it.” She releases you, putting her hands up in surrender.

“What?”

All she does is laugh, and it does sound like her normal, full-of-disdain laugh at first, but an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach when it slowly turns into a sinister sound, a deep, slow, unnatural laugh that echoes all around the little dark room, giving you shivers. Her face contorts in an uncomfortable, bizarre way as the sound gets louder, like her face is made out of clay and being molded by some entity’s invisible hands into something else …

Someone else.

Your eyes widen. “Millie.”

“Y/n? What the- what’s goin’ on?” She asks you, frantically looking around the empty room.

“I’m- I- these guys, they-”

She interrupts, visibly growing increasingly nervous. “Where’s Mox?”

“I don’t know, Mills, I can't find him, I-”

Her focus returns to you, and her tone changes drastically as she repeats your own words. “You can’t find him?”

“No! I’ve been trying, but-”

“You been tryin’? You been tryin’? Last thing I checked you’ve been curled up in this corner talking to yourself.”

“What? No, I tried- Verosika-“

“He’s gone. Isn’t he?”

“What? No, he’s out there, I know it-”

“You ‘know it’? How could ya possibly ‘know it’ when you’ve been here feeling sorry f’yourself ‘stead of looking for him?” Tears threaten to fall from her eyes, and her voice trembles. You’ve never seen her more distressed, and it scares you. If Millie’s lost hope, if she believes Moxxie’s dead, then… “He’s gone, Y/N. My Moxxie’s gone and it’s all your fault!”

“You have to listen to me, I-”

“No,” she interrupts, and her knife is pressed to your throat before you can even see her take it out. She’s fully crying now, but sadness isn’t the only thing you see in the eyes that stare right into your soul.

Rage. You see rage in them.

“Millie, we can still go find them!”

“You won’t be here to find shit!” She lunges at you and you raise your arms over your face to protect yourself, but nothing comes. No knife pierces through your skin, no hands hit you, no teeth sink into you. You let your arms down, only to see remnants of green fog where she stood, as if she’d completely vanished.

“Millie?”

There is nothing but silence for a moment, and you’re sure you’re back to being completely alone in the dark when you hear the noise of steps coming from behind you.

“Millie?”

Whatever it was that made the noise leaves you no more time to wonder before you’re tackled to the floor, hard.

[ . . . ]

Why do you hurt me so?

I know, I push my friends away

(Why must you push your friends away?) Why does this seem like a reoccurring thing that you alienate with your toxic routine?

I don’t know, eventually everyone goes

‘Cause you’re thoughtless and cruel and you’ll end up alone!

[ . . . ]

“Admit it, my dear boss- you don’t know what you’re doing half the time! And you depend on me and the girls to manage your foolish flights of fancy.”

“I don’t need you. I could do this shit on my own so easy!”

Blitzø is thrown back onto the ground with so much strength he struggles to sit back up, and when he does he’s met with a terrifying sight. Before him now is no longer the version of Moxxie he’s used to scribbling on corners of papers when he’s bored. ‘Moxxie’ has transformed into something much worse:

Striker towers over him, and he borrows Blitzø’s own voice as he spits the truth Blitzø ignores like the plague while looking down at him. “But you don’t want to be alone, Blitzo!”

Blitzø has no time to react as he’s yanked into the air by muddy, bodiless hands- only, when his eyesight focuses, they’re not bodiless anymore. A warped, black-and-white version of Fizzarolli contorts and twists its body to spill Blitzø’s insecurities directly to his face: “You tried the solo act, it didn’t work out so well!”

‘Fizzarolli’, who also borrows Blitzø’s voice, untwists his body as he laughs a freaky, grotesque laugh, sending Blitzø flying back to the floor, from where a creature emerges from the mud in front of him, taking form of yet another demon Blitzø loved to pretend he didn’t haunt him.

Verosika crawls her way over to him, cornering him back into something he can’t see. She holds his face in her hands with such strength Blitzø fears his eyes might pop out of their sockets. Unsurprisingly, yet still horrifying, his own voice comes out of her mouth, too, when she speaks. “And you still shove away anyone who gets too close until they resent you for being a selfish shit-spittin’ snob!”

In a desperate attempt to flee from her, Blitzø blindly yanks himself away from her hold, standing up and turning around to face whatever it was that he’d been backed into- only to see it’s a big, fancy staircase. He tries to climb up its steps, only to be stopped by some sort of invisible force that prevents him from getting any closer.

The staircase that looked endless before unveils the sight of none other than Stolas, who sits, in all his royal glory, on a golden throne at the top, while clones of Blitzø himself and Y/N tend to him. Blitzø doesn’t spare a single thought into the matter before he tries to crawl up the steps once again, and realizes perhaps this is how he’s supposed to get there- by crawling his way up to him- seen as the force that once stopped him doesn’t bother him this time around.

As he crawls his way up, he notices his previous circus clown get-up morph into his usual work clothes, but that is long forgotten about when someone magically appears by his side.

Y/N crawls her way up to Stolas alongside him now, golden collars attached to matching golden chains materializing around their necks. Stolas pulls on said chains, forcing them both into kneeling at his feet right before his throne. Stolas leans down, and he gets at face-level with him, but his place is still clear: beneath him, less than.

Stolas tilts his head to the side and smiles.

“Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?” He coos, before releasing his hold on Blitzø’s face. With a flick to his forehead that is almost comical, Blitzø is sent rolling down the steps, landing back on the muddy ground. He holds himself up with difficulty, hands instinctively feeling his neck for the collar that was once there, only to find nothing. Looking back to the top of the stairs, he sees Y/N has been freed from the collar and chains as well, only she’s still there with him, still kneeling on the floor, still worshipping.

“Y/N, come on, you don’t have to-”

She turns back to face him, and her expression shows nothing but anger. “Can’t you let me have this one fucking thing, Blitz?”

“What are you-”

A white flash of light blinds him. He covers his eyes with his right arm, blinking rapidly to try to gain his sight back, only to see something that is somehow even worse- Y/N no longer kneels before Stolas’ throne, but sits right on his lap instead, wearing clothes Blitzø could swear looked identical to what he’d seen Stella in before. The clones of the two of them are now gone.

“What, did you think we needed you?” She laughs as if the mere idea were utterly stupid.

She leans further into Stolas and whispers something in his ear, to which he giggles.

“You’re right, darling, why would he think we would want him? Pathetic little imp.” Stolas speaks to her, but stares right into Blitzø’s eyes as he does so, and grins.

Moxxie, the real Moxxie, instead of some cartoonish version of him, appears in front of him once again, only this time he wears this weird princess-like dress. Blitzø doesn’t question it for even a single second.

“I believe your self-conscious is trying to tell you that you simply cannot fathom proper intimacy, but also crave it as well. And you fear your inability to show affection to those you care for will heed their need for you entirely. Is that not right, sir? It’s rather unfortunate, really, considering it’s often how you treat those who stand by you… such as myself. Are you worried I may have enough of it one day as well?

“Stop fucking talking, all of you!”

[ . . . ]

You bring your hand up to touch the back of your head, where you’d hit the ground, relieved when you see no blood, and you struggle to stand back up. “Fuck. Millie?”

“How could you let him die?”

Shit, that wasn't Millie.

“Loona?”

“You said you’d take care of him. You promised.”

“Loona, I-”

“He was the only thing I had left. He was the only one to actually see me as a fucking person and not some rabid guard dog.”

“Loona, we can go find him, I’m sure he’s-”

“He’s gone! Fucking gone! And who’s fucking fault is that, huh?”

“Loona, I swear, I don’t know what happened to him-“

“Stop lying! You don’t care. You never fucking cared. You don’t care about Moxxie and you don’t care about Millie and you don’t care about Blitz and you don’t care about me.”

“That’s not true, Loons, I love-”

“Shut up!” She yells. Angry tears roll down her face and fall to the ground, fizzling out as green fog into the air. “Shut up. Don’t fucking say it. We all know what it is that you care about.”

“What?

The green fog from her tears envelop her entire figure, leaving you with Stolas right where she just stood when it dissipates.

He holds your face in his hand, lovingly. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Stolas. Is this… is this really you?”

He laughs, tenderly. “Of course, darling. Who else would it be?”

“I… I don’t- I don’t know-”

“Here, you got struck pretty bad, didn’t you? Are you hurt?”

“No, I-”

He doesn’t listen, manhandling you into sitting back down so he can look at the bruises that now cover your face and body. “Don’t lie to me. We’ll take care of it. Alright?”

“Stolas?”

“Hm?” He pays half a mind to what you’re saying as he murmurs what you assume are healing spells as he runs his fingertips over your split bottom lip and the cut on your eyebrow.

“Where’s Blitz?”

He ignores you. “Did you get tackled, dearest? This does not look good.”

“Stolas where is Blitz?” You repeat yourself more clearly. Surely he just didn’t hear you, right?

He touches the bruises on your hand, amused. “And these! Oh my. Have you been fighting some rabid dog?” He laughs.

You retract your hand from his. It can’t be that he’s just ignoring everything you say, can it? “Stolas. Answer me.”

He dodges your words once again. “May I take a look at your head? You might have gotten a concussion from all this.”

“STOLAS!” You yell out, exasperated.

His preoccupied expression drops in a fraction of a second. “What is it?” He asks, visibly annoyed this time around.

“I am asking you a question!”

“I don’t know where he is! I don’t keep track of what you little imps do.”

“What? He’s in danger, Stolas, we need-”

“We need to do what? Help him? Save him?”

“Yes! How can you act so unbothered about all of this when I’m freaking the fuck out-”

“How about we make a deal?”

“What?”

“I’ll help you find your friends. If you give me a little… something… in return,” he offers, leaning closer to you.

“You’re not being serious right now.”

“But I am. You’ve seen no issue with my… deals… before.” He slowly drags his pointer finger along your face, condescendingly tapping your cheek once when he’s done. It actually makes you uncomfortable.

“Stolas, this is not the time.”

“Really? When is the time, pet?”

“Stop. This is not like you.”

“Is it not? Blitzy did warn you.”

“He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’s wrong.”

[ . . . ]

Why, Moxxie, why? Do you hide your true feelings inside?

I am scared of rejection

Why, Moxxie, why? Do you have Millie put it in your butt?

It gives me an erectio- hey!

No need to hide We accept your true feelings, so promise me

That I can do To be true

The world is your anus, so peg it with honesty

“Ugh!”

I’ve been a jackass, it’s true

(You’ve been a jackass, it’s true)

But soon as we’re back as ourselves I will be a better friend than i was before

Be better at speaking my mind

And together we’ll begin to become… Fine

[ . . . ]

Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the brightness of the lights, and you catch a glimpse of the reminiscents of the green fog dissipating. You’re still bound to that damn wodden chair and you can feel Moxxie and Blitzø move as they awaken as well. You look down at the floor, unable to even try and look at either of them after whatever that was that your brain conjured during your hallucination. Judging by the sheer silence, you can only imagine they’ve also gone through some sort of terrible vision while tripping on whatever this substance was.

Moxxie is the first to say something after what feels like an eternity.

“Blitz?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember what you said to me after my first day with the company?”

“Not really,” Blitzø replies with a shrug.

“I remember. You told me I did a good job and that you were proud to work with me. I feel like you wanted to say something more judgemental, but… you said that because I needed it. And it helped.”

“I felt that too.”

“What?”

“When you came by to offer me the job. I wasn’t going to accept it. I think you knew that. But Moxxie said you’d talked non-stop about me and how you needed me for this to work. I felt like you wanted to correct him, but you didn’t. You let him tell me that. I still don’t know if it’s even true, but… I needed that.”

“Look, you care too much about what everyone thinks, except for… me, because, you know, my opinion is correct, but just… keep doing a good job, okay? I’m hard on you because I know what you’re capable of. Both of you. You kill good, you escape things easy, you can be strategic and cold-blooded when you need to and… don’t expect any more compliments, I maxed out.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You know my name. Use it.”

“Thanks, Blitz.”

A silence fills the atmosphere for a few seconds before you manage to say what you’ve been meaning to ever since waking up.

“Hey, Mox?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you… would you maybe give me shooting lessons?”

“Hey, I’m really sorry I said those things-”

“No, you- you were right. I can handle myself with a knife or a dagger or whatever but I’m pretty shit with a gun. And you’re the best shooter I know, so…”

“Second best shooter you know,” Blitzø corrects you, and you roll your eyes, smiling.

“So? What do you say?”

“Yeah. I’d love to, Y/N.”

“Cool.”

“What, you’re not gonna say anything to me?” Blitzø questions, annoyed.

“Honestly? I just… I’m glad you tried to steal from Ozzie that night. I’m glad we’re friends. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah. Same. Don’t expect much more than that, this has already been way too touchy-feely for me.”

You laugh. “Fair enough.”

“So how long do you think they’re gonna keep us-” As if on cue, Millie barges into the room through the glass, interrupting Blitzø. Through the huge hole left on the cracked glass, you see Loona standing on the other side of the room, and for only a moment does it make you nervous to see the both of them again, memories of them, angry and crying, coming back to you.

But Millie crushes Moxxie with a hug and peppers kisses all over his face and unties you and hugs you tight and asks you if you’re okay and suddenly your worries wash away like nothing but a bad memory. She’s there- the real her, and she’s worried about you.

Besides, you don’t get much time to dwell on the memories of what you saw while in delirium, because a siren starts sounding, alerting every single one of the agents in the building of your presence.

[ . . .]

“I- I can’t see dick!” Loona exclaims, exasperated at the useless attempt to read the words from the Grimoire and get all of you back home.

