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angelremnants · 3 days ago

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Between Strength & Style l L. Laufeyson

PART TWO.⠀...AND LIFTING MEETS DESIRE..

summary : Loki’s probationary stint with the Avengers takes a surprising turn when Thor insists on dragging him to the team’s fluorescent-lit gym—a place he deems far beneath his dignity. His disdain shifts the moment you stride in with effortless confidence, transforming the mundane gym into your personal runway, commanding the room and worse, directly challenging his ego. Determined not to be overshadowed, Loki initiated a playful competition, vying to outshine you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. Yet, what began as irritation soon evolved into intrigue—and an electric chemistry taking place between you and forcing him to confront not only your undeniable allure but also his own battle for self-control. The only question left was: how many Fridays would pass before one of you finally caves in?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, sexual tension & innuendos (lots of it), extremely suggestive content, some graphic fantasies, flirting & teasing, emotional conflict, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 20.2k

author's notes : It always seems that whenever I set out to write a two-shot, a third one always ends up peaking its head. However, I promise that the next and final part will focus on a long, graphic, and unapologetically sinful smut. Truth be told, its scenario is already planned; I just need to put it all together on paper.

In the meantime, here's the continuation of Loki and his darling, who are both complete, sexually frustrated idiots and can’t resist taunting each other as their form of aggressive flirting.

(ao3 version)

⠀

The Friday gym reunions had undeniably spiraled into something far beyond their original purpose. What should have been a straightforward workout session had evolved into a full-blown theater of absurdity—a weekly unscheduled spectacle of clashing egos and sharper-than-steel wits. And at the center of it all stood Loki. Naturally.

The gym was buzzing, its usual hum of machinery and clatter of weights eclipsed by the palpable tension in the air. The room itself, sterile with its fluorescent lights and dull grey walls, was wholly unworthy of the drama that unfolded within it, yet it served as the perfect stage.

And the spectacle? Oh, it wasn’t just between the two of you anymore. No, your little rivalry had become something of a legend around the installation. What had started as harmless banter and subtle challenges had escalated into something so magnetic that it drew an audience every week. From agents to staff, everyone whispered about it. About the mischief-maker and the defiant contender, locking horns like some modern-day myth.

The Avengers themselves had taken notice, watching from the sidelines with varying degrees of amusement. Rumor had it that bets were now circulating—some on who would break first, others on who would escalate the stakes further. Tony Stark, naturally, spearheaded the betting pool, gleefully collecting wagers and throwing in his cheeky commentary.

“So, who do you think’s gonna crack first?” The self-made genius leaned against the wall with a practiced nonchalance, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the scene with a smirk. His eyes glinted with merriment, as if he were enjoying a private show. “I’ve got ten bucks on Rock of Ages. The guy’s a walking disaster zone. You know he can’t help himself—whether it’s stirring the pot or keeping it in his pants.”

Sam Wilson, ever the provocateur, grinned as he adjusted the Velcro on his gloves. “Nah, you’re on, Stark. I’m betting on [Y/N]. I mean, seriously, have you seen the way she looks at him? It’s like watching a countdown to an explosion. She’ll snap before Loki even knows what hit him.”

Tony smirked, shifting his weight against the wall. “Nah, Tweety, you’ve got it backward. My money’s still on him. He’s like a walking ego trip—he won’t stop until he’s the center of her universe. And let’s be honest, he’s not exactly subtle about it.”

Bucky snorted, adjusting the weights on his barbell. “You guys seriously underestimate her. She’s got more self-control than all of us combined. If anyone’s gonna break first, it’s Loki. Trust me on this one, Loki’s the one walking the edge.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, really? And what’s your bet, then? That she’s gonna keep her cool while he spirals into one of his melodramatic fits?”

Bucky shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. She’s too level-headed to let him get under her skin—at least not in the way he’s hoping. Loki’s gonna be the one who can’t handle it when the tables turn.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, man. Have you seen the way she looks at him when he’s pulling one of his stunts? It’s like she’s deciding whether to throttle him or kiss him. My money says throttle.”

The billionaire wasn’t having it. “Come on, Barnes. You’ve seen her. Whenever he pulls that whole ‘smooth criminal’ act, you can practically see the gears turning in her head as she fights not to roll her eyes. It’s like watching someone wrestle a hurricane.”

Sam chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against a nearby column. “I’m sticking to my call—she’s gonna fold first. She’s already hanging by a thread. Loki thrives on the chaos, and let’s face it—she’s the perfect fuel for his fire. I mean, come on, she’s probably the only one getting off on telling him to shut up.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the barbell and settling onto the bench. “You guys are ridiculous. This isn’t some rom-com. She’s not gonna fall for his games, and he’s not gonna win whatever twisted competition he thinks they’re having.”

Sam grinned, nudging Tony with his elbow. “We’ll see, man. We’ll see.”

The gym door swung open suddenly, and the chatter died instantly as the god of mischief sauntered in with his signature swagger. It was as if the very air shifted to accommodate him, growing heavier with an almost theatrical tension. He didn’t just walk into the room; he commanded it, his dark leather boots clicking softly against the polished floor with the precision of an orchestra’s opening note.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled, his voice a rich, velvety purr that seemed to coat every syllable with smug satisfaction. He leaned against the doorframe, one ankle crossed casually over the other, and surveyed the room like a monarch appraising his court. “I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation. How terribly entertaining it is to know you spend so much time obsessing over me. Tell me—what would you all do without my dazzling presence?”

Tony, unimpressed, barely looked up from where he was fiddling with his smartwatch. “Probably get some peace and quiet for once,” he quipped, his tone dry but playful. “But hey, where’s the fun in that?”

Loki’s grin widened, shark-like and infuriatingly self-assured. “Ah, but peace is so dreadfully dull, isn’t it?” he countered smoothly, pushing off the doorframe and strolling further into the room. His presence seemed to expand as he moved, drawing the attention of everyone present without effort.

“No excitement, no discord, no… amusement,” he added, letting his eyes flicker over each of them before landing on Sam, his grin turning predatory. “And as for your little gossip regarding my dear [Y/N]… rest assured, she’s already under my spell. It’s only a matter of time before she succumbs to her undeniable attraction to me.”

Bucky scoffed at the declaration. “Man, you’re cocky. You really think she’s just gonna roll over and swoon?”

Loki’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, I don’t think—I know. The lady simply needs time to come to terms with the inevitable. Resistance, after all, is futile.”

Sam let out a bark of laughter, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who still thinks capes are sexy.”

Loki arched a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow, the picture of aloof elegance. “Capes are timeless,” he replied, a gleam of mischief in his eye. “And as for confidence… I simply speak the truth. She will come to see it soon enough.”

Bucky muttered under his breath as he pushed the barbell up. “You’re delusional.”

Loki’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, but his smirk remained firmly in place. “Indeed, Barnes, I stand here—utterly delusional, and yet, undeniably irresistible.”

Sam slapped his thigh, grinning wide. “This is gonna be good. Can't wait to rub that win in your faces.”

Before the conversation could escalate further, the heavy creak of the door sounded again. All heads turned as Steve Rogers entered, his upright posture and steely gaze cutting through the buzzing tension like a knife. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, and the room shifted, the previously lighthearted atmosphere thickening with a hint of unease. Steve’s sharp blue eyes swept across the group, taking in the smirks, folded arms, and barely stifled grins, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

“What is this?” Steve demanded, his deep voice laced with disapproval. “You’re betting on who’s going to crack first? Really? What are you, a bunch of high schoolers?”

Tony, as usual, remained completely unfazed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that bordered on outright defiance. “Come on, Cap. It’s harmless. We’re just having a little fun. You know, team bonding and all that jazz.” He gestured vaguely to the others, clearly trying to pass off the situation as innocent.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as they landed on Loki, who had strategically moved to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall in a pose that screamed insufferable smugness. The faintest trace of a smirk curled on Loki’s lips, his entire demeanor practically daring Steve to confront him. “Laufeyson,” Steve said, his voice low and heavy with warning. “I can’t say I expected better from you, but you’re supposed to be focusing on your probation. Not... whatever this is.”

Loki didn’t miss a beat, straightening slightly as he pushed off the wall with an almost feline grace. “Ah, Rogers, always the paragon of virtue,” he said smoothly, his voice as sweet as poisoned honey. “But I assure you, this is all in good fun. After all, what is life without a little… competition?” His sharp green eyes sparkled mischievously, and for a moment, it looked as though he might outright laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Steve let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his face. His sense of righteousness was clearly battling with his growing exasperation—and the faintest hint of amusement he seemed determined to suppress. “It’s not about participating in this childish behavior,” he said firmly, though the weariness in his tone betrayed him. “I’m trying to make a point.”

Before he could say more, Tony pushed a crisp five-dollar bill toward him with a wide, knowing grin. “Come on, Star-Spangled Man,” he coaxed, his tone both teasing and strangely persuasive. “You can’t resist. You’re curious now, aren’t you? Just throw a little something down. I guarantee you won’t regret it.”

Steve hesitated, his sharp gaze darting between the group and the smirking god of mischief still lounging nearby. His lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled heavily, reaching into his pocket. A crumpled ten-dollar bill emerged, and with what could only be described as reluctant resignation, he tossed it onto the table. “This is nonsense,” he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with reluctant mirth. “I’m doing these sessions for the team. Not for this nonsense.” His piercing gaze landed on Loki, the unspoken warning in his expression clear.

Loki’s smirk widened, his entire demeanor dripping with unbothered confidence. He stepped closer, his long coat swishing slightly as he leaned toward Steve. “Oh, how very noble of you, Rogers,” he mocked lightly, his voice laced with exaggerated politeness. “You’re not participating for the thrill of it, of course. No, no—you’re simply maintaining the moral high ground. How very... heroic. Rest assured, your wagers are well-placed when they rest upon my incomparable charm.” His smirk deepened, practically daring Steve to react.