Blitzø fumbles with his pockets, trying to find more weapons, only to come up empty-handed. “Oh, shit. looks like we’ve milked this weapon tit-dry and now we’re out of badass-erry.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’ve got yourselves trapped into a government facility in the human world with no way to get back home and, suddenly, the two idiots that had held you hostage for the majority of the day didn’t seem as stupid as they did just a few minutes ago, now that they had the upper hand.

“Ha! You demons aren’t going anywhere now!” ‘Agent One’ mocks, holding a gun in your direction.

It seems like it might actually be the end for all of you, and it’s actually terrifying.

Until something happens.

The atmosphere in the room shifts, chills coursing through your spine as some sort of presence makes itself known. The many monitors in the room turn on, one at a time, making the sound of static take over the room before they begin to fall to the ground, one at a time as well, screens shattering against the floor.

A voice echoes through the tiny room, ominous and bone-chilling: “Who dare threaten my impish little playthings?”

You and Blitzø immediately whip your heads around to face each other, sharing an alarmed look.

Fuck. Stolas.

[. . .]

“How did you even know that we needed help?” Blitzø asks when Stolas comes back into his usual, normal form.

“I have my ways, darling. Are you two alright?” Is the first thing Stolas says as if possessing someone from Hell and making corpses summon him so he could come up to the human world though that someone’s body was no big deal, grabbing both you and Blitzø by your cheeks and squeezing them hard.

“We’re fine, Stolas,” Blitzø replies with an eye roll.

“Good. Good.” Stolas takes a deep breath before his eyes widen so much they might as well fall off his face- all four of them. “How the fuck did you get caught by humans? Are you little creatures not being careful up here? You know if you get in trouble I get in trouble. We don’t want that.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Stolas. We’re sorry,” you try.

Moxxie nods in agreement. “They caught us off-guard, Your Highness.”

Blitzø has a… less respectful approach. “Yeah, you can unclench your bird-puss, Stolas. It's not gonna happen again, okay?”

“Luckily for you, most don't believe the words of the demon-obsessed lunatics. They are seen as kooks.” Stolas laughs. “Kooks! Such a silly word. Now, let us all return,” He says, opening a opens a portal back to hell with ease.

“Yes, please. I'd like to return to the correct hell-hole as soon as possible,” Moxxie says, jumping into the portal, followed right away by Millie and Loona.

Unspokenly, Blitzø takes his place in Stolas’ arms, and you climb his back until you can wrap your arms around his neck, wrapping your legs around his torso as well.

He looks pleased at the position the three of you find yourselves in, “Am I going to get any thank you for this rescue?”

Blitzø raises a hand to his own chin, as if seriously pondering over the answer.“‘S’ppose you should. What do you think?” He asks you.

“Are you kidding me? That was so fucking hot, you can fuck me into next week for that.”

Your words ignite something within Stolas, whose voice sounds higher than usual when he tries to speak. “Oh. I’d very much like that.”

“Want me to fuck your brains out while you’re at it?” Blitzø offers.

“Very much so.”

“‘Kay but you’re gonna keep quiet or I'm gonna use the bear traps.”

“As if he’s not into that!” You accuse, laughing.

The feathers around Stolas’ neck puff up with arousal as he conjures up images of the scenario in his mind. “Please do.”

“See?”

A/N: yall thought i was giving up huh think again!!!

129 notes · View notes

solar-wing · 1 year ago

Text

⚣ Idiots In Love 🤦‍♂️

⚣🤦‍♂️ A/N → This is a request that I got from my previous account. It's not a re-post though. This is freshly written and done. Here you are @alexanderstarhero! I hope you like it! Not one of my best, but I did get a similar request to this one, and I wanted to get it out. Warnings: Omegaverse | Oblivious Friends to Lovers | Jealousy | Canon-Typical Violence | Kissing and marking | etc.

⚣🤦‍♂️ Summary → Nothing is more frustrating than watching two people who are clearly in love with each other be completely oblivious and ignorant of each other's feelings. It's so obvious, like come on, how could they not see it? Wait, did Conner just protectively wrap his arm around Y/N when Wally got too close? And they're supposed to be "friends?" I can't take this anymore. I'm DONE! I'M OVER IT!

⚣🤦‍♂️ Words → 5.0k

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

Also, vote in my Omegaverse/Yandere poll here!

⚣ ENJOY 🤦‍♂️

It was so sweet, yet also so painful to watch. How could you two be that affectionate and cute with each other, and still have no clue of the feelings you both held? It had to be a screw loose in the brain or something because this was just getting ridiculous.

Shortly after Zatara became the new Dr. Fate, Zatanna, his daughter, reached out to his son and her adoptive brother, Y/N Zatara to come join her at Mount Justice and join the Team. He was more than thrilled at the offer and immediately packed up his things from his boarding school and joined his sister in Happy Harbor.

Y/N had always wanted to join the Justice League’s newest stealth and covert team when it was first formed, but Zatara would not allow it. He didn’t want either of his children to join the Team for various reasons. Specifically, he didn’t want to create any chance or risk of losing Zatanna, his only connection to his deceased wife, Sindella.

For Y/N, he knew the life of a superhero and its sometimes cruel and unfair conditions. The magician knew the already hard life the young omega was given early on and didn’t want to add to it.

When Y/N was very young, he’d become an orphan, his parents disappearing under mysterious circumstances. So, he was placed in foster care and moved between many different foster homes. As the story typically goes, he felt out of place and never really accepted in any of the homes his CPS agent would place him in.

Not just for his magical abilities, but sometimes also for his daily obvious submissive nature. Even if he hadn’t presented yet, Y/N always showed early traits of an Omega dynamic. And, just as many places in the world that had yet to move forward in modern times, there was an inherent bias in the foster care system that favored Alpha or Beta children over Omegas.

It wasn’t until his 5th or 6th foster home that he ran away, and happened to come across a battle between Zatara and Wotan. The magician’s curiosity had been piqued when this random child helped him in taking down the sorcerer. After hearing a bit of the young child’s story, he decided to take him under his wing and adopt him as his son.

Many jokes were made by different leaguers about how he needed to be careful or he’d turn into Batman 2.0.

The Dark Knight did not find the joke amusing.

When Zatara had brought Zatanna to the Team’s new base shortly after their creation as a stealth unit for the Justice League, Y/N wanted to join along, but Zatara insisted he stay at his school and focus on his studies. That’s why he was absent for the first adventures his sister got to join in.

Things changed though when Zatanna decided to use the Helmet of Fate in the battle against Klarion after he split the world into two dimensions with one only full of adults and the other only full of children. As fate would have it (pun unintended), Nabu, the spirit possessing the helmet refused to give up her body as he felt it necessary he establish himself permanently on Earth to prevent the world from falling into chaos.

A deal was made between Zatara and Nabu that he would trade places with his daughter, becoming the new Dr. Fate.

After that, Zatanna’s life was moved from New York to Mount Justice where she lived alongside Miss Martian and Superboy. M’Gann did her best to help her new comrade and roommate feel welcomed, excited at having another girl living at Mount Justice and being able to do all sorts of Earth girly stuff as she saw on TV, but it wasn’t enough.

Zatanna craved familiarity. She missed her home and her dad, and though nothing would ever be able to replace those feelings, she figured having her brother around would help her feel less alone after just a few months of living at the Cave

Yes, was it a bit selfish? Kind of, but, in her defense, Y/N had already wanted to join the Team the second he found out about it. It was their dad who wouldn’t let him, so of course, when he got the call from his sister, he wanted to immediately pack up his things and move himself to Happy Harbor.

But, of course, adults had to intervene. Their leaders suggested Y/N wait till he finished the semester at his current school and then transfer over in the new year after winter break was over. Not what they initially wanted, but knowing they would eventually be together in a few months was enough to hold them over.

After the entire mess with Vandal Savage and his scheme of taking the Justice League was over, Batman and Black Canary began the official process of transferring Y/N over to Happy Harbor. They handled all of the paperwork and administrative details on Zatara’s behalf, and soon, both the Zatara siblings became full-time members of the Team.

The day Y/N arrived was one to be remembered. His future teammates couldn’t think of a time they had seen Zatanna so anxious and excited. When the Zeta Tube machines began whirring up and the automated voice announced his arrival, she almost left skid marks on the floor from how fast she sprinted to the opening.

The very first moment Y/N came through, she immediately ran forward and tackled him into a hug with him returning the gesture as well, happy to see his sister. The other team members watched in silent awe, some a bit emotional than others (*cough* Wally *cough*).

After their tearful reunion, Zatanna introduced her brother to the rest of the team. Everything went smoothly until she got to Superboy, who Y/N immediately became nervous and flushed around the second he laid eyes on the Kryptonian.

Zatanna and Y/N always kept in contact through phone calls, emails, and letters while he was away, and that didn’t change when she met the Young Justice team.

In her messages, she described the Team and its different members, the missions they went on, and all the different stuff about the Cave. She also went into very specific details about one particular member of the group, even going as far as to send pictures sometimes whenever the group took photos together.

Knowing her sweet, Omega brother, and his overly romantic way of thinking, she knew if he and Superboy had ever met, he’d more than likely fall head over heels. Zatanna herself was a Beta, so she wasn’t easily swooned by the sight and smell of Alphas and Omegas like her brother or other certain members of the team (*cough* Wally *cough*).

However, she didn’t expect the surprising (at least to her) relationship between Conner and M’Gann. That truthfully was the plot twist of the season. She was no relationship expert, but if you asked her, those two just didn’t make sense.

There was no chemistry, no connection or spark that even the strongest telescope could see between them. The most you could see was physical attraction if even that. So when it came down to their eventual split a few months later, Zatanta, out of everybody else on the team, was not even the slightest bit surprised.

M’Gann swore they were just on a small break and would be back together in no time, but the sorceress was almost positive it wasn’t happening. Conner showed no interest in wanting to get back with her, which was the entire reason she even started poking at the idea of him and Y/N together in the first place.

They would look so good together, and oh god, could you imagine their children? Cutest kids ever. She wasn’t biased at all, but seriously? Take one look at Y/N, then look at Conner who’s basically the standard of the attractive himbo– ahem, male.

She could even remember her and her dad doing all the thinking of the world of who Y/N’s parents could be.

You didn’t get looks like those by wishing for it or casting a spell…

Hold up?

…

Nah.

Yet, the only issue getting in the way was their inability to confess their obvious feelings for each other. It was like that feeling you get when watching a Dora episode and the twitch but replacing it with a b kept asking for something that was literally RIGHT THERE.

Like, girl, ARE YOU BLIND?!

That had to be the case, considering both reactions from Y/N and Conner when they were introduced.

As mentioned before, Y/N became flustered and nervous, almost stuttering over his words when he went to shake hands with Superboy. He’d been smooth and charismatic with everyone else on the team, but, as Zatanna predicted, the Omega immediately grew a crush on the young superhero. And it definitely wasn’t one-sided.

You know in those cheesy romance novels and movies (Disney we’re looking at you), when the two lovebirds or soulmates first make contact, and there’s that ‘spark’ between them. Like long-lost lovers or some shit like that?

Let’s just say, this was a bit more, extra if you will.

Conner had only been out of his pod for a few months, and what he had yet to discover was that the human part of his DNA meant his genes were also subjected to Alpha/Beta/Omega biology, unlike M’Gann and her Uncle or even Clark. Not much study had been done yet on Kryptonian biology and if they were affected by a similar biological dynamic system like most homo-sapiens were.

Martians were never known to have such a thing in their biology according to Martian Manhunter.

Therefore, it never occurred to anyone the possibility that Conner could very well end up presenting a dynamic at some point if he hadn’t already. When he met Y/N and shook hands with him, you could say his reaction was surprising, bordering on terrifying or hot. Your choice.

The Kryptonian’s nose had flared and he ended up yanking Y/N into his arms, aggressively sniffing at his neck. He also uttered the word ‘Mine’ while glaring and growling at anyone who dared take a step too close.

Hmm, does anyone else have the weirdest sense of Déjà Vu? Weird.

It became clear to everyone right there Conner’s biological dynamic; Alpha. And, considering meeting Y/N was his first time meeting an Omega ever, he reacted quite better than many before they’d seen, which was a bit shocking when you think about it.

The man literally came out of his pod swinging and punching, not to mention his less-than-tactical way of dealing with confrontational situations. Everyone chalked it up to his Kryptonian DNA and his isolation from society for his aggressive ways.

Nope, it was just regular Alpha-like temper tantrums. Typical.

Plus, most of the guys were either Alphas, except for Dick who had yet to present. Artemis and Zatanna were both betas, making Y/N the first and only Omega on the team.

The others managed to separate the two, and when Conner got himself back under control, he apologized embarrassingly before excusing himself. Everyone had brushed it off and wouldn’t hang it over his head, knowing from experience how bad those situations can get when you experience your first ‘hormonal instinct takeover’, or H.I.T. as most would call it.

Whoever thought of that must have considered themselves quite clever. Getting hit with H.I.T.? So corny.

That interaction all but confirmed Zatanna’s predictions that Conner and Y/N would end up together. Though, he didn’t score high in M’Gann’s favor at all.

She wasn’t pleased with that interaction at all and wanted to avoid the possibility of having any repeat mistakes in the future. Things would not go her way. In truth, they would go the opposite.

After they showed him the Cave, they let him get set up in his room which was conveniently right next to Conner’s room. Something else the Martian girl was 100% not happy about.

She tried to point out the fact that maybe if Conner was getting used to his new Alpha dynamic, having an Omega room right next to him wouldn’t be the best idea since it could be a trigger for the Kryptonian. It almost worked too, but once again, things did not go her way.

Surprisingly (not for Zatanna), it was Conner who shot down the idea, saying that he could control himself and didn’t think it necessary for Y/N to move rooms. Besides, the Omega had already started unpacking and getting comfortable, and he didn’t want to inconvenience him.

Which was half the truth…

Little did he or anyone else realize, Conner was already falling in sync with his natural Alpha instincts. And the most urgent of those at the moment was keeping the Omega he desired in a close enough place where he could protect and watch over him.

The thought of having Y/N in a room farther away where he couldn’t immediately get to him if something were to happen left a very sour feeling in the Alpha’s stomach. Thankfully, Batman and Black Canary agreed to let him keep the room. But, Conner would be working with the Dark Knight on controlling and understanding his new biological nature since that was something the G-Gnomes couldn’t telepathically teach him.

M’Gann was not happy.

Zatanna was ecstatic.

Y/N was nervous but also giddy. The Kryptonian was not alone in his feelings or instincts taking over as the second anyone suggested a room change, the Omega was prepared to fight (metaphorically speaking) to stay exactly where he was.

He wasn’t blind at all. Y/N caught on to M’Gann’s motives the second she opened her mouth, and he wasn’t going to let her win if he had anything to say about it. The more time Conner and Y/N spent around each other, the more protective and jealous each other became when it came to anyone else coming around them. Specifically, anyone they saw as a threat.

For Y/N, that was obviously M’Gann.

As time passed by and he got more acclimated into the team, he was not oblivious to the many attempts M’Gann would make to flirt and get back with Conner, even going as far as one day just blatantly asking him if he ever thought about her.

The Kryptonian was kind enough not to embarrass her in front of everyone and pulled her out of the room to explain his platonic feelings for her. Y/N heard everything though, thanks to a spying spell he secretly cast.

And Y/N is not shy about staking his claim on the Alpha, even though they’re only friends. He finds subtle ways to leave his scent on Conner, whether that’s giving him subtle touches where he knows his scent glands are, asking to wear his jacket when he pretends to get cold, or finding an excuse to hug or touch the boy.

Also, if the Alpha ever needs anything, Y/N is the first to grab and provide what it may be. Not only did it please his nature to know he was taking care of an Alpha, but it also satisfied his territorial side whenever M’Gann saw or heard Conner praising him for his assistance.

His biggest success though may have been after an incident where M’Gann tried to read his mind only to have her thoughts scattered by his defensive spell. Y/N was never a big fan of the telepathic link of communication they used on missions, giving M’Gann unlimited access to all of their thoughts.

He placed a protective spell over his and Zatanna’s minds with her permission that would only allow M’Gann access to communicating thoughts and nothing else. If she went searching for more, the spell would activate and deflect her signal right back to her mind, scrambling her head. Imagine a brain freeze or your worst headache, and then put it on steroids. Served her well.

He discreetly put one on Conner as well, but knew he would take it off eventually as he didn’t want to overstep boundaries.

Of course, this caught the attention of others when the Martian girl was more or less screaming in pain for a solid minute. The effect didn’t last long, so she wasn’t being tortured for an extended period, only long enough to teach her a lesson.

When Aqualad asked what happened, Y/N simply explained his discomfort with having an open link into each of their minds and his protective measures in case someone decided to get a little nosy. M’Gann’s little reaction proved his concerns were justified.

The mage suggested that he could use the same spell which would allow them to communicate telepathically still, but just that. No reading one’s thoughts and mind.

Everyone readily agreed to this, of course, the only one protesting it was M’Gann, but considering she was outnumbered, she had no choice but to go along. Aqualad also requested he place that defensive spell on each one of their minds, just in case any of them were to have run-ins with a mind-reading villain like that time in Bialya.

When it came time for him to put the spell on Conner, Y/N decided to come clean and admitted he already placed a spell on him. He claimed it was because he heard how the G-Gnomes used to control him telepathically and figured he wanted to erase any chance of that, which was true, but not the only reason.

Thankfully, the Kryptonian didn’t question him, finding comfort and admiration in the fact that he would go out of his way for him like that. His Alpha side was very happy.

Zatanna, of course, knew better and was very happy watching this entire thing unfold.

Now, on Superboy’s end, his threat was basically anyone who was not either a female, another Omega, or himself. Meaning he sees not just his enemies as a threat to claim over Y/N, but even some of his allies as well.

If he and Y/N were in the same room together and Kal, Wally, or Dick entered, Conner immediately would be on edge. He’d watch their every move like a hawk, especially if they came too close toward the mage for his liking.

If any of them were to be talking to the Omega, they’d turn to find a very aggravated and tense Kryptonian glaring at them with a very clear message. One wrong move and their mentors would be looking for new mentees.

It was something he had to work hard on in his training with Batman and now Superman as well, taming his jealous and possessive instincts. He learned that while Kryptonians don’t share the same biological dynamics as humans do, they do still have stronger instincts and urges, which can amplify his already strong Alpha nature.

It proved easier said than done.

It was so easy for him to let his protective nature take over, even when Y/N was perfectly safe or in total control of a situation.

Many times on missions, Conner would all but demand that Y/N be paired with him if they were to split up. Even if it sometimes made sense for the mage to be paired off with a different person, he’d barely budge. With Artemis or Zatanna, he was lenient. M’Gann was just an automatic no. And any of the other guys, it’d be easier to ask Batman to not brood for one day.

That wasn’t even the worst part, though. Many times on missions or in battles, the Kryptonian would demand Y/N stay back and let him handle the fight, even if the mage was winning.

At one point, Wotan sought revenge against Zatara, Dr. Fate, and the Omega who defeated him so many years ago and had once again combined forces with Klarion to put many heroes in the Justice League under a spell. Similar to when that mind control thing happened with Vandal Savage, but this time, they were instructed to just destroy those three.

Of course, as Fate would have it (no pun intended), Superboy and Y/N ended up facing off against Superman. Now, given the last time the two Kryptonians faced off, you’d think Conner would have taken the back-pedal, considering they both shared a similar weakness to magic.

Nope.

Conner insisted that Y/N stay behind him and that he would take care of Superman himself. He held out for as long as he could, but, at some point, the mage just couldn’t continue to sit by and watch.

They won the battle, and Zatanna and Y/N were able to break the spell over the heroes, but Conner was not happy with the Omega at all. However, he couldn’t figure out if he was more upset about the fact he disobeyed him or that he put his life in danger for him.

And, truthfully, he had to wonder if he was only upset and not also appreciative and grateful for the knowledge of knowing that if he truly was ever in trouble, he could count on Y/N to be there to help him when he couldn’t help himself.

Again, Zatanna was fully enjoying herself watching this play out.

Yet, the longer it went on, the more she and the others got tired of waiting. Even M’Gann was getting restless wondering when those two were going to man up and admit their feelings.

In the beginning, Y/N and Conner were both very awkward around each other, considering how they first met. The Kryptonian felt as if he didn’t know how to approach the Omega without humiliating himself again. And, the mage felt like he didn’t know how to talk to the Alpha without getting flustered and nervous and saying something embarrassing.

Truly, two peas in a pod.

But, their mutual affection and painfully obvious feelings for each other would bring them closer over time, and they soon became almost virtually inseparable. There weren’t many instances where anyone could say they saw one without the other. Especially Conner who always made it a point to be in the same vicinity as Y/N.

Zatanna and the others eventually got tired of waiting and cooked up a plan to get the two together so they could finally end this drawn-out torture. Since they were both so oblivious, they decided the best way to get them to admit their feelings was for lack of a better phrase, ‘forcing them in a corner.’

Some legitimate concerns did come up considering their plan consisted of Wally flirting with Y/N to irritate and make Conner jealous. The main one came from the speedster himself in how they would keep the Kryptonian from trying to essentially murder him.

Don’t get him wrong; Wally was no coward. But, he knew when he was outmatched in a fight, and considering how territorial and aggressive Alphas could get when they felt challenged since he was one himself, the possibilities were all too real in his mind.

Zatanna, Dick, and the others promised they wouldn’t let that happen, but it didn’t do much to alleviate the concerns in his mind. But, in a surprising twist of events, it turned out Conner wasn’t the one they had to worry about.

They put their plan into action early in the mornings, with Wally giving subtle one-liners and suggestive looks in Y/N’s direction. As predicted, Conner immediately became disgruntled, growing irritated and frustrated with every flirty line and look out of the speedster’s mouth toward his Omega (at least in his mind).

Y/N was surprised by this as well and did his best to ignore Wally’s advances, but not good enough in a certain Martain’s eye.

M’Gann was not in on Zatanna’s plans for obvious reasons, and when she saw Wally’s attempts at flirting with the Omega took that as her golden opportunity to win Conner back. She found the Alpha in the training room by himself, a rare occurrence where Y/N was nowhere in sight.

He was busy sparring with the reinforced punching bag Batman created for him, doing his best to control and tame his anger like Superman and Batman taught him. But, his super hearing wouldn’t allow much of that since he could still hear every flirty line out of Wally’s mouth which just increased the intensity of his punches.

M’Gann took advantage of his angry state, trying to paint a false, negative image of Y/N that if he really cared about the Kryptonian, he wouldn’t entertain any of Wally’s behavior at all. She was laying hands on his hard, shirtless body doing her best to give her most alluring eyes while looking at his sweaty and angered face.

Conner was so in his head with his anger and frustration that he barely reacted or moved when M’Gann pushed herself closer, looking as if she was going in for a kiss. Of course, as fate would have it, that was the moment Y/N chose to walk in on them with Wally and the others in tow.

It was almost as if time had paused and then skipped a few seconds because before anyone could react, Y/N had cast a spell that blasted M’Gann to the other side of the room. No one had seen the Omega that angry before (besides Zatanna) didn’t know how to react when he stomped toward the Martian who was just getting herself off the floor.

When it looked like no one was going to do anything, Zatanna was about to step in until Conner intervened, grabbing Y/N, and holding him against his body while instructing the others to check on the Martian to make sure she was okay. He dragged the furious Omega out of the room, Zatanna subtly smirking as she watched before going to help M’Gann.

Conner marched them both toward his bedroom, shutting the door forcibly behind him before pushing Y/N against the surface, smashing his lips against him to silence the Omega’s angry shouts. Shocked, surprised, bewildered, all words you could use to describe Y/N's reaction to the sudden kiss, but resistant? Not in this universe or the next however many.

He immediately gave in to the Kryptonian’s demanding and rough lips, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his hands squeezing and pulling his waist against his. They became a tangled mess of limbs as Conner moved them from the door over to his bed, carefully laying the Omega’s body onto the mattress while positioning himself on top.

Eventually, they broke their lips apart, but the Alpha wasn’t done yet. He greedily ran his lips up and down the Omega’s jaw and neck, giving into his possessive nature and leaving as many bites and hickeys as the eye could see.

At that point, Y/N was begging for the Kryptonian to knot and mark him, seeing as how Conner wasn’t shy this time about letting the smaller male know who’s Omega he was. His Alpha nature and instincts were very satisfied seeing the mage so desperate and needy for him, wishing suddenly he could take a picture to capture this moment.

And while tempted to give in to the Omega’s cries and pleas, he opted to resist, wanting to save that moment for a more special occasion.

“Boo, you’re no fun,” Y/N pouted.

Conner grew a smug look at the bratty Omega before running his nose down his neck toward his scent gland. “That’s fine. Besides, why should I reward you after letting another Alpha flirt with you all day?” Conner asked, a crossed expression passing over his face.

“I wasn’t letting him flirt with me. I was trying to get him to stop and avoid him all day since I knew it would make you upset.” Y/N said in reply.

“How did you know I would be upset?”

“Dude, anytime one of the guys even breathed at me, you got angry. You were ready to break Dick’s arm that time he caught me falling from that stairway.” Y/N laughed.

“He shouldn’t have his hands that low on your waist. You can easily catch someone using their armpits.” Conner said, a childish ‘hmph’ leaving his lips.

“Yeah, okay Mr. I can lift a car with my pinky.”

Conner rolled his eyes, before using his hands to tickle the Omega’s sides, “You think you’re so funny.”

Y/N tried to fight against the laughs coming up his chest and push Conner away, but the Alpha was obviously stronger than him and easily held him down while continuing to tickle him mercilessly. Eventually, he released him and they both calmed down.

The Alpha continued to lay gently on top of the Omega, burying his face in the smaller male’s neck to breathe in his scent while Y/N rubbed his hands up and down the larger male’s back and through his dark hair. It was intimate and peaceful, the two lovebirds finally enjoying what they both had secretly been craving for so long.

Eventually, their friends came to check on them, interrupting the special moment. Wally apologized to Conner after he and Zatanna explained their plan, to which the Alpha and Omega gave unamused looks to their friends, though they both appreciated the gesture since it did help them finally get together.

Y/N also apologized to M’Gann for his behavior but did warn her that if ever tried something like that with his Alpha again, she’d realize just how creatively violent he could get with his magic. Surprisingly, she also apologized, but the Omega could tell that his friends probably forced her to do so.

Either way, he was happy.

He and his idiot Alpha were finally together.

☀️ | Conner Kent/Superboy | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

703 notes · View notes

thepersonnamedsam · 2 years ago

Note

Hey hun, how are you?❤️ i saw you had only one tim bradford imagine. Can you do one from Tim’s pov where the reader is a part of the crew and she gets hurt during an operation with them and Tim who secretly has feelings for her has to save and protect her? Thank youu. Much lovee 💖💖

thank you so much for your request!

pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader, The Rookie x fem!reader

summery: see request :)

pt. 2

word count: 1.6k

warnings: age gap - reader is a rookie, reader getting hurt, season 3 spoilers, reader getting shot, blood, some swear words

note: enjoy :)) i hope it's something like what you had in mind

masterlist / taglist

It was your last day as a rookie. Chen and West were just as excited as you were. Finally, those days of Tim-Testing, as Lucy likes to call it lovingly, were going to be over. It was sad having to part from Lucy, you two have been riding together with Tim since the start of your rookie days. It wasn’t sure if Tim or Lucy would stay your partner, it had still to be determined.