Steve’s incredulous expression spoke volumes. “Charm?” he repeated, his voice laden with skepticism. “You’re not charming anyone, buddy. This is ridiculous.”

Sam, leaning back in his seat with an arm casually draped over the chair, grinned widely. “Oh, I don’t know, Cap. The guy lives for drama, and let’s face it—we do too.”

The room suddenly seemed to shift again as heavy, purposeful footsteps echoed from the hallway. The doorway darkened as Thor entered, his large frame and imposing presence commanding attention. His storm-blue eyes scanned the room, landing squarely on his brother with a mixture of irritation and faint amusement. “Loki,” Thor boomed, his deep voice reverberating through the room. “What is this nonsense? Are you planning to court Lady [Y/N], or are you simply making a fool of yourself again?”

The room went silent, the air thick with anticipation. All eyes turned to Loki, whose smirk faltered for the briefest of moments before he recovered, his expression once again unreadable. Straightening his posture, he turned to Thor with an air of mock innocence. “Ah, brother,” he began, his voice as smooth as silk, “you misunderstand me entirely. I’m not courting her—I’m merely ensuring she is... aware of my presence.”

Sam burst out laughing, earning a sharp glance from Loki. “Oh yeah? That’s what you’re calling it?” Sam teased, his grin practically splitting his face. “You might wanna rethink your ‘not-courting’ strategy, dude.”

Bucky, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned back in his seat with a smirk of his own. “If I were the damsel,” he remarked dryly, “I’d be looking for someone with a little less flair for the dramatic.”

Thor crossed his arms, his biceps bulging slightly as he stared down at his younger brother. “If this is your idea of a competition,” he said with a sigh, his tone laced with both disapproval and faint beguilement, “you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning sharp. “Oh, it’s not a competition, dear brother,” he replied smoothly, his tone bordering on smug. “Merely a game. A harmless game. But rest assured, as always—I intend to win.” His piercing green gaze locked with Thor’s, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air.

His piercing green eyes locked with Thor’s stormy blue gaze, the intensity of his stare unyielding. It wasn’t just a challenge; it was a declaration. The air between them seemed to spark, charged with the weight of unspoken words communicated by the likes of subconscious telepathy. Loki stood poised, his lithe frame radiating confidence, as though he were a predator savoring the anticipation of the hunt.

Thor, towering and broad-shouldered, tilted his head slightly, his eyebrow lifting in skeptical defiance. “A game?” he repeated, his deep voice tinged with incredulity as it rose slightly, the rich timbre of it filling the room. “And what, pray tell, are you battling for this time?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a grin that could only be described as devilish. His gaze flickered, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes, but he offered no further explanation. “Pride, Thor,” he said finally, his tone light yet deliberate, the words laden with layers of meaning. “Simple pride.”

As if on cue, the door swung open with a soft, deliberate creak, and you stepped inside alongside Natasha and Wanda, the three of you commanding the room with an understated, magnetic presence. The atmosphere in the gym, already thick with tension and rivalry, shifted immediately, as though the air itself bent to accommodate your arrival. The rhythmic thud of weights hitting the ground and low murmurs of conversation faltered, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to hold the collective gaze of every man in the room.

Each of you exuded an air of effortless elegance and undeniable strength, your outfits blending athleticism and allure in a way that was impossible to ignore. You, dressed in a sleek cropped top that revealed just enough of your toned midriff to hint at the dedication beneath it, paired it with high-cut athletic shorts that elongated your legs. The addition of thigh-high compression socks accentuated your form, lending both practicality and a touch of bold style. Your hair was swept into a perfectly imperfect messy bun, with a few stray strands framing your face like an artist's final, deliberate strokes on a masterpiece. The faint sheen of your skin from the heat outside caught the light just right, and the subtle tint of lip balm made your lips seem more vivid, though still natural—an unintentional yet undeniable invitation to stare.

Natasha and Wanda complemented your presence perfectly. Natasha, in her sleek black leggings and a fitted low-cut tank top, moved with feline grace, her crimson hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed slightly with each step. Wanda’s outfit, a rich maroon set that clung to her like a second skin, paired with a lightweight jacket tied casually around her waist, hinted at her unique balance of grounded power and mysticism. The three of you looked like a coordinated, unstoppable force, every movement synchronized in unintentional harmony.

The men in the room couldn’t help but take notice. Tony’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise, his usual wit temporarily stolen. Steve, ever the gentleman, tried to avert his gaze but couldn’t help a second glance. Sam and Bucky exchanged a quick look that was equal parts appreciation and amusement, while Thor simply let out a low, approving hum, his broad grin spreading as his eyes lingered for just a second too long.

But Loki—Loki’s reaction was immediate, as though his attention was magnetically drawn to you the moment you came in. His sharp green eyes flickered over you, briefly narrowing with a subtle appraisal that didn’t escape your notice. His smirk faltered for the briefest moment before returning with even more fervor, like a predator calculating its next move.

The tight-fitting athletic wear revealed just enough to catch his interest, and he looked at you with an intensity that felt as if it could set the entire room ablaze. It wasn’t the kind of gaze that lingered on your face or the space between you, but on the curve of your hips and the long, toned length of your legs. He traced the lines of your body with a hunger in his eyes, though momentarily distracted by your planned indifference.

When he met your gaze, the mischievous glint in his expression only deepened. It was clear he hadn’t missed your deliberate lack of acknowledgment, but that didn’t deter him. No, instead, it seemed to fuel the game he was already playing, and he grinned, as though the challenge had only just begun.

“What's up, guys?" you asked lightly, your tone casual, almost dismissive, as you moved past the group. The words hung in the air like a carefully thrown dart, drawing their attention further without giving too much away. You radiated a confident ease, as though utterly unaware—or uncaring—of the disruption your presence had caused.

Loki, of course, wasn’t so easily dismissed. He subtly shifted in your direction, his posture as relaxed as ever, but there was a deliberate intent in the way he angled himself slightly toward you. His smirk was slow and deliberate, his lips curving upward like the promise of a secret only he knew. When you didn’t immediately look his way, he leaned forward just enough for his presence to nudge into your space, his emerald eyes gleaming with mischief.

Natasha raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, while Wanda shot him a cool, disinterested glance before heading toward the chosen workout area. They didn’t need words; the look they exchanged was enough to say it all.

You stayed focused, making your way to join them with an effortless stride, your movements as fluid as they were intentional. The men couldn’t help themselves, their gazes trailing after you like moths to a flame, though each tried, with varying degrees of success, to pretend they weren’t watching. Tony cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly as if trying to appear nonchalant. Steve adjusted his stance, looking determined to redirect his attention to anything else but failing miserably. Sam gave a low whistle under his breath, earning an elbow from Bucky, who chuckled and muttered something about "respecting professionalism." Thor crossed his arms, his grin unabashed and entirely unapologetic as he observed the dynamic shift in the room.

“Did you feel that?” Natasha murmured quietly to you, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she gestured toward the group with a subtle tilt of her head. “The collective brain cell they’re trying to share just short-circuited.”

You smirked but kept your eyes forward, not giving Loki or the others the satisfaction of knowing you noticed. “Barely,” you replied, your voice low enough for only Natasha and Wanda to hear.

Loki’s grin widened at your apparent indifference, but beneath the mask of arrogance, there was the usual flicker of frustration at the lack of attention from your end. At this point, he thrived on it, and your refusal to grant it to him, even for a moment, was an offense he didn’t want to tolerate anymore.

Wanda gave you a knowing look, her smirk growing as she took note of the subtle shift in his posture. “Here we go,” she murmured with a quiet laugh, her voice carrying the hint of something much more entertaining to come. Natasha, not missing a beat, threw the dark prince another pointed glance, her amusement evident in the way she silently challenged him.

Still, you gave no reaction, letting him stew in his theatrics for just a little longer. You had a special workout to get to, after all.

You took a deep breath before turning back to face the group of men, fully aware of the apprehension in the room and how everyone’s attention was on you. The air was thick with anticipation, and you played it up, pretending the Asgardian didn’t exist for the moment.

"Alright, so," you began, your voice light but with an edge of authority. "The girls and I decided to work on agility today. We’re going to try something different for this session." You allowed a small, deliberate pause, letting the words sink in as you watched their faces shift from confusion to curiosity.

They were all listening intently, waiting for more. "You know," you continued, flashing a casual smile, "Yoga. Thought we’d give it a go today." The words came out with just enough playful confidence to keep them guessing.

Tony, still lurking behind a set of dumbbells, couldn't hide the curiosity that piqued his interest. "Yoga?" he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You sure you’re not just trying to get out of lifting some actual weight for once, Glamazon?"

You grinned back, unfazed. "No, actually, I’m curious to see how my core holds up," you said, your voice playful yet sharp with determination, a reminder of the underlying strength you carried in everything you did. "But don’t worry about us," you added with a carefree shrug. "You’ll get your gym session, and we’ll get ours."

Sam, ever the instigator, leaned forward with that cocky grin of his. "I didn’t think you were into that," he said with a raised eyebrow, clearly enjoying the energy shift. "You always seem like you’d rather be running circles around us."

You shrugged nonchalantly, a glimmer of an unknown sentiment flickering in your eyes. "Variety's good, right?" You glanced at Natasha and Wanda, both of whom were already giving off an air of superiority. "It’s about challenging the body in different ways, not just about strength."

Wanda, who had been eyeing the group of men with a gleam in her eye, finally spoke up. "Plus, it’s a great way to get some real flexibility, not just the physical kind." Her voice was light, but you knew the deeper meaning in her words, especially with the way she shot a conspiratory glance at Sam.

You couldn’t help but throw her a grin. "Exactly. Yoga isn’t just about strength. It’s about balance, coordination, and mental focus." You paused, eyes narrowing with intent. "Thought I’d try to perfect my inner zen."

Thor, who had been watching you intently, folded his arms over his chest, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "What is this... some kind of sorcery?" he asked, clearly puzzled by the shift in atmosphere.