As you all sat in the car, Tim spoke up about the elephant in the room; both of your future in the station. “I’m just going to say it, Chen, you don’t have what it takes to be an undercover agent. You don’t have the killer instinct. And you, y/n, I don’t know if you’d make a great detective”, his eyes stayed on the road as you and Lucy looked at each other. “And what do you mean by ‘the killer instinct’?”, Luca was curious, she really wanted to be an undercover agent, so she would take all the help and information she could get.

“You don’t have what it takes, it’s that simple. You must make your targets your best friends and then, bham, stab them in their backs. You don’t have that.”

“Okay, uhm, thank you for that. I, uh, really appreciate it. Since we’re on our confessing train, I just wanted to tell you something, before we probably part”, Lucy looked back at you from the passenger seat and winked at you. What exactly was her plan?

Tim had a confused look on his face. He was thinking the exact same thing as you did; what the hell was Chen’s plan.

“It’s a little weird with y/n in the car, but when will I ever have this opportunity again. Tim, I like you, and not just a bit, I really like you. And I don’t know what we should do about it, because I feel your connection to me as well.”

Tim was shocked, Chen liked him? No, this couldn’t be, he didn’t want it to be. Because he had been secretly thinking about you and counting down the days you were officially without a TO. If Chen liked him, what would you think? Did you know and helped her confess her love to him? So many questions were going through his minds, but they immediately stopped, as he heard a loud and annoying laugh.

Lucy Chen was laughing at him. She was laughing at his shocked face and his horror filled eyes. She was laughing at him how genuinely confused he looked and how his body tensed up immediately.

“Chill, Bradford. I was just joking. See, I do have your killer instinct”, Lucy said tauntingly to him. All while you were snickering to yourself on the backseat. His eyes found yours through the rear mirror. “And what are you laughing about?”, Tim’s look changed from shock to a cute smile. He couldn’t stop himself, as he saw you giggling all by yourself.

You instantly stopped laughing: “Nothing, I was just looking for potential crime.” Tim smiled; sure, you were.

Time went by, calls were answered, and crime was stopped but nothing interesting really happened. It was your last day as a Rookie, you wanted to have one more day of supervised action, oh, how you wished you could have taken that statement back. Because as soon as that AMBER-Alert came in, chaos erupted.

An infant was missing, the drug-addicted and known criminal father was suspected. But as you three arrived at his appartement, the baby was not there. What he did have was a gun. You didn’t see it, but Tim did. It was too late to warn you, so as you tried to calm him down, he took his gun and shot you right through the stomach.

You fell to the ground.

Pain shooting through your whole body.

Your eyes closed, feeling like you were dying.

Tim saw the whole thing in slow-motion, he saw the bullet rip through your body. He saw your body hitting the ground. He saw as your eyes rolled back into your head and he saw the life leave your body. Fuck – he was scared. What if you died? He would never be able to tell you his feelings.

As Tim stood there frozen, Lucy arrested the man. She read him his rights and stored him away in the car. As she came back, she expected Tim to be performing first aid, but he still stood there, stuck, and frozen to the ground. So, she rushed to you, put pressure on the wound, you didn’t react – not a good sign.

“For god’s sake Tim, would you do something?! Call for backup!”, Lucy was screaming. Tim snapped out of it, seeing his love hurt on the ground, he had to do something. He called for backup, and he rushed to your side. Taking your hand into his, squeezing it and hoping you would feel it.

Lucy saw him holding your hand, wondering why he would do such a thing, it was Tim after all. The ambulance soon arrived and transported you to the hospital, all whilst you still were unconscious. Tim rode with you to the hospital, refusing to leave you alone.

And as you laid there in a hospital gown, eyes closed and a tube down your throat. The bullet hit your large intestine and cause internal bleeding. You were stable after surgery, but the doctors didn’t know how long you had to stay in a coma. That’s why Tim was sitting at your bedside day and night. He had taken some vacation days to stay there with you, in hopes you would wake up soon.

“I know you probably won’t hear this or me or anything basically, but I just have to let it out. If you die and I have waited too long to tell you, I don’t know what I would do with myself.” His cheeks were stained with tears. He had not cried in a long time, so him crying over you, just showed how much he actually cared about you.

“I like you, no, I love you. I have for a long time. And I have not had the guts to tell you, because I didn’t want the others to think you only graduated because you were dating your TO. I wanted to tell you this evening, but this motherfucker ruined my plan.”

Silence grazed your room. The only thing you could hear was the machine monitoring your heartbeat. A steady rhythm was heard, peep, peep, peep. His head spun. He thought after he confessed his love, you might wake up, miraculously of course. But you didn’t. You were still lying there with no reaction to his words whatsoever.

Days had gone by, and you still didn’t wake up. It was hard for Tim, you technically graduated from being a rookie. Chen, West and Nolan all came by that same evening to celebrate a little, Nolan of course celebrated you and his other two friends, him not graduating that day hurt him a little bit. Lucy also came by every other day too. She sat there with Tim, still wondering why he was sitting there every day and waiting for you to wake up.

Tim had to leave you alone. His work called and he had to back to being a police officer. It hurt him, not knowing when you would wake up. So, when he got the call from the hospital, his siren was on, and he sped to you. Walking slowly and nervously to your room, he wondered if you heard what he said. If you knew that he loved, you.

As he stood there, leaning in the doorway, and looking at you, you slowly opened your eyes. Looking at him, him lightly smiling at you, you were thinking back to the day it all happened. You always liked him but were always too scared to tell him. Not knowing he felt the same way, you laid there awkwardly and waited on him to say something.

“I’m glad you woke up”, he said. He smiled, his concern for you leaving his body. Walking towards you and sitting down you your bedside, he looked at you. He looked at you with so much love in his eyes, you couldn’t believe it. Some snippets from the coma came to your mind. “I like you, no, I love you.” No, this can’t be true, Tim would never be this sentimental.

He took your hand in his, squeezing it hard. “Is it true you like me?”, a grin prominent on your face. A crimson color was faintly seen on his face. He was blushing! “You heard?”, he wasn’t sure if he liked that you knew. On one side he was glad, because he wouldn’t have to confess his love to you, again, on the other hand, how would he proceed?

“I don’t like you”, he looked at you with some kind of desire in his eyes, “I love you.”

The beeping sped up; your heart was racing. “I love you too”, you said and squeezed his hand back. And as if planned, West and Chen walked through the door, they had heard that you woke up over the radio and as they rode together, they had decided to pay you a visit. Tim stood up from the bed, having to let go of your hand.

“How are you? I’m so glad you woke up!”, Lucy smiled and gave you a hug, the same did Jackson. You were glad your friends were here, but you’d rather be alone with Tim right now. Having just confessed your feelings to one another, you just wanted to spend some alone time together.

“I’m good, thank you so much for stopping by, I appreciate you all!”

Tim had watched the interaction from the doorway. He smiled lightly, seeing you happy made him happy. A warmth spreading through his body, he was content.

°°°

next part

#the rookie x you #the rookie x reader #the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #lucy chen #john nolan #the rookie season 3 #s3

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iamquiantrelle · 4 days ago

Text

PLAYING FOR KEEPS (chapter 2)────��─iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : jules koundé x black oc (fc: mimajhn)

⌗ tags : @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @greedyjudge2 @f1-football-fiend @2serenity0 @peyiswriting @coffeevacation @sunfairyy @bbgkoo @127hydrangeas @kj77

⌗ summary : jules is focused on himself — no girlfriend, no drama — but now he seems to have both after pictures of him having fun at a friend's house party shows up in tabloids, and now fashion houses are calling for him? and his agent wants him to keep up this charade? ♡ masterlist. (✨💕)

Mila's first PTO request in eight months had her manager looking at her like she'd lost it. But after that McDonald's photo turned their store into a tourist attraction for football fans, no one argued when she said she needed a few days off.

The first-class seat to Barcelona was courtesy of Jules' management team - apparently fake girlfriends don't fly economy. She'd packed light: two archive-worthy reconstructed LV pieces (that may or may not have been strictly approved), a few vintage finds, and her iPad full of design sketches she could actually produce now that she had official backing.

Her phone hadn't stopped since she posted a cryptic airport story. The comments were wild: "BARCELONA?? 👀" "omg she's going to see him" "peep the LV luggage, she stays on brand"

A text from Jules broke through the notification chaos: "sent a car for you. driver's got strict instructions not to let any paparazzi follow you to the hotel"

Of course there were paparazzi. Three days ago she was just the mean stylist at Galeries Lafayette who kept going viral for roasting rich people's fashion choices. Now she was getting papped at Charles de Gaulle at seven in the morning on a Tuesday.

"your fans are insane," she texted back. "someone already found my flight number"

Jules (Da Boo): welcome to the circus 😮‍💨 see you in an hour? we've got a strategy meeting with PR at 11

Mila leaned back in her seat, watching Paris disappear beneath the clouds. A week ago she was dealing with entitled clients and corporate bureaucracy. Now she was flying to Barcelona to plan a fake relationship with a footballer who actually had decent taste in vintage Prada.

Her life was starting to sound like one of those Wattpad stories her sister was always reading.

The car Jules sent was waiting as promised. The driver held up a sign with "M. Paris" instead of her real name, which was probably smart given the number of phones already pointing her way.

Her hotel room was bigger than her Paris apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Barcelona, and someone (definitely Jules) had filled the closet with fresh flowers and a handwritten note: "in case you need more material to roast my fashion choices - see you at 11."

Mila took a quick shower, changing into one of her reconstructed pieces - a vintage LV blazer she'd transformed into a dress that corporate would definitely not approve of. Her phone buzzed with another text from Jules: "paparazzi already outside the hotel. ready to start the show?"

She checked her reflection one last time. The Barcelona sun made her brown skin glow. She'd let her hair stay straight but added some extra curl to the ends, the way she wore it when she first met Jules at the store. Her makeup was editorial but not trying too hard - she had a reputation to maintain after all.

"let's give them something to talk about" she texted back, grabbing her bag.

The hotel lobby was suspicious - too many people pretending to read newspapers while holding phones at weird angles. The PR team had suggested they get photographed "accidentally" meeting for breakfast before the strategy session. Make it look natural, they said. As if anything about this situation was natural.

She spotted Jules immediately. He was failing to look casual in the hotel's cafe, wearing a vintage YSL sweater she'd actually complimented once (not that she'd remind him). The whispers and phone cameras followed her path to his table.

"That dress is definitely not LV approved," he said instead of hello, standing to kiss her cheek for the cameras. His cologne was unfairly good.

"Neither is this fake dating scenario but here we are." She sat down, noting how he pulled her chair out just enough to make it look practiced. "Nice sweater. Finally learning how to dress yourself?"

"You literally picked this out."

"Did I? Must not have been one of your tragic days then."

The cameras were definitely getting all this. She could already see the headlines: "Fashion's New It Couple Share Intimate Breakfast." At least Jules knew how to sit for good angles - some of her clients at the store could never.

"You good?" he asked, sliding a coffee her way. Oat milk latte, exactly how she took it. He'd been paying attention during their store conversations.

"Yeah, though I have questions about this PR team of yours. Their PowerPoint had more transitions than a 2005 presentation."

Jules laughed, and Mila caught herself thinking it sounded even better in person than over the phone. The cameras definitely caught that too - her genuine smile, the way he leaned in closer.

"They have a whole mood board for us," he said, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "Apparently we need to 'cultivate an aesthetic of playful antagonism with underlying romantic tension.'"

"So just keep doing what we've been doing, but add hand-holding?"

"And maybe fewer public roasts about my shoe choices."

"No promises on that one, babe." The pet name rolled off her tongue easily, perfectly timed as someone definitely not-subtle-enough took a photo.

Her phone was already blowing up. Her sister had sent approximately 47 messages in all caps. The LV corporate account had gained 10k followers in an hour.

Jules' hand found hers across the table, a practiced move that looked natural enough to fuel a week's worth of Twitter theories. "Having second thoughts?"

Mila thought about her design sketches upstairs, the archive access waiting in Paris, the way her follower count had tripled since that McDonald's photo. Then she looked at Jules - annoying, handsome, surprisingly fashion-competent Jules - and the way he was trying not to smile too wide for the cameras.

"Please," she squeezed his hand just enough to make it look real. "I'm just getting started."

Breakfast wrapped with enough staged candid moments to keep social media fed for days. Outside, Jules' Lamborghini Urus was waiting, because of course it was.

"Really? A Urus?" Mila raised an eyebrow. "How very new money footballer of you."

"Wow, okay," Jules shot back, "you're standing there in your bougie little sunglasses and Capucine bag judging my car choices?"

Mila pulled down her sunglasses, looking at him over the rim. "Not our first lovers' spat..."Jules opened his mouth - to retort or apologize, she couldn't tell - but she cut him off. "I'm fucking with you. Chill." She pulled the door open and slid inside, immediately hit by the clean leather smell and pristine peanut butter colored seats. "Cute."

Jules got in the driver's seat, starting the car with a rev that was absolutely unnecessary but admittedly hot. He pulled out into Barcelona traffic with one hand on the wheel, all casual confidence and big dick energy that she refused to be affected by. His full lips were pursed in concentration, focused on the road ahead.

"Why are you single?" The question left her mouth before she could stop it.

He cut his eyes at her briefly, shooting her a 'what the fuck' look. "What?"

"Why. Are. You. Single?" She repeated slowly, deliberately sarcastic. "Or should I speak French instead?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Parlez-vous bien le français?" The words rolled off his tongue smoothly, his native accent making something flutter in her stomach that she immediately shut down.

Oh hell no, her thoughts protested.

"Je parle bien," she responded coolly. "So the reason you're single?"

Jules took a smooth turn before answering. "Focused on my career. Not trying to be another footballer stereotype." He glanced at her. "Why are you?"

"Too busy roasting rich people's fashion choices to date." Mila adjusted her sunglasses. "Plus the people at Galeries Lafayette are either trust fund babies or married to trust fund babies."

"And footballers?"

"Are you fishing for compliments right now?"

The Urus purred as Jules accelerated, weaving through traffic with irritating skill. "Just trying to figure out if my fake girlfriend actually likes me or just my access to the archives."

"The archives are definitely in my top three reasons," Mila smirked. "Your natural teeth are up there too."

"My what?"

"Do you know how rare it is to find a footballer with his original teeth? No veneers, no ultra-white chiclet smile. It's refreshing."

Jules' laugh filled the car. "You've really thought about this."

"I work in luxury fashion. Footballers and their WAGs are half my client base. Trust me, I've seen every variation of the Instagram Face possible."

They pulled up to a sleek building that screamed 'expensive PR firm.' Through the glass doors, Mila could see Bruno, Jules' agent, pacing in the lobby. He was exactly what she'd expected from their phone calls - tall, perpetually stressed-looking Italian man in his forties, wearing a suit that she could tell at a glance needed better tailoring. His Rolex was real though, and his shoes were Berluti - at least he had some taste.

"Ready to plan our love story?" Jules killed the engine but didn't move to get out.

"Ready to convince your agent I'm not going to ruin your pristine image with my brutal honesty?" Mila countered.

"Bruno's already convinced you're the best thing to happen to my brand since I signed with Barcelona." Jules reached over, adjusting her blazer slightly. The gesture felt weirdly intimate. "Apparently my engagement is up 400% since McDonald's."

"What can I say? People love a good roast."

"Is that what we're calling this?"

Mila caught his eye, noticed how the Spanish sun through the windshield made his skin glow. "We're calling this a mutually beneficial business arrangement. With occasional hand-holding."

"And French pet names?"

"Don't push it, chéri." She grabbed her bag, ignoring how his smile widened at the nickname. "Let's go plan our fake romance before Bruno has an aneurysm."

Through the glass, they could see Bruno now gesturing wildly at a presentation screen. Several PR people were nodding along, one frantically taking notes.

"Ten euros says there's a slide about our 'coupled aesthetic journey,'" Jules said as they got out of the car.

"Twenty says they've already planned our Paris Fashion Week debut."

"You're on." He offered his hand to help her up the steps. "After you, chérie."

"Such a gentleman," Mila rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway. "Almost makes up for the Urus."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Are you ever going to admit it's a basic choice?"

Bruno spotted them through the glass, his face lighting up like they were his winning lottery ticket. Which, given the media frenzy around them, they kind of were.

"The PR team made a mood board," Jules murmured as they reached the door. "Try not to roast it too hard."

"No promises." Mila straightened her shoulders, sliding seamlessly into the role of fashion's favorite mean girl who'd somehow fallen for football's best-dressed player.

The conference room had modern art pieces that Mila could tell were bought to impress rather than for actual appreciation. Bruno practically bounced as they entered, his Berluti shoes squeaking against the polished floor.

"The power couple has arrived!" He gestured to two seats at the head of the table. "Please, sit. We have so much to discuss."

Mila caught Jules suppressing an eye roll as they sat. The PR team - three women and two men all wearing variations of the same sleek business casual outfit - were staring at them like they were rare specimens in a zoo.

"First," Bruno clicked to his first slide, "let me present 'The Evolution of Fashion's Favorite Romance.'"

"You owe me ten euros," Jules whispered. The slide literally had "Coupled Aesthetic Journey" as a subtitle.

"Now," Bruno continued, "we've mapped out your relationship timeline. The McDonald's photo? Perfect organic start. But we need to build on that authenticity."

The next slide showed a calendar that made Mila's eyebrows shoot up. Paris Fashion Week appearances, "candid" shopping trips, carefully planned coffee dates, match day arrivals coordinated down to their accessories.

"You owe me twenty," Mila muttered. Fashion Week in January was highlighted in bright red.

One of the PR women - Mila clocked her Chanel brooch as last season - leaned forward. "We're thinking of playing up the 'fashion critic meets football star' angle. The public loves your dynamic."

"The witty banter on social media," another PR person chimed in, pulling up screenshots of their past interactions. "The style evolution documented on Mila's blog. It's perfect enemies-to-lovers material."

Jules choked on his water.

"Speaking of social media," Bruno clicked to another slide titled 'Strategic Digital Romance,' "we need to discuss your posting schedule. Nothing too obvious, but we want to maintain consistent couple content."

"Couple content?" Mila raised an eyebrow.

"You know, morning coffee photos, subtle background appearances in each other's stories, maybe some playful commentary on Jules' match day fits…"

"So exactly what we've been doing, but now with a relationship tag?" Jules asked, looking amused.

"Precisely! But with more…" Bruno waved his hands expressively, his Rolex catching the light, "romantic undertones."

The presentation continued - slides about "leveraging their fashion influence," "maintaining authentic interactions," and a whole section about their supposed meet-cute story at Louis Vuitton.

"We need to workshop the details," one PR guy said earnestly. "When exactly did you first feel the attraction? Was it during a particular styling session? The public wants these intimate moments."

Mila caught Jules' eye. He looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"What about the McDonald's night?" The Chanel brooch woman asked. "How did that spontaneous moment happen? We should align our narratives."

"Oh, I can answer that," Mila smiled sweetly. "I was hungry, Jules was there, and someone had a camera. Very romantic."

Bruno's face fell slightly. "Maybe we can embellish that a bit…"

"The truth isn't Instagram enough?" Jules asked innocently.

"We just want to ensure the story resonates," Bruno recovered quickly. "Now, about your first official appearance together - we're thinking the charity gala next week. Mila, we'll need you to coordinate your outfit with Jules' team colors…"

Mila's phone buzzed. A text from Jules: "they planned our entire relationship down to our instagram filters 💀"

She typed back: "bold of them to assume I'm wearing team colors"

"Now," Bruno clicked to yet another slide, this one titled 'Public Displays of Affection Guidelines,' "let's discuss appropriate couple behaviors…"

Jules' next text: "20 euros says you roast their suggested pose chart"

Mila bit back a smile: "40 says Bruno has a powerpoint about our future breakup too"

"And lastly," Bruno clasped his hands together, looking oddly pleased with himself, "we've arranged for your belongings to be moved from the hotel to Jules' house—"

"Excuse me?" Mila straightened in her chair.

"It's a bit strange for you to be at a hotel when your boyfriend has a perfectly good home," Bruno explained. "The guest room is lovely, I'm not suggesting you need to sleep together… unless of course you want to." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm all for a little kiss here and there but I'm drawing the line at snu snu."

"Snu snu?" Jules doubled over laughing, actually laughing, and Mila shot him a death glare.

"I mean it is a better name for it obviously. Should I just say fuck then?"

"Now, let's not use that word—" Chanel brooch woman began, clutching her outdated accessory.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" Mila counted off on her fingers. "We're all adults here. I'm sure everyone got fucked at least once in their lives, but yeah, no deal."

Bruno looked like he was getting an ulcer. The PR team was frantically scribbling notes, probably adding 'manages crude language' to their strategy deck.

"Besides," Mila added sweetly, "what would the internet think? Moving in together after one viral McDonald's photo? That's giving desperate."

"But if we established a timeline of when you two began dating, isn't it normal to spend a weekend at your boyfriend's?" one of the PR guys leaned forward.

"He has a point," Jules concurred.

Mila's head snapped toward him so fast that her sunglasses nearly flew off. Benedict Arnold has entered the chat, apparently. They were supposed to be on the same page - at least that's what she assumed.

Guess the fuck not, she thought.

She inhaled a deep, steady breath and looked Jules right in the eye. When she spoke, it was in perfect French, her voice deadly calm:

"Écoute-moi bien. Je ne suis pas du tout à l'aise de rester chez toi. On se connaît à peine, et je suis ça proche," she held up her thumb and forefinger with barely a millimeter between them, "de tout laisser tomber. Je pensais qu'on était d'accord sur les limites, mais apparemment, tu as d'autres idées." (Listen carefully. I am not at all comfortable staying at your place. We barely know each other, and I am this close to dropping everything. I thought we agreed on boundaries, but apparently, you have other ideas.)

The PR team watched their exchange like a tennis match, even though none of them seemed to understand French. Bruno was the only one nodding along, probably mentally calculating how to spin this tension for the media.

Jules let out a groan and his eyes twinkled with something she couldn't place. Her gaze watched intently as he licked his lips - wow, not sexy at all - and he placed both hands on the table. "Mila, s'il vous plaît." She shook her head stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. Then Jules did the one thing that made every fashion girlie perk up almost instantaneously. "I'll take you shopping."

Because yeah, she was a slut for shopping. I mean what girl wasn't? And besides, she had her eye on this new Fendi bag she spotted last week, and part of her new 'duties' as a fake girlfriend was making his pockets hurt, wasn't it?

"Budget?" she asked stoically.

"What budget?" he retorted with a grin showing all of his thirty-two natural teeth.

Good answer.

"Deal," she said, uncrossing her arms. "But if you do anything weird—"

"I know, I know. You're done."

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Bruno clapped his hands together. "Now that's settled, let's discuss your first shopping appearance. We need to capitalize on this organic moment—"

"No." Mila and Jules said simultaneously.

"The shopping stays off social," Mila added. "I'm not having my Fendi moment ruined by paparazzi."

"But think of the engagement—" Chanel brooch started.

"You'll get plenty of engagement from whatever we decide to buy," Jules cut in smoothly. "But the actual shopping? That's private."

Mila shot him a surprised look. Maybe Benedict Arnold had some redeeming qualities after all.

"Fine, fine," Bruno conceded, though he was already typing something in his phone. "Let's wrap up with the charity gala details next week. Mila, we'll need you to—"

"I'll handle our looks," she interrupted. "That's non-negotiable."

"But the team colors—"

"Will be incorporated tastefully," she assured him with zero intention of doing so. "Now, if we're done here, I believe I was promised some retail therapy?"

Jules checked his watch - Audemars Piguet, she noted approvingly. "Stores close in three hours."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Mila stood, gathering her Capucine. "Bruno, send me the presentation. I'll review the PDA guidelines while Jules tries to talk me out of bankrupting him."

"Bankrupt?" Jules raised an eyebrow, already standing.

"Oh honey," she patted his chest as she walked past, making sure the PR team caught the casual intimacy, "that was before I remembered how you insulted my bougie sunglasses earlier."

She heard him groan behind her. "So everything I say comes with a price?"

"Now you're getting it." She pushed the conference room door open. "Coming?"

Bruno was practically vibrating with joy as they left, probably already drafting tweets about their playful banter. The PR team had their heads together, no doubt planning how to spin their shopping trip even without photos.

In the hallway, Jules caught up to her in two long strides. "You're really going to make me pay for that comment?"

"Obviously." She adjusted her sunglasses. "But if you're lucky, I might let you hold the shopping bags."

His laugh echoed through the lobby. "You're evil."

"And yet you just gave me unlimited shopping access." She headed for the Urus, already mentally cataloging which stores to hit first. "Who's really the evil one here?"

The Urus weaved through Barcelona's streets, probably attracting more attention than either of them needed right now. Jules kept stealing glances at Mila while she pretended to be fascinated by the passing scenery.

"Your French is really good," he said finally, breaking their comfortable silence.

Mila didn't look away from the window. "Should be. Spent enough time perfecting it to sound like a national." A pause, then, "Fashion people respect you more when you sound French. They're not exactly known for their warmth toward foreigners."

"When did you move to Paris?"

"Four years ago." Her reflection in the window looked distant for a moment. "Left everything behind."

"Your parents were okay with that?"

"Don't have parents." Her voice was matter-of-fact, like she was discussing the weather. Before Jules could stumble through an apology, she added, "I mean, they're physically still on this earth. Just dead to me. Lots of trauma, more therapy bills than I care to count."

"Then we won't talk about it."

"Ever," she said firmly.

"Ever," he agreed, then switched lanes and subjects. "When's your birthday?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Yours but backwards."

"Been googling me?"

"Please. Only the basics." She finally turned from the window. "Apparently we're cosmically compatible. Just FYI."

"Don't tell me you believe in that astrology bullshit."

She clutched her chest in mock horror, and Jules couldn't tell if she was serious or not. "Of course I do." He glanced at her, trying to read her expression. "Jesus, Jules, I'm fucking with you." She laughed, and it echoed off the Urus's pristine interior. "Always so serious."

"Full name?" He tried to sound casual, like he hadn't been wondering since that first roasting session at Louis Vuitton.

"Want my social security number too?"

"You're impossible."

"Part of my charm." She adjusted her sunglasses. "Ja'Mila Desirée Lawrence."

"Desirée?"

"Yes, very stripper chic, I know."

"What? No. It suits you."

"You know what else would suit me?" Her tone was dangerous in the best way.

He took the bait. "What?"

"My new Fendi bag."

"You're going to be dangerous for my bank account, aren't you?"

"Consider it payment for making me stay at your place tonight."