You laughed softly, casting a quick glance toward the men before letting your gaze land on Loki. His eyes were still on you, though his earlier smirk had dimmed. You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "It’s just a workout routine, Loki. Nothing to be concerned about." You let your words hang in the air, a subtle challenge of your own.

Loki leaned in, his voice laced with mock seriousness, but his tone hinted at something deeper, something more intrigued than he'd care to admit. "Oh, I’m not concerned. Not at all," he said smoothly, though the faintest glimmer of doubt danced in his eyes. "But do be careful, pet. We wouldn't want you to overextend yourself... You might strain more than just your flexibility."

You could feel his words crawling under your skin, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, you kept your posture relaxed, almost too casual. "We’ll be fine," you answered politely but with a hint of finality. "It’s just a change of pace." You smiled sweetly at him, then turned away, making a conscious effort to ignore his attempt to rile you up.

As you and the girls began setting up the yoga mats, the entertained demeanor of Tony caught your eye, his grin widening into something that could only be described as smug. "If you need help stretching... I’m more than qualified," he winked. "I think you’re gonna need it."

You shot back a playful glance. "You think so?" you retorted teasingly. "If you want to join us, there’s plenty of space."

Bucky, who had been watching your every move, let out a quiet chuckle. "You’re gonna make us look bad if we do, aren’t you?" he said, a knowing look passing between you both.

You flashed him a mischievous grin. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you replied with a wink before returning your focus to the task at hand. You were used to their attention by now, and you certainly weren’t about to give them the satisfaction of getting flustered.

You took your place and knelt down to adjust your mat, and you could definitely feel the unmistakable heat of Loki’s glare on your body. But you were determined to remain unaffected. You glanced at Natasha and Wanda, giving them a playful, almost wicked grin. This was about to get fun.

"So," you began, turning casually back to the group of men, your voice smooth but laced with underlying devilry, "the thing about yoga is that it really works your flexibility. And you’ve got to have good control over your body, or things can get a little too loose." You allowed a slight pause, watching the flicker of understanding and interest cross their faces.

You could see Loki’s eyebrow quirked up slightly, the tiniest twitch at the corner of his lips betraying his struggle to maintain composure. "Of course," you continued innocently, "flexibility is key, especially when you’re trying to get into some of those deep stretches."

You made a show of adjusting your position on the mat, arching your back just enough to catch their attention, a calculated move that made Sam’s eyes widen just a little, a grin tugging at his lips.

"You're really showing off with this, huh?" Sam teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he casually leaned against the wall. His gaze briefly flickered to you on the mat before he added, "All that flexibility and focus… if it were me, I’d probably pull something just from the distraction."

You threw him a discreet wink before turning your attention back to your girls, who were already preparing for the first pose. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Bird Boy," you teased. "Honestly, it's just a matter of knowing your limits and knowing how far you can bend... without breaking," you added with a sly, deliberate emphasis.

Steve spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension with an almost casual air. "Alright, alright, calm down there, you two," he said with a bemused chuckle, clearly enjoying the interplay but not wanting things to escalate too much. "Let’s not get too carried away. It’s yoga, not... whatever this is turning into." His gaze flicked between you and Loki, though there was an unspoken understanding behind his words, he was well aware of the subtle play unfolding.

You didn’t break your stride. "Aye aye Captain," you voiced airily, glancing at him over your shoulder. "I’m just giving the guys here a taste of what it takes to stay flexible in more ways than one." You shot a playful grin in his direction, making sure to keep the mood light.

Loki’s eyes flicked from you to Steve, his expression momentarily darkening, as if something behind his sharp gaze shifted. He gave a slow, deliberate tilt of his head, his voice smooth yet carrying an undertone of challenge. "Rogers," Loki began, his tone laced with mock curiosity, "if you truly believe this is all just... stretching and bending, I’m afraid you’ve missed the point entirely." His eyes returned to you, a quiet tension building between his words.

You suppressed a laugh, knowing exactly what he was alluding to, but you kept your focus. You turned toward the men, who were now all clearly intrigued, some with more open curiosity than others.

Tony, still clearly entertained by the dynamic between you, leaned back in his seat. “And what exactly are we supposed to take from all this... stretching and flexing?" His words carried a hint of inviting defiance, as though daring you to continue this little game.

Bucky, still hovering near his weights, gave a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between you and the green god. "I’m just here for the show," he added, his usual deadpan expression betraying the amusement he clearly found in the whole thing.

You smiled, pleased by the attention, but kept your composure. "Don’t worry, guys," you said with a wink. "You’ll get your workout. But maybe you’ll learn something about balance, focus... subordination. We all could use a little more of that, don't you think?"

"Subordination," Steve echoed, shaking his head. "We’re talking yoga here, right? Or did I miss something?"

"You didn’t miss anything, Captain," Loki’s voice chimed in smoothly, though his eyes never left you. "But you might want to be careful—some people don’t handle that kind of 'subordination' as well as others." His smirk was back, albeit with a more pointed edge now, his voice low with an almost voracious quality as if he was intently mulling over his next move.

"Well, it’s about more than just physical control," you replied, your tone just as smooth as his. "It’s about mental clarity. Knowing your limits... and knowing when to push past them." You threw a subtle glance in his direction, not missing the way his gaze flickered, and guessing that his mind was already working over your words, perhaps taking them in ways you hadn’t fully intended.

"And knowing how to play your cards, I suppose?" Loki's voice was a touch more serious now, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but throw his own words back at him again, leaning into the challenge. "Exactly," you said with a sweet grin. "You’ve got it."

You stretched your legs out in front of you, positioning your body in a slow and deliberate stretch, purposefully showing off the control you had over every movement. "You have to go slow with these," you said in a sweet, yet teasing voice. "Otherwise, you might end up straining something... and we wouldn’t want that, would we?" You took a peek at Loki, knowing full well that your words were likely to provoke him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t respond right away. Thor, clearly catching on to the subtle game you were playing, nudged his brother. "You know, brother, if you’d just give it a try, you might find yoga quite revealing," he suggested with an amused grin, his eyes flipping between the two of you.

Loki sighed, though it seemed more out of the need to regain his composure than out of actual frustration. "Oh, I’m quite content watching, thank you," he said smoothly, though you could tell he was still too engaged in the situation to fully hide his interest.

You saw the opening and took it. "Well," you articulated, your tone dripping with mock sweetness, "the sidelines are reserved for those who prefer to watch, after all. But if you ever want to get in on the action, you know where to find me."

There was a brief, stunned silence in the room as everyone processed your words. You took the opportunity to focus back on your session, bending into another deep stretch, deliberately pushing your body further to make sure the attention stayed on you.

The words hung in the air for a brief moment, and Loki’s sharp green eyes flicked toward you, a flicker of realization crossing his face. His smirk faltered, just for a split second, before returning with an edge of something darker. "Oh," he uttered, his voice low, "you’ve got a good memory, don’t you?"

You knew exactly what you were doing. And you loved every second of it.

Natasha shot you a look, her eyes glinting with amusement, a sly smirk tugging at her lips as she caught the subtext of your words and movements. "You’re having a little too much fun with this," she called you out. Clearly, she was enjoying the bubbling disarray you were effortlessly stirring up.

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to appear unaffected by the stir you were causing. "Hey," you countered, your tone playful, "if they’re going to stand around and gawk, I might as well entertain them." Your eyes flickered briefly to the dark prince, where his subtle shift in focus didn’t escape your notice as you turned back to the red-headed assassin.

Sam, always ready to poke fun, leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees as he flashed you an exaggerated grin. "You’re definitely keeping it interesting, that’s for sure," he quipped, clearly caught between amusement and an underlying curiosity.

With a light chuckle, you peered at him provocatively. "I’m just here to make sure everyone’s stretched in the right way," you quipped back, a hint of challenge in your voice as you met his eyes.

Steve, sensing the playful banter was starting to spin out of control, clapped his hands together, his presence bringing a subtle shift in the room. The tension that had been hanging in the air from the teasing remained, but now it was time to bring things back to business. “Alright, fellas,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos, authoritative and sharp as always. “Back to the weights. Time to get serious.”

The guys groaned in unison, a collective reluctance that seemed to ripple through the group, but despite the grumbling, they picked up their dumbbells and returned to their stations. The sounds of weights clinking and the low murmurs of the guys refocusing filled the room, but one person remained distinctly out of sync with the rest.

From his spot by the bench, Loki’s composure was slipping more visibly with each passing second. His long fingers tightened and relaxed around the barbell, his muscles flexing involuntarily as if trying to regain control of his body. But his gaze kept flickering back to where you and the other women had gathered, setting up for the next set of stretches. He tried his best to feign indifference—leaning casually against the bench, appearing utterly unbothered—but it was clear to anyone paying attention that it was a losing battle.

When you bent forward into a slow, deliberate stretch, sliding effortlessly into a forward fold, Loki's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. The graceful curve of your back, the way your body seemed to flow with ease into the pose, was almost hypnotic. He could feel his pulse quicken, and despite his best efforts to maintain poise, his mind spiraled into dangerous thoughts.

He imagined his hands trailing down your spine, the heat of your skin under his fingertips, the way you'd arch into his touch. He’d trace the elegant curve of your spine downwards, his hand dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts to explore the supple globes of your ass, gripping and kneading the firm flesh. He would hook his fingers in the waistband and slowly tug them and your underwear down, revealing your most intimate places to his hungry gaze, inch by tortuous inch.

Then, he’d slip his hand inside your soaking panties, and groan at the slick evidence of your arousal coating his fingers. Notch two fingers at your entrance, pumping them in a shallow thrust, crooking them to find that special spot inside, and piston it repeatedly simply to watch as you lose your mind and your whole body quivers again and again.

The sheer audacity of the images playing out in his head made his jaw tighten, a flush creeping up his neck as his fortitude continued to unravel.