Jules caught himself smiling despite the impending damage to his credit card. She was trouble, and he was starting to think Bruno's fake dating scheme might not be the worst idea after all.

The Barcelona luxury shopping district was exactly what you'd expect mid-afternoon - full of influencers pretending not to take photos of themselves and tourists clutching shopping bags like trophies. Jules pulled into a private parking spot that probably cost more than most people's rent.

The Fendi staff recognized them immediately - though Jules wasn't sure if it was from football or their viral moment. Probably both. A sales associate materialized instantly, all practiced smiles and careful enthusiasm.

"The new collection just arrived," she said, leading them to a private viewing room. "Though I'm sure Mademoiselle Lawrence has already seen it at Galeries Lafayette?"

"Different stock in Paris," Mila replied smoothly, already eyeing a bag displayed in the corner. "Plus, I'm not exactly here in a professional capacity."

The bag in question was exactly as expensive as Jules expected. He watched Mila examine it with the same critical eye she used to roast his outfit choices, turning it over in her hands like she was memorizing every detail.

"Your thoughts?" he asked, genuinely curious about what made this bag different from the fifty others in the room.

"The craftsmanship is decent, the leather quality is excellent, and it'll definitely make your ex-girlfriends angry on Instagram." She shot him a wicked smile. "Plus, it matches that Saint Laurent jacket you pretended not to buy after I suggested it last month."

"How did you—"

"I have my sources." She handed the bag to the hovering sales associate. "We'll take it. And maybe show us the ready-to-wear?"

Two hours and several eye-watering price tags later, they emerged with enough bags to keep social media busy for weeks. Jules had to admit, Mila had an eye for more than just roasting his choices. Every piece she'd picked for him was perfect - subtle enough for his taste but interesting enough to keep the fashion blogs talking.

"You know," Jules said as they loaded the bags into the Urus, "you're actually pretty good at this when you're not just criticizing my choices."

"Please. I've been styling people for years. The roasting is just a bonus service." She carefully arranged her new Fendi bag in the back seat like it was precious cargo. "Besides, someone needs to save you from your occasional hypebeast tendencies."

"Says the girl who just made me buy a logo-covered jacket."

"It's vintage. Completely different." She settled into the passenger seat. "Now, about this charity gala next week…"

**************************************

"By the way," Jules said as they pulled up to a gate, punching in a code. "Bruno sent an NDA to your email. Pretty standard stuff - don't leak personal details, no tell-all books, no secret TikToks about my morning routine."

"How will I ever survive not sharing your coffee preferences with the world?" Mila perused through her phone, skimming the document. "Wait, there's a whole section about social media guidelines."

"Welcome to footballer life."

"'All posts must be approved by management prior to publishing,'" she read out loud. "'No sharing of private residence details.' Damn, there goes my house tour vlog series."

The house appeared as the gates opened - all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows, like a minimalist magazine spread come to life. The kind of place that screamed 'my interior designer has good taste.'

"Your room's upstairs," he said, leading her through the house. The home was pristine, probably thanks to whatever cleaning service rich footballers used these days. Her room was airy, with a view overlooking the city.

Mila dropped her bags by the door, eyeing the king-sized bed. "Please tell me the sheets are clean. And should I be worried about any hoes coming around stuck in their feelings?"

"Hoes?"

"You know, hoes? The ones you stick your dick in sometimes? They love ballers a lot? Groupies?"

Jules leaned against the doorframe, amused. "No hoes will be coming around."

"Good." She tested the mattress with one hand. "You can still get your dick wet though. Just be discrete about it." The look on his face made her pause. "You're not seriously thinking of fucking me, are you?"

Jules crossed his arms over his chest. "Wasn't it you that mentioned we were cosmically compatible?"

"What the fuck—"

"Chill," he said, nudging her arm. "I'm fucking with you."

"Just remember, this is strictly business."

"Says the girl who just made me buy half of Fendi."

"That's revenge shopping for making me stay here."

Jules pushed off the doorframe. "Dinner's coming soon. Try not to reorganize my entire closet before then."

"No promises," Mila called after him. "Someone needs to deal with your sneaker situation."

There was something else lingering in the air between them. Something that had been there since that McDonald's night, maybe even before that. Chemistry wasn't even the right word for it - it was more like recognition. The way they both moved through their worlds, focused and unbothered until something caught their attention. The way they both used humor to deflect, sarcasm as a shield.

Jules knew better than to push it. He'd watched her enough in the store, seen how she operated. Mila was like him - she'd make a move if and when she wanted to. She didn't need games or pressure. She'd either want it or she wouldn't, and she'd be direct about it either way.

*****************************************

Jules ordered pizza because anything fancier felt like trying too hard. He could hear Mila upstairs, probably judging his closet organization system - or lack thereof. His phone hadn't stopped buzzing since they left the shops. Bruno had sent approximately fifty texts about their "organic shopping moment" and how the internet was eating it up.

The doorbell rang just as Mila came downstairs, now wearing what looked like designer sweats.

"Really? Pizza?" She perched on one of his kitchen stools, watching him set down the box. "Very bachelor of you."

"Would you prefer I pretended to cook?"

"God no. I've seen enough footballer food porn on Instagram." She grabbed a slice. "Let me guess - your nutritionist is going to kill you?"

"Already got three texts about my macro count." He pulled up UberEats on his phone. "Pretty sure they track my orders."

"Tragic." She was eating pizza like someone who'd mastered the art of not messing up their lipstick. "Though not as tragic as your sneaker collection. We need to talk about your storage situation."

"Did you actually reorganize my closet?"

"Someone had to. You had Yeezys next to Louboutins. It's basically a hate crime."

His phone buzzed again - another text from Bruno with a screenshot of their shopping photos already making rounds on the gossip blogs. Mila leaned over to look, close enough that he could smell her perfume. Something expensive, obviously.

"Your ex liked the post," she noted, tapping the screen. "Interesting."

"You're tracking my ex's likes?"

"Please. I'm tracking everyone's engagement. It's called market research." She stole another slice of pizza. "Also your teammates are flooding my DMs."

"They're worse than Bruno."

"Why didn't you ever try to run game on me at LV?" Mila asked out of the blue, wiping her hands on a napkin.

Jules raised an eyebrow. "You wanted me to run game?"

"No, just shocked you didn't." She reached for another slice. "TAA did a few times - always in DMs, posting thirst traps. Too light skin for me though."

"I'm light skin."

Mila gave him a thorough once-over, the kind she usually reserved for questionable outfit choices. "You are, but not really."

The look of confused amusement on his face only made her grin wider. But instead of explaining, she switched topics entirely. "This pizza's actually decent. Thought you'd be one of those guys who orders from tourist trap spots."

"You never really answered my question though," Jules said, reaching for another slice. "Why'd you think I'd run game on you?"

"Because footballers always do. But you didn't even try."

He watched her for a beat before explaining. "I'm shy, actually."

Mila nearly choked on her pizza. "You are not shy."

"Just ask my teammates - it takes me a bit to warm up to new people."

"But you were talking to me."

"Because you're cool."

"I'm cool?"

Their eyes connected across the kitchen island.

"Yeah, you're cool," he replied, and for a moment neither of them moved. Jules cleared his throat first. "Any exes I should worry about?"

"I don't date men."

His ears perked up. "Are you on a different team?"

"Men are complicated." She twisted the cap off her water bottle. "They do too much. Not to mention the fragile ego. I just do what I want when I want—"

"With who you want?" He finished.

She nodded. "You're getting it now."

"So you don't have someone taking care of needs?"

"Speak plainly, chéri."

That made him chuckle. "Okay well you don't have a person... to... uh... make you cum? Non petit mort?"

"I have a couple people in mind, but if they're busy, a vibrator can—"

"A vibrator can't do what a dick can." He was trying to lean against his counter like this was a normal dinner conversation.

"Oh, so you think you know?"

Jules grabbed his water bottle, taking an unnecessarily long sip. Mila's eyes tracked the movement, watching his Adam's apple bob as he drank. The kitchen suddenly felt warmer than it had any right to be. Finally, he set the bottle down. "I know that I know."

"Talking with too much BDE. Hopefully, you have it."

"Huge BDE," was his response.

His phone started buzzing - once, twice, three times. Probably Bruno having a meltdown.

"Are you gonna answer?" She asked, watching him over the rim of her bottle.

Jules picked up without breaking eye contact, watching her demolish another slice of pizza like they hadn't just been discussing his dick capabilities. "Yeah, Bruno?"

"Tell me you've seen the engagement numbers!" Bruno's voice was way too excited for ten-thirty at night. "The shopping photos are trending—"

Jules watched Mila scroll through her phone, probably finding more of his fashion disasters to roast. "Bruno, it's late."

"Late? It's prime social media hours! Listen, we need to discuss tomorrow's strategy. The team wants you both at training—"

"Both?" That got Mila's attention. She looked up from her phone, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, yes! Very organic. Mila comes to watch practice, maybe posts some stories—"

"I have a job," Mila said loud enough for Bruno to hear. "A real one. With actual responsibilities."

"But think of the narrative! The supportive girlfriend who still roasts his training kit choices—"

Jules pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bruno."

"Fine, fine. But at least post something tonight. The internet needs content!"

"Goodbye, Bruno." Jules hung up before his agent could launch into another strategy pitch.

"He's exhausting," Mila said, but she was already typing something on her phone. "Though he might be right about your training kit. That shade of blue does nothing for your complexion."

"Are you actually critiquing my uniform?"

"Someone has to." She showed him her screen - a story draft of their pizza box with the caption 'making sure he eats real food' and a blurry outline of his body the background. "Think this'll give Bruno his content fix?"

Jules had to admit - she knew exactly what she was doing. "You're good at this."

"Please. I've been studying WAG behavior for years." She posted the story with a few quick taps. "Though most of them wouldn't be caught dead eating pizza on main."

His phone immediately buzzed with Bruno's approval messages. Mila's notification count was already climbing.

"Your ex viewed it first," she noted, not looking up. "Interesting."

"You're really tracking her, huh?"

"Market research." Mila pulled up his ex's profile like she'd been studying it. "She's pretty though. I see your type."

Jules raised an eyebrow. "My type?"

"Brown skin pretty girls." She zoomed in on a photo. "She kind of looks like me, but not really. Better makeup routine though."

"You've put thought into this."

"Please. First thing I did when Bruno mentioned this fake dating thing was scope out the competition." She was scrolling through more photos now. "How long were you together?"

"Year and a half."

"Decent run for a footballer." She set her phone down. "Why'd it end?"

"The usual. Career, distance."

"Boring answer. Give me the real tea."

Jules couldn't help but laugh. Most people tiptoed around his relationship history like it was radioactive. But here was Mila, demanding gossip over pizza in his kitchen.

"She wanted the footballer lifestyle more than the actual relationship," he said finally. "You know the type - endless Instagram posts, club appearances, WAG brunches."

"Basic." Mila was back to scrolling through her phone. "Oh wow, she really did post every breathing moment. Three different angles of the same Birkin?"

"That was the start of the end, actually. She posted my house location in one of her bag collection videos."

"Amateur move." Mila shook her head like this was the gravest fashion crime possible. "Even I know better than that, and I'm not even your real girlfriend."

"Real enough to reorganize my closet."

"Speaking of which..." She stood up, stretching. "I need to finish dealing with your sneaker situation. The way you've stacked the boxes is giving me anxiety."

"It's almost midnight."

"Time means nothing when fashion crimes are being committed." She was already heading for the stairs. "Also, your ex just posted a thirst trap. Coincidence? I think not."

Jules watched her disappear upstairs, probably to terrorize his shoe collection. His phone buzzed with another notification - Bruno sending screenshots of their pizza story going viral.

"Your Dior highs are not gym shoes!" Mila's voice carried down the stairs. "Why are they with your training gear?"

He grabbed another slice of pizza. This fake relationship was either going to fix his closet organization or drive him insane. Probably both.

Jules was used to having his home gym to himself at five in the morning. It was his thing - pushing his body before most people even thought about waking up. The discipline that kept him focused, kept the headlines about him professional instead of personal.

That's why finding Mila already there threw him. She was in the middle of a stretch sequence, compression shorts hugging curves that her Louis Vuitton uniform usually kept professional. The sports bra was obviously designer, but he was more distracted by the abs he didn't know she had. Her hair was thrown up in a bun, stray pieces falling around her face, held back by a headband that somehow made the whole look intentional.

"You're staring," she said without looking up from her stretch. "It's creepy."

"Didn't expect anyone else to be up."

"Please. You think this body maintains itself?" She switched positions with practiced ease. "Besides, early mornings are the only quiet time I get."

He watched her move through another stretch. "So this is a regular thing for you?"

"What, you thought I just stood around at Louis Vuitton looking pretty?" She finally looked up. "Those bags are heavy as shit. Requires maintenance."

Jules thought about their conversation from yesterday, her joke about cosmic compatibility. Turned out they had more in common than sharp tongues and an eye for fashion. Not that he'd give her the satisfaction of pointing that out.

"Well, don't let me interrupt your routine," he said, heading for the treadmill.

"Don't worry about me." She was already putting in her airpods.

Jules tried to focus on his treadmill stats, but his eyes kept drifting to Mila at the squat rack. The compression shorts weren't helping his concentration. Neither was her form.

He pulled out his phone, angling it for his usual morning workout story.

"Oh, we're doing thirst traps at five a.m.?" Mila's voice carried across the gym.

"Social media never sleeps." He checked the shot. "Don't worry, I won't post you. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you want to be posted."

She switched to deadlifts, and Jules suddenly found his playlist extremely interesting. Needed something with a stronger beat. Definitely not because he was trying not to stare at her ass.