He tried to drag his gaze away, his grip tightening on the barbell as though the weight could somehow ground him in reality. But even as he focused on the solid steel in his hands, it felt almost insubstantial compared to the magnetic pull of your presence. He swallowed thickly, a futile attempt to regain control, but it didn’t work.

When his gaze flicked back—just for a split second, just to check on your progress—you were transitioning into a lunge, every line of your body accentuated by the stretch. The faint sheen of sweat caught the light, making your skin glow as though you were carved from something impossibly radiant. It wasn’t just the stretch that rendered him mad; it was you. You knew exactly how to push his buttons, how to pull him into your orbit without a single word, like some irresistible gravitational force he had no hope of escaping.

When had it escalated to this? What was supposed to be a simple, harmless game of one-upmanship—his initial goal to snatch that little fame of yours around the gym, to make you scowl, cower, and surrender—had somehow veered wildly off course. Now, instead of basking in smug satisfaction at seeing you flustered, he found himself consumed by something far more primal, far more dangerous. He no longer simply wanted to knock you off your pedestal; he wanted to know everything about you. The sharpness of your mind, the quick wit that matched his quip for quip, the fire in your gaze that never backed down. He lusted after you, mind and body, with a hunger that rattled him to his core.

The predator had become the prey in a sense, tangled in a chase he’d started but could no longer direct. And judging by the way your smile curved just a little more, you knew it too.

A low growl rumbled deep in Loki’s chest, barely audible over the clanging weights and murmured conversations. He gripped the barbell tighter, the metal biting into his palms, but it wasn’t enough to stem the tide of thoughts flooding his mind. His imagination ran wild—thoughts of you pressed against him, your flexibility taking on a much more intimate meaning, your laughter ringing in his ear as you teased him mercilessly. It was awash in a flood of filthy fantasies, with you pressed against him and those long legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper. The heat of you, the slickness, your breathy pleas, taunting him to take you harder, faster.

He gripped the barbell so hard the metal cut into his palms, desperately trying to ground himself and regain his rapidly eroding self-control. But it was no use, he was too lost in the haze of lust. He wanted to map every inch of your body with his hands and mouth, mark you as his, and let everyone here know you belonged to him. He wanted to bend you over the nearest surface and take you until you were a mewling, quivering wreck. He desperately fought the urge to storm over there and throw you down at his mercy, consequences be damned. It took every ounce of his willpower to simply turn away, adjusting himself discreetly as he tried to will his throbbing erection away. His composure was disintegrating, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he shifted uncomfortably on the bench, trying to regain his focus.

If he wasn’t careful enough, you were going to be the death of him.

Across the room, you, Natasha, and Wanda exchanged a series of knowing glances, clearly reveling in the chaos you had orchestrated. Loki’s predicament wasn’t subtle, and it was hard to miss the way his sharp eyes darted toward you whenever he thought no one was watching.

"You think he’s going to be able to concentrate now?" you murmured to them, raising your arms in an effortless stretch that made your shirt ride up just enough to catch Loki’s attention once again. Your tone was low, almost conspiratorial, but you knew he could hear if he tried hard enough.

Natasha rolled her shoulders, dropping into a plank with casual ease. “Not a chance. He’s too proud to admit it, but I’d bet good money he’s losing his mind over there.”

Wanda, sitting cross-legged on the mat, tilted her head, her insidious grin widening. "Look at him. He’s not even pretending anymore. Poor guy’s completely spiraling. But honestly, can you blame him? You’re practically putting on a show."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your face the picture of innocence, though the playful gleam in your eyes betrayed your enjoyment of the situation. “Hey, it’s not my fault if he gets distracted. I’m just minding my own business.”

The black widow snorted, shaking her head as she transitioned into another move. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you admitted with a grin, fully aware of the effect you were having on Loki. “After that little stunt he pulled last week? He deserves this.”

On the far side of the gym, said god’s serenity was unraveling with every passing second. His grip on the barbell had tightened to the point where his knuckles had turned bone-white, the strain of his internal battle evident in the shallow, uneven breaths escaping him. The telltale tremor in his hands betrayed how close he was to losing his carefully maintained facade of indifference. When the weight slipped slightly, the metallic clang that followed shattered the gym’s ambient noise, drawing the attention of everyone present. The room seemed to pause, a dozen sets of eyes turning toward the god of mischief.

Thor, stationed just a few paces away, leaned lazily against the wall, his massive frame radiating ease and confidence. His arms crossed over his broad chest, and a knowing grin tugged at his lips, threatening to break into outright laughter. The scene before him was, in his eyes, nothing short of perfection. Loki—his ever-composed, perpetually aloof brother—was undone, and Thor was reveling in it.

The god of thunder had been fully on board with your plan when you’d approached him earlier, offering the chance to "tease Loki into humility." With a booming laugh, he’d agreed without hesitation, ready to knock his prideful brother down a peg. After all, he had earned it with his antics the week prior.

As the barbell clattered to the floor, his grin widened, the gleam in his blue eyes betraying just how much he was enjoying the spectacle. He caught your eye from across the room, his expression practically shouting, "This is even better than I imagined." The sharp clang of the weight hitting the floor had drawn murmurs and stifled chuckles, and Thor, always the instigator, seized the moment.

“Loki,” Thor called, his voice a booming mix of authority and mirth that cut clean through the chatter. “What’s this? Barely lifting a thing, are we? Losing your strength—or are you too busy... gawking?”

Loki’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing as his scowl deepened. “I am not gawking,” he hissed, his tone venomous and defensive. But his flushed cheeks and the way his eyes flashed guiltily toward you told a very different story.

Thor let out a hearty chuckle, unfolding his arms to gesture toward you and the others stretching nearby. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re far more interested in their yoga session than the weights in front of you.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, Bucky and Sam exchanging grins before jumping in to add to Loki’s torment. Sam, ever the opportunist, leaned back on his bench with a wide grin. “Man, it’s fine. Yoga’s... distracting. No shame in it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added, his tone dripping with mock seriousness as he set his dumbbells down, “but maybe at least pretend you’re working out. The weights won’t lift themselves, Loki.”

The teasing drew another chorus of chuckles from the room, but Loki was far from amused. His jaw tightened, and a faint, dangerous green glow began to flicker at his fingertips, signaling the return of his seiðr. He fixed Thor with a glare so sharp it could have sliced through steel. “You,” Loki growled, his voice low and menacing, “should start praying. You’ll need the gods’ mercy if you even dream of reaching Valhalla once I’m thorough with you.”

Thor only laughed louder, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. “Oh, come now, brother. You’re just proving you’re as mortal as the rest of us. But next time, maybe focus on lifting the weights instead of letting your eyes wander.”

Loki’s searing gaze flickered toward you once more, but this time, it lingered longer than he intended. You had slid effortlessly into another pose, a deep stretch that accentuated every elegant line of your body. A knowing smirk played on your lips as your eyes met his, an unspoken provocation communicated through your behavior. It was maddening, and Loki knew you were doing it on purpose.

The sharp sting of Thor’s taunts, paired with your relentless teasing, finally pushed him over the edge. He stood abruptly, the barbell crashing to the floor with a deafening clang. Muttering something dark under his breath, he turned away, his steps brisk and his posture tense. Yet, despite his best efforts to leave the scene with whatever dignity he had left, his gaze betrayed him once again. He glanced over his shoulder, unable to resist one final look at the source of his torment—you, his greatest distraction.

The crackling energy in the room was practically tangible, and Natasha was at the center of it, her sharp eyes sparkling with unspoken delight as she shifted effortlessly into another stretch. Her movements were carefully concocted, the embodiment of feline grace as she dropped into a side plank, the smirk on her lips a clear indication that she was thoroughly enjoying the unraveling chaos on the other side of the gym.

Wanda, seated lazily with her weight balanced on her palms, seemed to radiate amusement, her wide grin lighting up her face as she flicked her gaze toward the god of mischief. His composure—or lack thereof—was the primary source of her entertainment, and she did not attempt to hide it. Loki looked as if the tension building inside him was about to boil over, his jaw tight and his emerald eyes practically glowing with restrained power.

She stifled a laugh, her chest trembling with suppressed mirth. “Careful,” she murmured, tilting her chin in his direction. “I think he’s about to snap.”

The corners of your mouth curled into a sly grin as you caught her meaning, a spark of playful defiance glimmering in your eyes. If Loki was close to breaking, you weren’t about to let up. Sliding fluidly into a forward fold, you allowed your movements to slow, savoring the stretch as your hands grazed the mat. Your voice, carrying just enough volume to taunt him, was laced with a playful edge. “Do you think he’s ready to admit defeat yet?” you asked, your tone light but tinged with recognizable deviousness.

Natasha puffed softly, her voice dripping with amusement as she adjusted into a flawless plank. “Oh, he’s definitely rethinking a few life choices right now.”

Still, you didn’t falter. You shifted deeper into the stretch, your body moving with a controlled elegance that only added fuel to the fire. The sway of your hips was deliberate, lingering just long enough to ensure that if Loki wasn’t paying attention before, he certainly was now. “What?” you feigned mock innocence that didn’t fool anyone, your grin growing wider. “I’m just stretching. Nothing wrong with being flexible, is there?”

You didn’t miss the glances being exchanged between your companions, nor the faint glimmer of alert flashing brightly as she added, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. He looks like he’s plotting something.”

You snickered softly, your fingers grazing the mat before you shifted into a slightly more provocative stretch. “Poor thing,” you mused, your voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Must be exhausting, trying to pretend he’s unbothered when he’s that obsessed.”

Wanda giggled at the remark, her laughter bubbling up as she adjusted into a side plank. “Obsessed doesn’t even cover it. He’s one step away from declaring war.”

You hummed thoughtfully, casting a look over your shoulder toward Loki, whose sharp gaze hadn’t left you for a second. His jaw was tight, the tension radiating off him palpable, and the corner of your mouth tugged upward into a sly grin. “It’s not my fault if he can’t handle a little competition.”

“Competition?” Natasha echoed, her tone incredulous as she shot you a look. “Babe, I don’t think that’s the word for what you’re doing.”

Wanda nodded in agreement, a hint of warning in her expression. “Yeah, it’s more like... poking the bear.”

You shrugged as you transitioned into a Downward Dog position, your movements slow and deliberate. “Poking the bear? Please. He’s more of a spoiled housecat than a bear.” Your grin turned downright wicked. “Adorable when he’s angry, though.”

Wanda bit down on her lip, her laughter barely contained. Natasha, however, froze mid-motion, her playful demeanor replaced with something far more serious. Her gaze flicked past you, her lips silently forming a word you couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, the urgency in her expression sent a shiver of apprehension through you.

Before you could turn to see what had caught her attention, you felt it—an almost tangible shift in the air behind you. Heavy, electric, and laced with an unmistakably familiar feeling that never failed to prickle along your spine. Your nails slightly sank in the mat, bracing yourself as the atmosphere thickened. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was; the weight of his presence was undeniable, his scrutiny burning into your back with such intensity it made your skin flush.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the task in front of you, though the attempt at nonchalance was futile. The sound of his voice cut through your resolve like a blade through silk.

“Darling.”

The single word was low and deliberate, laced with authority and intent. It wasn’t a greeting; it was a summon—a reminder of who held the upper hand. The rich timbre of his voice sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and before you could fully process it, he was closer. The warmth of his body lightly pressed against your back, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you finally managed, “What’s the matter, Trickster?” You kept your voice steady, though the hitch in your breath betrayed you as you let your lips curl into a teasing smirk. “Feeling tense? Maybe you should... stretch it out.”

The silence that followed was thick, the kind that demanded submission. Then, without warning, his hands settled on your hips, and in a firm and unyielding force, brought you back up from your lowered position. The gasp that escaped you was involuntary and sharp, and his low, rumbling chuckle made your stomach twist in a confusing mix of defiance and desire.

“Stretch?” His voice was a breath against your ear, smooth and wicked. “Oh, pet, I don’t think you’re in any position to give advice.”

His grip tightened as he pulled you back, flush against him. The unmistakable hardness pressing into you sent a wave of heat crashing through your body, your teasing confidence unraveling in an instant. Loki leaned in, his chest brushing against your back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear with maddening precision.

“You’ve been playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a sinful rasp. “Bending over so sweetly, flaunting yourself like that. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Notice what?” you countered, the breathiness in your voice betraying your feigned indifference. You shifted slightly, trying to create space, but the movement only served to press you closer to him. His hands tightened, holding you firmly in place.

“Don’t play coy,” he warned, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just below your ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers racing down your spine. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Teasing me. Provoking me. But tell me, darling…” His fingers trailed slowly up your sides, his touch light but deliberate, leaving a burning trail in its wake. “Is this what you wanted?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hands slid higher, one resting at your waist while the other teased the bare skin just beneath your shirt. His fingers danced with an infuriating gentleness, and your knees threatened to buckle.

“Well?” he pressed, his voice soft yet commanding, a dark promise woven into every syllable. His teeth grazed the jointure between your ears and your neck, and you couldn’t stop the sharp inhale that escaped you. Loki chuckled, the melodious directly reaching your eardrums. “Answer me. Is this what you wanted?”

“Uh-uh,” you breathed out, the words barely escaping your parted lips, as if you were caught in a hypnotic daze.

Loki’s voice dropped an octave, more insistent now. “Words, darling.”

“Yes,” you finally admitted, the word escaping in a whisper. Your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch as a smug smile curved his lips against your skin.

“Good girl,” he purred, his voice molten as his hands slid lower. One dipped beneath the contoured waistband of your shorts, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin there, and your breath faltered. He laughed, the sound dark and indulgent. “You’ve made a grave mistake.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. Wanda’s muffled giggles barely registered as Loki leaned closer, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.

“Because now,” he continued, his voice a sinful rasp, “you’ve made it my turn.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze over your shoulder, your smirk trembling at the edges. “Oh? Should I be scared?”

Loki’s answering smile was sharp, predatory. His hand slid back to your hip, his grip firm and possessive. “Terrified,” he hummed, his voice as smooth as it was dangerous. “But I suspect you enjoy provoking me too much to care.”

“Maybe I do,” you shot back, your voice wavering just enough to reveal your nerves. “Or maybe you’re just easy to rile up.”

His laughter was low and mocking, the sound vibrating against you. “Easy?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You think resisting the urge to put you in your place is easy for me?” His fingers ghosted along your side, their proximity sending heat pooling deep within you. “Do you know what I’ve been imagining, darling?”

Your breath hitched audibly as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear once more. “How delectable you’d look bent over for an entirely different reason,” he murmured, his voice dark and heavy with intent. “How sweet you’d sound begging me to stop teasing and give you exactly what you need.”

The vivid imagery his words conjured made your knees wobble as much as it made your cunt clench down, and Loki’s knowing smirk deepened as he noticed. It was the firm grip of his hand on your jaw that truly held you in place, forcing your gaze to meet his. The pressure of his fingers was gentle yet commanding, keeping you exactly where he wanted—right in his control, unable to look away.

“Keep this up,” he growled, his tone a low, velvety threat, “and I’ll ruin you right here, where everyone can see.”

Your breath hitched again, your pulse racing as his fingers pressed firmly against your hip, their touch a silent warning. “You wouldn’t dare,” you challenged, though your voice betrayed just how uncertain you were.

Loki’s dark chuckle sent shivers through you, and he leaned in until his lips were nearly brushing yours. “Wouldn’t I?”

And just like that, he pulled away, leaving you trembling and breathless. You turned instinctively, your wide eyes following him as he sauntered back to the bench with a self-satisfied smirk. He didn’t look back, but the deliberate sway in his step said everything: he’d won—and he knew it.

Before you could fully recover, Steve's voice rang out from across the gym, stern and authoritative. "Loki!" he called sharply, cutting through the tension in the room like a blade. "Stop slacking and get back to work! And leave the girls alone while you're at it."

Loki paused mid-stride, his smirk widening as he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. With an exaggerated sigh, he straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders as though Steve's reprimand was an inconvenience he barely tolerated.

"Of course, Captain," Loki drawled, his tone dripping with mock obedience. "Far be it from me to dare disturb anyone."

He threw you one last lingering glance, his emerald eyes gleaming with unspoken promises, before striding toward the bench with a grace that made it impossible not to watch. He casually picked up a barbell and restarted his reps, the smug curve of his lips never quite fading. The deliberate slowness of his movements and the occasional glance in your direction made it clear: while he might have been called back to order, in his mind, the game was far from over.

Natasha and Wanda didn’t even bother hiding their laughter. Natasha let out a low blow, mouthing a silent “Oh my god” while Wanda, ever the dramatist, fanned herself as if she’d just witnessed a scandal too hot to handle. Their shared amusement was palpable, bubbling over in giggles that only served to deepen the heat already pooling in your cheeks.

Meanwhile, you were left rooted to the spot, your breath uneven, as your mind stubbornly replayed his words on an endless, maddening loop. Every rasp of his voice, every deliberate touch, every wicked glint in his eyes seemed etched into your memory, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it.

The two women exchanged knowing glances, their expressions practically screaming victory on Loki’s behalf. Natasha arched a perfectly shaped brow, her smirk twisting into something teasing yet smug. “Well,” she drawled with mirth in her voice, “that escalated quickly.”

Wanda, ever one to pile on, folded her arms and tilted her head, her grin impossibly wide. “I think we just witnessed the undisputed champion of this little game of yours.” Her voice was light, but her tone carried that infuriating edge of truth, a verdict impossible to deny.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your flaming face in an attempt to block out their reactions. “Don’t,” you muttered, your voice muffled behind your fingers. But it was no use; their laughter was too infectious, bubbling up in waves that only made your embarrassment worse.

What worsened your condition was the fact that Loki didn’t spare a single glance in your direction since your little altercation, but his presence remained large and looming, as though he’d marked the room with his triumph. The discreet tilt of his head, the faintest upward curve of his lips, said everything—he knew exactly that he’d caught your full attention, and he was basking in it like a cat stretching in a patch of sunlight.

You bit down on your lip, torn between indignation and something far more dangerous—desire. He’d turned the tables with disarming ease, leaving you caught in a web of delicious uncertainty. Should you feel frustration at being outmaneuvered so effortlessly? Or should you savor the intoxicating tension he’d created, the way every nerve in your body seemed to buzz with anticipation?

Natasha nudged you with her elbow, her smirk softening into something more playful. “Careful, you might be burning up,” she teased.

Wanda giggled, leaning closer with an exaggerated whisper. “Or maybe it’s just the heat radiating off you from whatever that was.”

You swatted at them half-heartedly, but the truth was, you weren’t entirely sure if their teasing was wrong. Because even as their laughter echoed around you, your thoughts were still wholly consumed by him. Loki had won this round, and judging by the way your pulse refused to settle, you weren’t entirely sure you minded.

⠀

The events that had transpired in the last session had left a deeper mark on you than you'd ever imagined. Every night since, it felt like you couldn’t escape the relentless replay of it all—his touch, the tension, the heat between you two. It was etched so deeply into your memory that it was impossible to shake, each passing moment branded into your mind with an intensity that nothing could dull. No matter how many distractions you tried, how many of your usual tricks you employed to quiet the gnawing ache, nothing seemed to work. The itch lingered, a constant reminder of everything that had transpired, and you couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. The thrill and fear, both intertwined, kept you buzzing, feeding into the need that had taken root in your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Ironically enough, today was Friday the 13th, and it felt almost fitting. A date known for either being your lucky day or your worst nightmare. And it seemed you were, without a doubt, leaning toward the latter. Every second felt like a cruel reminder that you were spiraling, unable to shake the intensity of the encounter in the gym. The pressure was building, and it felt like the world was closing in on you. Part of you was afraid of what would happen next, but another part of you… part of you couldn’t wait to find out. You were on the edge, dangerously close to breaking, and it made you feel as if you were dancing on the razor-thin line between desire and desperation.