"Your playlist must be fascinating," she called out, clearly enjoying his obvious distraction. "You've been scrolling for two minutes."

He cranked up his treadmill speed instead of answering. Some battles weren't worth fighting this early in the morning.

"By the way," Mila said between sets, "your ex unfollowed me."

"Already?" His feet kept steady on the treadmill. "That was fast."

"Right? She lasted longer than I expected." Mila moved to the pull-up bar, and Jules nearly tripped. "Careful there, chéri. Can't have you injured before training."

"Just adjusting my speed."

"Mhmm." She knocked out pull-ups like it was nothing. "Oh, and Bruno texted. Apparently we're trending again."

"It's five in the morning."

"Time zones exist, babe." She dropped from the bar, checking her phone. "Ooh, someone found videos of me dancing at that party. Your fans are real thorough."

Jules made the mistake of looking over. She was stretched out on the floor now, scrolling through her phone, all long legs and curves. The treadmill beeped a warning about his elevated heart rate.

"Focus on your cardio," she said without looking up. "Though I guess watching me is cardio adjacent."

You have no idea, Jules thought, watching her transition into stretches that were definitely more flexible than necessary. The way she bent over to touch her toes was practically a personal attack at this point.

That flexibility though... he could think of a few positions—

Nah. Don't.

He had to remind himself this was fake. Pretend. She'd made it pretty clear last night she wasn't down to fuck. Which was a shame because if her smart mouth was any indication—

Yeah. He definitely needed a shower.

"I'm done here," he announced abruptly, probably too abruptly, already heading for the door. "Training starts at 9."

"Running away already?" Her voice followed him out, amused.

Running was definitely one word for it.

************************************

Jules did some quick mental math about his morning schedule. Flick wanted them on the pitch by 9, and it was barely 6. That left him plenty of time to deal with the mess Mila had unknowingly left him in. Her compression shorts were burned into his brain, and the way they hugged her curves made it impossible to focus on anything else. His body had betrayed him the second she walked in, and ignoring it had only made things worse.

By the time he stepped into the shower, Jules was hard as a rock, the tension unbearable. Resigned, he leaned into the inevitable. Water cascaded down his locs, hot and relentless, as his hand found relief in the only way it could. He closed his eyes, letting the vivid mental image of Mila’s toned legs and the sway of her hips take over. It was quick and when he finally finished, his body shuddered, releasing what felt like weeks of pent-up frustration. His breathing was heavy, his muscles taut, and though his hand wasn’t a perfect substitute for the real thing, it would have to do.

For now.

It was nearly 7 by the time he wrapped a towel around his waist, feeling marginally lighter. His locs dripped water onto his bare shoulders as he stood before the bathroom mirror, wiping away the steam with the side of his hand. His reflection stared back at him, a mixture of relief and lingering frustration. He exhaled deeply, trying to shake off the memory of Mila and focus on something — anything— else.

Jules turned away from the mirror, already planning his match day fit. Distraction was the goal. He’d keep his mind on training, on what Flick expected of him, and not on the fact that Mila was probably still stretching downstairs. He ran a hand over his damp locs, forcing a neutral expression onto his face.

Mila waited until Jules' Urus was definitely gone before starting her post-workout exploration. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the ridiculous coffee machine he probably didn't know how to use properly.

The living room caught her off guard. Family photos mixed with art pieces that actually meant something - not the generic rich athlete collection she'd expected. A Basquiat print that was definitely authentic. Some local artists she recognized from galleries in Paris.

But it was the vinyl collection behind his TV that made her pause. Old school hip hop, French classics, rare pressings she'd only seen behind glass cases.

"Okay, actually impressed," she muttered, flipping through the collection. The organization was methodical, almost obsessive - probably the only thing in his house that was, besides the section of his closet she'd fixed. Each record sleeve is pristine, cataloged by genre and year.

Her phone lit up with a text from her coworker at Louis: "Girl, the store is CHAOS without you. When are you coming back???"

Mila caught her reflection in one of Jules' stupid expensive windows, still in her workout gear, hair a mess from that morning's session. This whole fake relationship thing was either going to make her career or destroy it. No in-between.

"Back Tuesday," Mila texted back to her coworker. "Try not to let anyone buy those ugly seasonal pieces."

Three dots appeared immediately: "The new collection is selling out because of YOU."

Of course, it was. She'd barely had time to process how that one McDonald's photo had blown up her entire aesthetic. Her Instagram followers had tripled. Fashion houses that had ignored her portfolio were suddenly sliding into her DMs.

She wandered upstairs, pausing at Jules' open door. His room looked like a fashion week aftermath - pieces thrown across the bed in his rush to training. Her eyes caught on his nightstand, then his dresser. Before she could stop herself, she was inside, fingers trailing over the surfaces, picking up bottles, checking drawers.

The ensuite bathroom drew her attention next. Row after row of skincare products lined up with military precision. She caught herself cataloging all the luxury skincare products lined up perfectly - at least he took care of his face and that explained the forty-minute shower she'd heard earlier. Mila picked up a face oil, checking the label.

La Mer, someone's real bougie.

"What are you? Interpol?" she muttered to herself as she set the bottle down exactly where she found it, getting the ick from her own snooping.

Back in her own room, she scrolled through notifications while waiting for the shower to heat up. Someone had already tracked down her old design school projects. Fan accounts were analyzing every interaction she'd ever had with Jules at Louis Vuitton. The internet was weird.

A text from Jules popped up: "my teammates found your finsta."

"which one?" she replied, because obviously she had several.

"the one where you rate footballer's fashion choices. they're feeling very attacked right now."

She grinned. That account had been her guilty pleasure - roasting millionaire athletes who couldn't dress themselves, even with a stylist. "tell pedri his latest gucci fit was a 3/10 at best."

"he's demanding a reconsideration."

"he can demand all he wants. those pants were criminal."

Her work phone lit up with another message from her manager at Louis. Something about influencer collaborations and social media reach. They'd been trying to get her to do official content for months, but she'd always refused.

Now here she was, accidentally becoming the kind of influencer she used to roast.

Mila secured her hair in a silk scarf then a shower cap before stepping in the shower. The water cascaded over her shoulders, rinsing away the morning’s workout and the lingering memory of Jules' too-long stare at her compression shorts. She smirked to herself, scrubbing her skin with the sandalwood-scented body wash she’d packed, a scent that clung subtly to her ever since she started using it.

After rinsing the soap off her skin, Mila took a moment to lean her forehead against the cool tile. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind — this fake relationship with Jules wasn’t supposed to feel this real, and yet it did. The way he teased her, the way his gaze lingered a beat too long…

Shaking the thought away, she wrapped herself in a towel. Back in her room, she grabbed a neatly folded set from the corner of her carry-on: a sage green Alo Yoga set, the fabric buttery soft against her skin. It was a far cry from the designer looks she’d wear later, but for now, it was perfect.

The urge to finish what she’d started the night before was impossible to ignore. She glanced back at Jules' messy room down the hall, rolling her eyes at the thought of leaving a job half-done. Her fingers itched at the memory of the chaos she’d left behind. Mila had spent years cultivating an eye for detail — OCD or not, she couldn’t leave her work half-assed.

Once dressed, she tightened her ponytail and grabbed her phone off the nightstand, headed straight for Jules’ room. The mess wouldn’t fix itself, and besides, she wasn’t doing it for him. This was for her peace of mind.

The sage Alo set moved with her as she crouched by his bed, neatly folding the pile of clothes. By the time she moved to his closet, Mila was in full organizer mode. She sifted through rows of designer suits, jerseys, and Gucci loafers.

"Three pairs of the same damn shoe," she muttered, shaking her head. "Who hurt you?"

His followers would probably appreciate knowing their fave had three pairs of the same Gucci loafers in slightly different shades of brown.

She was halfway through color-coding his shirts when her phone buzzed. Jules.

Jules (Da Boo): what are you up to?

She hesitated for a second, thumb hovering over the keyboard, before deciding on honesty.

LV's Meanest Stylist: fixing your closet. you're welcome.

Jules (Da Boo): you better not touch my trainers again.

LV's Meanest Stylist: too late. i’m cataloging them by how ugly they are.

A few seconds later, another text came through: "you’re unbelievable."

LV's Meanest Stylist: and you’re unorganized. it’s a miracle you make it out of the house dressed.

His reply was almost instant: "don’t forget who taught you how to tie a tie, cherie."

She snorted. "Touché."

But even his teasing couldn’t stop her from finishing the job. When she was done, his closet looked like a minimalist’s dream—clean lines, coordinated colors, and a clear division between casual wear and training gear. She snapped a quick photo, not for Instagram but for herself, a little reminder that even chaos could be tamed with enough patience.

Mila flopped back onto his bed, scrolling through her phone again. The internet was still buzzing about them, dissecting every detail of their "relationship." Part of her hated it, but part of her couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at the attention.

Another text came in from Jules: "i’m starving. what’s for lunch?"

She smirked, already typing back: "whatever you’re buying."

Jules (Da Boo): you organize my closet and want me to feed you?

LV's Meanest Stylist: yes. you’re welcome.

Mila could almost hear his laugh through the screen.

Jules (Da Boo): fine. 2pm. don’t make me wait, cherie.

By the time she hit send on her "see you then" reply, she was already planning what she’d wear. Jules might have gotten her hot and bothered without even trying this morning, but she’d make sure she turned the tables when he saw her later.

............tbd

#quainwritings #quain’s masterlist #jules kounde #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #jules koundé fanfiction #jules koundé fanfic #jules kounde x black reader #jules kounde x you #fc barça fic #fc barcelona fanfic

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practicalgauntlet · 3 days ago

Text

Something Sweet

Synopsis- You and Spencer are stuck in the bullpen doing paperwork. Everyone else has left for home or gone out for a drink, what a perfect time for such a delicious meal.

Category- Smut

Key- (---) =POV change

Notes- Chubby!Reader, None of my stuff will ever include Hard Dom Spencer because I just don't believe that man is into anything super kinky like slapping his partner around, that being said this includes smut, touching, unprotected sex, sex on a desk, semi-public sex (because they do it out in the open but no one is around)blow jobs, heavy tension build-up, mutual pining, established flirting, body worshiping, Female reader (if anyone wants I can repost this with different genders but I am a female so I find it easier to write smut with female anatomy), early season spencer (1-6)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The bullpen had long since been emptied, the last one to leave was your stoic boss with a tight-lipped 'good luck'. You had been nose-deep in the paperwork of your last case, the brutal story of a little boy and his dad, when you realized you were alone. Or so you thought you were.

There was a sense of unease witnessing such a busy place, usually rife with chaos and life, settle down for the night. The massive windows only further aided that feeling, with the cloud-shrouded, moonlit sky your only true beacon of light. But you were almost done, only a few pages left until you could hail a cab and be closer to the warm comfort of your bed.

However, if you wanted to finish the papers soon, you needed something to soothe the piercing ache in your stomach. When was the last time you ate? Oh, that's right, you went out with Emily and the girls for lunch. With a quick glance at your wristwatch, you grumbled at the time. It was now eleven-thirty, which made it roughly ten hours since you had last eaten.

You stand up from your desk, arms instinctively shooting high above your head to relieve the tension that clung to your back and shoulders. You couldn't help the way your eyes darted to the darkest corners of the room or the way you hovered your hand above your gun as you walked down the hall to the break room. The dark had always made you antsy, but after years of hunting the monsters that went bump in the night, you knew to be cautious.

When you turned the corner though, you saw the sterile white light of the breakroom illuminate the hall, banishing all thoughts of hidden dangers and bringing forth the fear of an intruder. Sure you couldn't be the only one in this building staying later to finish work, but you could have sworn you said goodbye to everyone. And after all those times this place had been infiltrated, you didn't hesitate to unclip your holster and slide your gun into your hands.

You didn't click off the safety though, the possibility of an innocent life was still high enough that you didn't want to risk anything. As you pressed yourself to the wall, adrenaline corsing through your blood, you slowly creep towards the breakroom.

It wasn't until you were at the open doorway, gun half raised for both possibilities, that you realized you weren’t the only agent burning the midnight oil. Spencer Reid was at the counter, his hands splayed on the counter on either side of the coffee pot he was yawning over.

"Jeeze, Spence." You murmured, you heartbeat still racing. It didn't help that Spencer had rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and forgone his usual sweater in favor of a white dress shirt. His hair was wild, like he had spent the past few hours running his hands through it. "You scared me."

"Sorry," He simply said, turning his head towards you. "Do you want a cup?"

If it'll keep him there, displayed for your greedy eyes; then yes. "I'd never say no coffee."

The tired smirk that flashed across his face made your knees weak. Even if he looked completely ran ragged, tired from the day and whatever paperwork you assumed he was staying late for, he still managed to send heat through your body.

You walk up to him, turning and leaning back against the counter to join him in watching the coffee pot slowly fill up. The two of you didn't talk at that time, only glancing at each other when the other wasn't looking.

"Did you know," Spencer started having reached his quota of tension filled silence. "In the eighteenth century, some governments tried to ban coffee because they thought it would encourage radical thinking."

"I did not know that." You chuckle, loving the way he turns his head to look at you. Spencer's big brown eyes seemed to swirl with emotion, something heady yet fragile.

The coffee machine beeps, startling the two of you out of your impromptu staring contest. Spencer goes about searching for your favorite mug, grabbing his along the way, and filling the two up. He dumps a shit load of sugar in his but leaves yours empty. "It's funny, in all the years we've known each other, I don't know how you take your coffee."

You grab the mug, body lighting up with excitement when you have to reach across Spencer to get to it. He doesn't move out of your way, only watching as your hand just barely brushes against his stomach.