Despite your mind screaming at you to stay away, there was this undeniable force that kept you gravitating back toward him. Every part of you told you to leave it alone, but the rest of you was already ensnared, tangled in his web of toying, unsure of where the line between torment and pleasure even lay anymore. You’d tried to hold yourself back, to distance yourself, but the urge to confront him, to give in completely, was getting stronger every day. It was frustrating, exhilarating, terrifying.

But you’d had enough. You were done pretending, done playing by rules you didn’t even understand. If Loki wanted to play games, then you’d meet him on the battlefield. You were betting everything on this session—you’d either go big, or go home. You would do everything to win this round, and if this didn’t play out in your favor, then you’d end it once and for all.

You rummaged through your wardrobe, searching for something that screamed confidence, something that would tilt the scales in your favor. And then you found it. The shortest pair of cotton gym shorts you owned, along with the tightest gym bra in your collection. To top it off, you pulled on high socks that accentuated the length of your legs. For dignity purposes—or so you told yourself—you zipped up a fitted jacket over everything. You decided that the jacket was just for show. You’d wait for the right moment to make your move.

As you made your way to the gym bar, trying to shake the heated flush creeping up your neck and across your cheeks, the memory of what had happened—Loki’s touch, the sting of his voice, and the wild potency of that encounter—was still alive on your skin. You couldn’t soothe the heat, no matter how hard you tried. You settled on a barstool dragging a hand through your hair and stared down at your newly made protein drink, swirling the liquid absently like you were trying to quell the disorder in your mind.

"I can't take it anymore," you grunted in exasperation. The words felt like they had been lodged in your throat for too long, finally spilling out in a rushed confession. "Seriously. I’m so fucking over him I could scream." You took a long, deep gulp from your drink, the coldness of the shake hitting your throat, but it didn’t settle the fire inside you. Nothing seemed to help.

You let out a sharp breath, exhaling as if releasing some of the tension that had coiled itself so tightly inside you. "I should’ve known better. This is humiliating. I can’t stop thinking about what happened, and I can’t focus on anything else. He’s in my head, and I don’t even know if I want him out." The words felt like they were spilling out uncontrollably, as if the dam had broken and now there was no turning back.

Wanda, ever the observer and perpetually ready to tease, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. She leaned closer, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "You’ve been at this for days now," she noted, her voice dripping with amusement. "What exactly is it that you can’t take? His attitude? The flirting? Or... something else?"

You groaned, the frustration bubbling up inside you. You leaned forward, pressing your palms against the cold surface of the bar, your posture slumped as you let out a long exhale. "Everything, Wanda! Everything about him is like this damn temptation that keeps haunting me. And don’t even get me started on the gym. That moment keeps replaying in my head over and over again."

You took another sip, but it did nothing to quell the growing ache. "I can't even sleep without thinking about it!" You slumped further, the disbelief creeping into your voice, the realization of how completely out of control you were making its way through you. "I swear, he’s driving me insane." The weight of your confession hung in the air as you let your head fall into your hands for a moment, your fingers pressed against your temples. It was all too much.

Natasha’s gaze shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she saw right through you, reading you like an open book. There was no escaping her sharp perception. "And yet, here you are, complaining instead of doing something about it," she said, her voice laced with a teasing bite. "Maybe you’re a masochist in disguise and like the torture."

The sting of her words hit a little too close to home. You shot her a glare, though you couldn’t quite muster the energy to truly protest. Natasha was always quick to find the underlying truth of a situation, and as much as you hated to admit it, she had a point. You were still here, still willingly participating in the mind games Loki had been playing with you, even knowing what it might cost you in the end.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on you. Every time you promised yourself you would pull away, the next moment would pull you back in. His voice, his touch, his presence—it was all too much. And the worst bit was, there was a part of you that craved it.

"Shut up," you muttered, trying to push away the feeling of being so exposed, even though you knew Natasha was right. "It’s not like that." But even as the words left your mouth, you knew they were a lie. You were lying to her, but most importantly to yourself, and you hated it.

Clint and Bruce had returned from their mission, and the moment they walked in, they could tell something was off. They didn’t need to ask—they could see it in your face.

"So, what’s this I hear?" he asked, leaning casually against the bar with a half-raised eyebrow. "You’ve got a thing for the god of mischief?" His smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. "I’ve got to say, you’re not the only one who’s had a run-in with Loki. But something tells me yours is... a little more intense."

Bruce rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t suppress the small, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. His voice was laced with that familiar, fatherly concern as he leaned in, his tone carrying that blend of criticism and curiosity. "You’re digging yourself into a hole," he shook his head in disapproval. "I can't believe you’re letting him get under your skin like this."

You buried your face in your hands in frustration, your head pounding as you tried to make sense of everything that was happening. "You guys don’t get it!" you groaned, lifting your head to meet their eyes. The frustration and helplessness were clear in your gaze. "It’s not like that. It’s... it’s like he’s playing some game, and I don’t even know the rules."

You sighed, your voice faltering slightly as you tried to express the mess in your head. "I’m so close to just breaking and telling him I can’t handle it anymore, but he makes me—" You paused, the words catching in your throat as you tried to articulate the emotions that were swirling inside you. "He makes me feel things I can’t even explain."

Clint leaned in closer, his grin widening as if he was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort. "Sounds like someone’s having a little too much fun with this," he voiced in dripping sarcasm. "You’re just afraid of what happens next. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there."

"You think it’s fun?" You snapped, your voice sharp as you narrowed your eyes at him. "You try being in my shoes. Or better yet, try being in his presence when he talks in that damn tone and looks at you like he’s going to devour you." The thought of it made your heart race, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck as the memory of his eyes on you, intense and predatory, surged back into your mind. "I don’t think I can even look at him without feeling like I’m going to combust."

Wanda, the ever-present instigator, smirked and took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. She watched you with a knowing look in her eyes, as though she could see right through all your defenses. "You might be in trouble," she told you, "but part of you likes it. I can see it in your eyes."

You glared at her, but the look she gave you—the look that could see right through your attempts at deflection—made you feel like you were standing naked in front of them, exposed in a way you weren’t ready for. You didn’t have to say it out loud; she could see the truth in your eyes. "Maybe I do," you muttered under your breath, swirling the drink in your hand as if it could somehow distract you from the truth. "But that doesn’t make it any less torturous."

Clint raised his glass in a mock celebration, being far too pleased for your liking. "To the madman deity and the woman who’s too stubborn for her own good. May the shenanigans never stop."

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. You didn’t want to admit it, not out loud at least, but maybe there was a part of you that was too intrigued, too drawn into Loki’s chaotic energy to resist it.

The hum of camaraderie filled the space as the Avengers trickled in one by one, each voice weaving into the fabric of the team’s unique dynamic. The smell of sweat and faintly lingering disinfectant clung to the air, a backdrop to the rhythmic sound of weights clanging and treadmills whirring faintly in the distance. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the polished floor, giving the room an almost warm glow despite the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Tony was, unsurprisingly, the loudest, his voice carrying effortlessly above the din. "Come on, Solid Snake, lighten up! You can’t be a broody old man all the time," he teased, leaning lazily against a bench press machine. His smirk was as sharp as ever, and his target—a decidedly unamused Bucky—rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation.

"If you’d shut up for five minutes, Stark, maybe I could," Bucky shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smirk.

Steve, ever the reluctant peacekeeper, sighed as he adjusted his sweatshirt, clearly already over the banter. "Let’s just get through this without any more distractions, alright?" he muttered, his tone bordering on fatherly but tinged with resignation.

Sam, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass. "Steve, you’re one to talk," he quipped, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the bar counter next to Clint. "Don’t think we didn’t see you googling ‘Gen Z slang’ last night."

Steve groaned, his cheeks flushing a faint pink, while the others erupted into laughter. Even Bruce chuckled softly from his corner, shaking his head in amusement. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to sink into the lighthearted chaos, letting their teasing and jokes wash over you like a comforting balm. But no matter how hard you tried to blend into the easy rhythm of the group, the weight in your chest refused to lift.

It was painfully obvious that everyone was in unusually high spirits, and you weren’t naive enough to think it was just post-mission relief. The knowing glances, the smirks passed between them, and the barely-contained chuckles—everything pointed to one thing. They were waiting. Watching. Eager to see how the latest chapter in your ongoing rivalry with Loki would unfold. The anticipation in the room was almost tangible, a crackling undercurrent beneath the surface of their cheerful chatter.

And the fateful moment finally arrived.

The double doors swung open with a dramatic flourish, the sound reverberating across the gym like a herald of chaos. Thor entered first, his stride impossibly cheerful, his booming laugh filling every corner of the room. "Friends! What a glorious day it is to bask in the company of heroes!" he declared, his golden hair practically glowing in the sunlight as he beamed at everyone around him. He clapped Clint on the back with enough force to make him stumble, earning a playful glare in return. Thor’s enthusiasm was suspicious, his overly bright grin and exuberance almost too pointed, as if he knew something no one else did—or rather, as if he was trying far too hard not to let it slip.

Almost as if to build suspense, the dark prince finally stepped forward, emerging from the corners of the entrance like a phantom materializing from the depths.

He didn’t stride so much as glide, his movements unnervingly smooth, like he was above the very act of walking itself—each step seemingly effortless, almost as if the ground beneath him didn’t quite deserve to bear his presence. There was something unsettling in the grace with which he moved, a quiet dominance in every motion. His form was poised, elegant in a way that seemed deliberate, controlled. His presence alone demanded attention, yet he didn’t exert any force to command it; it simply was.

The contrast between him and his brother was impossible to ignore. Where Thor radiated boisterous energy, a whirlwind of warmth and noise, Loki was the calm in the storm, his composure sharp, cool, and infinitely measured. While the thunder god’s exuberance filled the room with a palpable force, his stillness seemed to draw all the focus to him without uttering a word. It was a stark foil to his brother’s exuberance, and it only heightened the tension in the room.

His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, as though to further emphasize the careful restraint in his every movement. There was no rushed energy in him, no urgency—only the chilling poise of someone who knew the full weight of their presence. His emerald eyes swept across the room with a cold, calculating precision, like a predator carefully assessing its surroundings.

Today, Loki was surprisingly dressed simply, yet nothing short of devastating. A fitted black long-sleeve shirt clung to his lean frame, the fabric so well-tailored that it seemed effortlessly perfect, while still accentuating every line of muscle beneath it. Black compression shorts revealed the chiseled definition of his legs, the ensemble completed by sleek athletic socks and understated sneakers that looked both functional and undeniably stylish. His dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, stray strands framing his face, giving him an air of ruggedness that was almost ethereal.

He looked unfairly good—like he’d walked straight out of a high-fashion magazine editorial, the kind dedicated to showcasing "dangerously attractive male specimens" in their most refined form. Every detail of his gym wear spoke of someone who had mastered the art of simplicity, yet exuded an undeniable, almost unattainable, charisma.

And just your luck, he’d somehow managed to nearly match your outfit.

A flicker of amusement danced in Loki’s emerald eyes, and his lips curled into a sly, knowing smirk as he began his slow, deliberate approach toward you. His movements were smooth, almost languid, as though each step was a calculated part of some grand performance. His gaze never once wavered from you, cutting through the room with an intensity that seemed to render everyone else irrelevant, invisible in his presence. The chatter of the room grew distant, muffled, as though someone had turned the volume down on reality itself.

He drew closer, his gaze locked onto yours with an almost predatory intensity, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Every fiber of your being seemed to react to him, pulling you into his orbit. There was no escaping the pull of Loki, and the world outside the bubble of his gaze became irrelevant.

"Darling," he greeted smoothly, the word rolling off his tongue with a velvety mockery, every syllable dripping with heat. His eyes swept over you with a quick, almost dismissive glance, taking in every detail of your outfit—the jacket, the high socks, the way your clothes hugged your form with a purpose. There was something in his look, something knowing, as if he understood exactly why you had chosen each piece, and the knowledge of that made his smirk deepen. He loved this game.

"Trickster," you replied, your voice cool and composed, but there was a sharpness beneath the surface, a challenge that he would undoubtedly recognize. You met his gaze head-on, your body subconsciously crossing your arms and legs as if to shield yourself from the heat of his stare. But even as you tried to put up a defense, it felt as though the world around you had narrowed down to just the two of you. The space between you crackled with energy, the tension palpable, leaving you breathless and aware of nothing except him.

The silence stretched, thick and taut, before Sam, ever the provocateur, leaned toward Clint with an exaggerated whisper, his voice loud enough for those around him to hear. "You could cut the tension with a knife. I’d sell tickets to this."

"Is is their foreplay or just regular banter?" The archerer quipped, his dry humor drawing a few stifled laughs from the others.

Thor, completely oblivious to the subtle dynamics of the situation, clapped his hands together with a booming laugh, his voice carrying through the room with his usual enthusiasm. "Ah, what an entertaining rivalry! If only you knew, my friends, how much—"

"Thor," Loki interrupted sharply, his voice low, carrying a dangerous edge that made everyone pause. His eyes narrowed in a way that promised retribution if his brother pushed any further. The god faltered, suddenly aware of the tension that had shifted the moment Loki’s voice had cut through the air, glancing between you and Loki with an almost childlike look of guilt.

"What? It’s nothing, brother," The blonde said quickly, his grin still wide, trying to cover up his mistake with a weak deflection. "I was merely going to say how much you—"

"Thor," He repeated, this time his voice sharper, more commanding, and his jaw visibly clenched. The room seemed to hold its collective breath, the atmosphere shifting from lighthearted to electric, as everyone waited for the next move.

You raised an eyebrow with a nonchalant air that betrayed your growing interest. "How much he what?" you asked, your tone pretending to be uninterested, but the rapid beat of your heart told a different story. You were more than ready to hear what he had almost spilled, if only to use it as a sword of Damocles.

Thor hesitated, caught in the web of his brother’s gaze. After a moment, Thor cleared his throat, trying to recover. "Ah, well," he stammered, his voice faltering. "How much Loki... enjoys these little exchanges, of course!"

The lie was smooth, but not quite convincing. The nervousness he showcased in the way he tried to avoid his brother’s burning stare betrayed the lack of truth in his words. You narrowed your eyes, glancing between them, but it was Loki’s carefully schooled expression that caught your attention. His face had transformed into one of cold indifference, but you could see the subtle twitch of his jaw and the faint pink tint creeping up the back of his neck.

The others exchanged amused looks, clearly enjoying the subtle spectacle unfolding before them. Natasha, ever the picture of composure, took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving the scene. “Well, this just got interesting,” she noted, her tone dripping with amusement and approval as she surveyed the building tension.

It was obvious now: whatever simmered between you two wasn’t about to end any time soon. It was a game, yes—but one far from finished. And for better or worse, everyone in the room was eager to see how it would unfold.

The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in focus—locked in this silent standoff. Every sound, every movement beyond the two of you felt distant, muted, as if the room had shrunk to nothing more than the space between you and Loki. The others, sensing the growing charge between you, watched with bated breath. This wasn’t just an ordinary exchange—it was something far more intense, something that announced the rivalry to be nearing the breaking point.

His presence loomed over you, suffocating in its intensity. His smirk never wavered, but his eyes seemed to penetrate yours with a force that made your pulse quicken. Neither of you was willing to back down; the silent battle of words and glances was a carefully orchestrated dance, each of you striving to hold the reigns.

Leaning against the bar, you let a teasing smirk curl at the corners of your lips as your gaze locked onto him. “Nice dramatic entrance,” you quipped, your tone light but cutting. “Almost makes me think you’re trying to overcompensate for something else.” Your eyes flicked over him with a deliberate, slow scan, letting the implication settle in the air between you.

Loki’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, his movements deliberate as he closed the gap between you. He was drawing you in, pulling you into his orbit with each calculated step. Before long, he was towering over you, his broad form casting a shadow over you.

“Such crude language you wield with that tongue of yours,” he tutted in a honeyed whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. His words slid from his lips with measured slowness, each one curling around you like silk, wrapping you tighter with every syllable. “I’d be more than happy to correct you… if you’d allow me.”

You stood straighter, your body thrumming from the weight of his words, refusing to let him dominate the exchange this time. You crossed your arms and met his gaze head-on. “You think you can correct me?” you shot back, your voice cool, but the challenge clear in your eyes. Leaning in slightly, you dared him. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Ah, but the art of manipulating words are such a delight,” Loki purred, his voice thick with velvet, drawing you in with every syllable. His gaze never wavered from yours. “And I’m particularly skilled with them.”

The world seemed to hush, the room quieting until the only thing you could hear was his voice, each word dripping with an intoxicating weight. The tension grew thicker, and he let the silence stretch between you, just long enough to make the air feel too heavy to breathe.

“I recall you had a first taste of it, last session,” he added, his words striking you like a spark, igniting memories of the last time his voice had tangled with yours in a way you hadn’t expected.

You swallowed the rush of heat that rose in your cheeks, forcing your gaze to remain steady. “Last session was nothing,” you sharply replied, narrowing your eyes as if to dare him to push further. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to get to me, Trickster.”

The others were practically buzzing with excitement, leaning in slightly as if they were watching a thrilling game unfold. Sam, always one to stir the pot, leaned toward Natasha with a smirk that could rival Loki’s. “I’ve witnessed some trash talk in my time,” he said, shaking his head with amusement, “but this? This is on another level.”

Clint, watching the exchange with a growing interest, chuckled and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know whether to be impressed at the comebacks or horrified,” he remarked in disbelief. “It’s like they’re playing some weird, kinky version of fencing.”

Natasha leaned back, her wry smile never faltering, watching with approval. “This is getting good,” she muttered under her breath, her tone almost purring with amusement. She sipped her drink slowly, savoring the tension. “I’d pay to see where this goes.”

Sam shot Natasha a quick, conspiratorial glance before looking back at the two of you. “Hey, don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, his voice laced with mischief. “They’re about to start swinging—metaphorically speaking, of course.” He made a grand, exaggerated fencing motion with his hands, drawing chuckles from the group. “You know, like that,” he added with a grin. “Except this time, the moves are… let’s just say they’re a little more pointed.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and even Bruce couldn’t contain a smile.

Tony, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back against his stool, an amused smirk plastered across his face. He watched the tension between you and Loki with a gleeful satisfaction. “Think they’ll kiss and make up?” he asked with a low chuckle, loud enough for everyone to hear. He raised an eyebrow at Steve, whose silent observation had not gone unnoticed.

He cleared his throat, the sharp sound cutting through the growing murmur of the group. The room fell into a sudden, almost uncomfortable silence, as his voice commanded attention. “Alright, alright,” Steve said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He clapped his hands once, the sharp sound cutting through the air. “We’re here to train, not watch a soap opera,” he added, his voice steady and no-nonsense.

His blue eyes scanned the room, locking on you and Loki for a moment, his gaze narrowing just slightly. It was a silent reminder that there were more pressing matters at hand than your verbal sparring. “So, let’s get focused,” he continued, his tone taking on a more commanding edge. “No more distractions, people.”

A collective groan of both relief and disappointment spread through the group. The tension between you and Loki had finally been cut, but there was an undeniable sense of disappointment that the banter had been interrupted. The room shifted again, the playful mood dissipating into a more subdued, professional atmosphere. Though, the memory of what had just transpired would no doubt linger long after the session ended.

“Now, let’s move it,” Steve said, gesturing toward the training area with a firm nod. “You’ve all got work to do, and I expect everyone to keep it professional.” His eyes lingered on you and Loki for a moment, as if to remind you both that, despite what was simmering between you, the training was the priority now.