"Depends on what mood I'm in." It wasn't until you heard your voice in your own ears that you notice the sultry tone to it.

Spencer leans in, not enough to count as a move but enough that you notice he was both infinitely closer than before and still miles apart from you. "And what mood are you in?"

Your breath escapes you, crawling out of your lungs and into the open air between the two of you. Your next words were no more than a whisper. "I'm in the mood for something sweet."

The smile that graced his face was something you had never seen Spencer wear. Especially not in a situation like this. It was confident, sure...heated. "Good to know."

Spencer said nothing else as he sipped from his mug and walked back to the bullpen.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The next time you find yourself staying at headquarters later than the rest of the team, you weren't surprised to find Spencer still seated at his desk. And just like last time, Spencer had relaxed thoroughly at his desk. He was sporting his white dress shirt again only this time his tie hung on the back of his chair with his vest and he had unbuttoned the top two buttons.

You found it hard to focus on your work, what with Spencer just a few desks away from you. Instead of the last case and what you were supposed to write down regarding all that had transpired, you couldn't take your eyes away from the cut of his jaw. Or the column of his throat. Or the tone forearms he rested on the edge of his desk. The way his lips rapidly moved as he whispered to himself while his fingers swiftly trailed down the page.

You adjusted yourself in your seat, fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs and relieve yourself of the building pressure between your legs. In the emptiness of the bullpen, your movement echoed and drew the attention of Spencer. He looked up and smiled, not at all privy to your internal battle and rising blood pressure.

---

What you didn't know though, was that he was watching you from his peripheral; aware that your eyes were on him. He noticed you moving around as if you couldn't quite get comfortable, shifting back and forth in your chair every now and then.

When he looked up at you, your chair creaking loudly throughout the room, he had caught you. You swiftly look down, pretending to write something down while a blush crept up your cheeks.

Spencer didn't know what was going on between the two of you, it was something he had never experienced in his life. He knew all species were driven to find mates through different methods of appeal. What he didn't expect was to be affected by that natural urge to attract. When it came to you, he felt suave, confident, and appealing. Words and actions naturally bypass his strict filter and he became someone he'd never thought he'd become.

When you would look up at him with a bright smile, he could always tell what you were thinking. Especially once he caught your eyes darting to his lips. But he never felt good enough, not as he flirted back, not as he fantasized about what you would taste like on his tongue. No, Spencer Reid was a destined loser, fated to a life surrounded by only friends and family. Not a beautiful woman who'd allow him the great privilege of touch and pleasure.

Again, he found himself acting without thinking. He had waved you over, desperately needing to see your face more clearly, yearning to feel the warmth of your body next to his.

You slowly got up, hesitant at first but the closer you got the more confident your stride became. You sat at the desk in front of him and when you sat down your legs brushed against his. It sent a jolt through his body, igniting a flame that had slowly been stoked over time.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the only sound was pages being flipped. Spencer couldn't focus on his paperwork anymore, too engrossed in the way your leg kept brushing against his. It was like you wanted to torture him slowly; with every shift of your hips.

A couple times he peeked at you after your ankle knocked with his to see if you were doing it on purpose. But it seemed as if you put all your willpower into the paper before you. Spencer noticed that you hadn't moved on from that one page in the half hour you had sat next to him. Maybe you were just as affected by this as he was.

To test his theory, he sank a little lower in his seat, spreading his legs and taking up more room. You stiffened when he gently shifted his foot to touch yours, then the other. He gauges your reactions, forming a hypothesis as to why you were so wound up.

Taking it further, his work completely forgotten, Spencer straightened up and leaned forward. This drew your attention, pulling your eyes to his like the speed of light. "I think I'm in the mood for something sweet."

Spencer relished in the blush that he brought to your cheeks and knew he was right. You felt the same pull that he felt. You were riddled with the same yearning he was. He hummed with delight, standing up and holding his hand out for you. You took it hesitantly, curious as to what had taken over him.

Instead of taking you to the breakroom like you thought he was going to, he spun you around so that your ass was pressed against the edge of your desk. You gasped with surprise as Spencer leaned forward and blocked you in with his hands on either side of your hips. The man in question was surprised aswell, his actions skewing so far away from his intentions. But now that he had you in his grasp, your perfume clouding your mind, he couldn't stop himself as he leaned in.

Your lips were as soft as he imagined. The way his whole world turned upside down the moment his mouth was pressed to yours and his hands found purchase on your hips just so he could have something to hold on to.

His mind spun as his hands uncontrollably kneaded the soft flesh of your hips and waist. You pulled back, your breath fanning across his face as you greedily took in the air he stole from you. Spencer only allowed you a second or two before diving back in, tilting his head so he could access your mouth better.

It felt like his body was acting on pure instinct, every thought, every fact and statistic evading his mind. He was sure if someone asked him about anything other than the way you felt or tasted he would come up blank.

Spencer couldn't help the groan of delight as your hands flew to his chest, skirting up his shirt and landing on his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him, drawing him deeper into the kiss as you cart your fingers through his hair.

If Spencer believed in heaven, this would be it.

---

Spencer had you pinned to the table, his hands roaming over your backside like he was trying to memorize the feel. In a split second three things happened. Spencer slotted himself between your legs, drawing his knee up and pressing his thigh against your throbbing cunt. The sudden and delicious friction had you gasping and Spencer took the opportunity to delve his tongue into your mouth. It took only half a second for your tongues to touch before the two of you let out a shuddering moan.

The sound rang out into the bullpen, echoing throughout the empty room and drawing the two of you back into reality. Spencer looked at you with wide eyes, like he had been acting solely on impulse. "Is," He cleared his throat, closing his eyes for just a second before leaning his forehead against yours. "Is this okay?"

You pull your hands out of his hair and down to his cheeks, cupping his face so he could look you in the eyes. "It's more than okay, Spence."

Again, he closed his eyes as if he were holding something back. The next time he spoke, his voice was ragged and strained. "You taste as sweet as I imagined."

You didn't like being so far away from him, so you pulled him back to you and met his eager mouth with yours. One of his hands trailed up your body, leaving a blazing path up your side. You felt his breath shudder once he reached your heavy breast, his hand at the edge of your ribcage as his thumb gently rested below your nipple.

"Can I-" He murmured against your lips and before he could even ask you've popped the buttons of your blouse.

Spencer pulls back to admire you, his deft fingers gently pulling the fabric away to expose your bra. In a bout of abnormal confidence, Spencer slips your blouse off your shoulders and unhooks the clip of your bra.

In the dim light of Spencer's desk lamp, you could see the caramel brown of his eyes taken completely over by his blown iris. He's blatantly staring at your tits, the cold air hitting your exposed skin and sending goosebumps over your arms.

"You're," He hums again, only this time it sounds like a broken, strangled groan. "You're so beautiful."

Before you could respond, Spencer grabbed the back of your thighs and hoisted you up on the desk. Not a moment later his mouth was enveloping your nipple. The wet heat of his mouth, of his tongue, on your skin was pure ecstasy. The way he swirled his tongue over your nipple before sucking the skin into his mouth.

His other hand came up and palmed your lonely breast, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipple to mimic his mouth. He kissed all across your chest, sucking on spots until you felt blood pool to the surface.

"Spence..." You sigh, loving the feel of him but needing his skin on yours, needing him to chase the chill that threatened to creep in. When he didn't let up, you pulled at his hair and brought his face close to yours. "Spence, take off your shirt."

The look on his face was adorable, with his eyes blown wide and dark, a goofy smile stretching his face as he looked at you like you were worth the world. "Yeah," That smile never left his face. He pulled away from you only far enough to undo the buttons of his dress shirt and slip the fabric off of his shoulders.

You pull him back to you, the heat of his skin as delicious as you needed it. He met you in the middle, your chest pressed against him as his mouth ravaged yours. Spencer shifted to get closer to you. In doing this, he pressed his hips into you and you felt the hard outline of his cock in his slacks.

You experimentally roll your hips, both desperate for friction and curious as to how he'd react. He hunched over, his body shaking around you, and groaned. You did it again and he tossed his head back, exposing the delicious column of his throat.

You wanted to mark him like he marked you, so you leaned forward and latched on. You kissed and sucked all over his neck and while you were distracted, Spencer grabbed your hips and pulled you back to him.

Over and over again, he thrust into you. With his hips growing more erratic, you pull away from his neck and take his face in your hands. "Spence, Spence, stop."

Immediately he jumped back, his face flushed and his breath ragged. " Did I do something wrong? I'm so sorry, I couldn't control myself."

He was too far, the open air of the bullpen nipping at your exposed skin. Instead of pulling him closer, you hop off the desk and peel off your skirt.

"You did nothing wrong, we just can't have you coming in your pants now can we?"

Spencer was watching your every move. His eyes tracked the way you hooked your thumbs into your waistband and slowly slid the skirt off for him. Thank god you chose comfort today, you didn't know how embarrassing it would be to try and seductively take off a pair of pantyhose.

You kicked off your shoes and stood before Spencer in just your panties. He was tense, hands opening and closing at his sides as he watched you with heavy lids. Half wanting to get him adjusted to the situation and half because you were dying to taste him, you drop to your knees in front of him and slide your hands up his thighs.

"This okay?" You ask, making sure his comfort is put above all else.

He reaches for your cheek, sliding his palm into your hair so he is holding your face at just the right angle. "More than okay."

You undo his button, then his zipper, slowly pulling down his pants in the process. Just because you were selfish and desperate, you shuck off his boxers along with his slacks and finally he was free.

His cock bobbed in front of you, pulsing with desire. It was hot to the touch as you wrapped your hand around the base, giving him a few experimental strokes. The noises he was already making were pure ecstasy and you hadn't even taken him in your mouth.

"Oh, fuck-" Spencer groaned, his voice strained as you plant a little kiss on the head of his cock.

You flick your tongue out, tasting the salty precome that wept from the tip. Slowly, you wrapped your mouth around him, flattening your tongue so you could take him better.

Spencer let out a long, ragged groan as swirled your tongue over that sensitive little nerve under the head. His hands flew to your hair, gently pushing your head down and pulling you back before you could gag. You bobbed your head only three times before he was yanking you back and gripping the base of his cock.

"Hold on, hold on."

You look up at him, watching as he staves off his orgasm. You couldn't help but enjoy the sight. Spencer Reid, the passionate and seemingly innocent young Doctor was looking down at you with his cock in his hand.

You bit your lip at the sight, ready to devour him whole if he let you. Spencer closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before he pulled you up by your hand. He led you back to the desk, urging you to sit back on it. You oblige, excited to finally feel full of his cock. But when Spencer gets to his knees, you let out a whine of disappointment

"I want to return the favor." He said as he stared at your throbbing cunt like a starved man sat before a buffet. But you were ready, you needed him now.

You gently tugged on his hair until he was looking at you. "As much as I'd love for you to go down on me, Spence, I need you."

"I'm right here."

"No," You look at him pointedly, slipping your hand down your stomach so you can trail your fingers through your slick. " I need you. Please, Spence."

His eyes widened and he abruptly stood. "I don't, I don't have a condom."

You spread your legs, hoping the glistning of your need was enough to persuade him. "I'm on the pill, it's okay."

He let out another shuddering breath, his hands tentatively taking your legs and wrapping them around his back. With a hand on his cock, he aligns himself with you. Spencer didn't break eye contact as he slowly pushed in.

The stretch of him, the burn, was like nothing you've ever felt. A loud,, echoing moan wrenched itself out of you as he went deeper. He's still pushing in, pausing every now and then so the two of you can catch your breath. Once he bottomed out, his hips flush with yours, and he takes his hand to your cheek.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

Never in your life had you heard Spencer talk like this, so vulgar, so heated. He looked at you like you hung the very stars he studied. The two of you sit still for a moment, basking in his gaze and his cock and his body and everything that was Spencer Reid.

"You have to move, please, you have to move." You whisper, feeling that sudden, desperate need for him to take over once again.

"Right," He mutters, that goofy smile back on his face. It falls the moment he pulls back, keeping his cockhead inside before pushing back in.

Spencer's eyes are screwed shut as his thrusts pick up the pace. It was slow like molasses and built a different type of pressure than you were used to.

"I'm not going to last long, " He whispers, arms shaking from where they were braced by your head.

"That's okay, Spence, just let go."

You slide your hands between the two of you, your middle finger swirling across your clit to get yourself to come faster. You wanted nothing more than to become undone with him.

Spencer groaned in your ear, whispering sweet nothings as he kisses and sucks more hickies onto your neck. Once he notices your hand, he slaps it away and replaces your finger with his thumb.

It was a new sensation, his now positioning thrusts joining with the rough way he was treating your clit. You were ricocheted into an orgasm faster than ever before.

White hot pleasure flooded you as you curled into Spencer. Not a moment later you feel him settle as deep as he can and moan into your neck. Warmth is spread inside you, leaking out of your spent pussy and onto Spencer's cock.

It took the two of you a few minutes to gather your breath and remember who and where you were. Spencer was still on top of you, his softening cock slipping out as he pulled away.

That stupid, adorable, goofy smile didn't leave his face. Not as he helped you up, not as he littered your face with sweet peering kisses, not even as he watched you get dressed. You felt an ache deep within your facial muscles and realized you wore that same grin.

Spencer was still all over you, holding you close to him and kissing you wherever he could get his lips. "Can't I go down on you next time?"

"Next time?"

Spencer's face fell. "I mean, if you want a next time."

You chuckle and give him a quick peck on the cheek, not at all satisfied with him yet. "How about you come back to my place if you're still so eager?"

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #smut #criminal minds

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