Loki's lips curved into a smile, one that was more like a prelude to something yet to come. His eyes glinted with smug satisfaction, as if he were already savoring the next move in whatever game he was playing. “Until next time, darling,” he saluted, his tone thick with the promise of nearing disaster.

You gave him a half-smile, one that in turned promised that the rivalry wasn’t over and turned to follow the rest of the group to the training area, already feeling the bubbling energy of the upcoming round.

⠀

The gym session began with an unexpected tranquility, an eerie contrast to the usual chaos of training it had recently taken shape. It was chest and back day, and each Avenger had settled into their familiar routines, the rhythm of their movements blending with the constant clinking of weights and soft murmurs of conversation. For once, everything felt almost ordinary—just another training day, rather than an intense workout of body and mind alike.

You were working alongside Wanda, offering her a bit of encouragement as she powered through her chest exercises. It was nice to have someone to talk to, a welcome distraction from the growing knots of nervousness tangling in your stomach. You both exchanged light banter, chatting about everything outside the gym, while you kept an eye on your own sets. But all the while, your thoughts kept returning to Loki. He was oddly quiet today, no mischievous glint in his eyes. You couldn't help but wonder if he, too, was waiting for the right moment to stir things up.

The session had already taken a lively turn with the Asgardian brothers, but things soon spiraled into a loud mess. As the competition between Thor and Loki grew fiercer, their playful jabs and escalating challenges only served to ramp up the tension in the room. Loki's gaze swept across the space until it finally landed on you. His smirk softened just slightly, replaced by an expression that felt more deliberate, almost as if he were daring you to witness the next act of his show.

Thor, not to be outdone, continued to push the limits. His booming voice filled the gym as he egged his brother on. "You think you’ve got the strength to match my strength? Let’s see if you can keep up with the god of thunder!"

Loki’s smirk was a clear challenge as he lifted the same weight Thor had almost just juggled with, effortlessly matching him. Each press was smooth and controlled, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the way his back arched with each lift, muscles rippling in perfect harmony. It was a display of strength and grace, one that seemed almost too perfect to be real.

However, in their playful contest of wills, they had unknowingly started to draw attention. Bruce, who had been quietly focusing on his own workout in a far corner of the gym, was caught off guard by the sheer noise and energy the brothers were creating. The weights clanking, the competitive banter, and the occasional loud challenge from Thor began to disrupt Bruce’s routine. As much as he tried to focus on his sets, the vibrations of the room were enough to throw off his concentration.

At one point, their effortless lifts seemed to reverberate repeatedly through the gym, causing the ground beneath Bruce to tremble slightly. The sound of weights crashing back onto the rack sent a sharp jolt through the air, causing Bruce to flinch each time. He rubbed his temples in frustration, his irritation barely masked behind his calm exterior.

"Can you guys keep it down a bit?" Bruce muttered to himself, trying to block out the noise, but it was no use. The brothers' rivalry only grew louder, their playful insults and laughter ringing through the space like a storm cloud threatening to burst.

At the next brutal noise, the scientist had had enough. He grumbled under his breath, packing up his things. "I swear, those testosterone-filled aliens and their dick-measuring contests," he muttered, shooting a quick glance at the Asgardians, who were too caught up in their contest to notice.

Without a word, he retreated to the quieter back section of the gym, moving toward the machines where he could work in peace. The machines were further away from the weights area, but at least they offered some reprieve from the chaos. As he walked toward the back, his footsteps were steady but filled with a sense of relief. He could already feel his growing anxiety lifting as he left the noise behind.

Meanwhile, the brothers' competition raged on, with Thor’s grin widening as he added more weight and Loki effortlessly lifted the new load, his body gliding through the motions with ease. The display of absurd power continued, the brothers pushing each other to new heights, oblivious to the disruption they were causing.

Every movement Loki made, every lift of the weights, was a hypnotic display of strength. His back muscles rippled with precision, the tension in his frame apparent with every press, every stretch of his body. Each flex seemed almost choreographed, as if he was aware of the effect it had, and your eyes couldn’t look away. His body moved with fluidity, an effortless grace that made every lift seem almost effortless, but you knew better. It was controlled power, and the sheer magnetism of it made your heart race faster with each passing second.

No matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn't help but be drawn back to watching him. You could feel your pulse quickening, the attraction growing stronger with every passing moment. Your mind tried to resist, tried to focus elsewhere, but his form—his body, mostly—kept pulling you back. You shook your head, hoping to clear the fog clouding your thoughts, but it only lingered, his image burned into your retinas.

It was maddening—the pull to keep watching, to continue visually feasting on him as he pushed the weights higher, his muscles flexing and straining with each rep. But you knew you had to focus, force yourself back into your own workout. You took a deep breath, forcing your attention back to your set, trying to push the images of him out of your mind. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, every time Loki added more weight, every time his body moved with such effortlessness, your mind betrayed you. It was impossible not to be drawn back to him.

"Don’t get distracted," Wanda teased, her voice slicing through your turbulent thoughts with a playful yet knowing tone. She had caught the subtle shift in your gaze. "He’s lifting weights, not you in your head."

You chuckled nervously, warmth creeping up your neck as you struggled to mask the growing tension inside. "Can’t help it if he makes a spectacle out of it," you muttered, uncomfortable under Wanda’s sharp, knowing stare.

Her eyes flicked over to Loki, who was now adding more weight to the barbell with an almost casual precision. His movements were effortless, each shift in his posture drawing attention to the taut muscles of his back as he pushed the weight up. The strain in his arms only emphasized the strength beneath his skin, the tension in his frame stretching the muscles of his back, making them stand out in a tantalizing display of raw force.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, a sly smile curling her lips as she took in the scene. "There’s a lot of tension between you two today," she observed lightly, though there was a subtle intrigue laced in her voice.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth flooding your face betrayed the truth. "It’s nothing. Just… your usual bantering."

Wanda’s smile only widened, her voice dropping to a hushed, conspiratorial whisper as she leaned closer. "‘Usual bantering,’ huh? If it’s nothing like you say it is, then why do I feel the electricity between you two from across the room?"

Before you could even formulate a response, Loki did something you should’ve anticipated but somehow hadn’t—after all, he always had a knack for surprising you.

With a smooth flick of his wrist, he got rid of his shirt, revealing his sculpted back in all its glory. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though each stretch was calculated to highlight the fluid grace of his body, ensuring that every muscle was on display. He wasn’t simply lifting weights; he was performing, putting on a show, a carefully crafted performance meant to captivate and tease. The muscles in his back rippled as he shifted, tightening with every adjustment.

You bit your lip, hard, forcing yourself to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape at the sinful image in your mind. What is wrong with you? Your rival, your competition wasn't someone you should be thinking of in that way. And yet, watching him lift, so confident, so composed, made everything else fade away and your mind turn to mush. All rational thoughts were overwhelmed by the flood of desire, the need that burned like a fire within you, fierce and untamed.

A wild thought flickered through your mind, one you couldn’t quite push away: the idea of running your fingers along the ridges of his spine, feeling each muscle shift and contract beneath his skin, the subtle texture of his back smooth yet firm under your touch. The thought of raking your nails down his back due to being lost in the thralls of pleasure, feeling him tense and arch under your touch, was a dangerous temptation that you could hardly control.

You wished, in vain, that you could just reach out and trace the ridges of his back, feel the rippling muscles shift and contract beneath your fingers, but you had to stop yourself. You couldn’t let him win this round—not like this.

Thor, who had been lifting beside him, wasn’t even trying to hide the smug grin that spread across his face. He shot a quick glance in your direction then proceeded to turn to him and spoke in hushed tones, and it was then that the realization hit you: this little game between you and Loki had morphed into a twisted battle of alliances. Thor had just completely betrayed you on behalf of his brother. That bitch.

Loki’s smirk deepened as he caught your lingering gaze. He didn’t say a word, but the playful challenge in the air was undeniable. You could feel the weight of it pressing on you, the urge to stay focused slipping away. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was baiting you—and it was working.

Wanda, ever perceptive, noticed the change in your expression instantly. Her lips curled into a sly smile, her voice dropping lower, thick with amusement. "Oh, this is going to be good," she whispered, clearly enjoying every second of the tension building between you two.

You shot her a look, your face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "This isn’t fair," you muttered, your gaze still fixed on the god, who continued to lift the weights with effortless precision, the muscles of his back shifting smoothly with each movement. "How am I supposed to focus when he looks like a damn sculpture?"

You sighed, trying to rein in your runaway thoughts, but the fantasies lingered, unwanted. "I’m going to jump him in the next ten seconds if he keeps this up," you continued, your voice thick with frustration. "And I don’t mean it in a ‘beat him down’ way… well, maybe I do, but only down there."

Wanda stifled a laugh and nudged you playfully, her tone still light, but now edged with a sense of seriousness. "You’ve got to hold it together," she teased. "You’re not falling for this, right? You’re stronger than that."

You looked at her, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips as you came to a bitter revelation. Loki was trying to get under your skin, and you couldn’t let him. "You’re right," you declared, rolling your eyes. "I can’t let him mess with me like this. He’s just baiting me, and I’m not gonna fall for it."

Wanda gave a satisfied nod, pleased with your change in attitude. "That’s the spirit. Don’t let him steal your focus. You’ve got this."

With newfound determination, you straightened your back. "Alright, enough of this," you muttered under your breath. "Let’s see how he handles a little competition."

Your eyes narrowed, chest tightening with resolve. The game was on, and this time, you weren’t going to let him have the upper hand.

You politely excused yourself from Wanda’s company and made your way toward the quieter back section of the gym. The hustle and bustle of the weight area faded behind you, the rhythmic clinking of metal and the low murmurs of conversation becoming a distant hum. You hoped the isolation would offer the clarity you were searching for—some peace to collect your thoughts.

In a secluded corner, you found Bruce, focused intently on a pull-up bar. His brow furrowed in concentration, but the strain was evident, his grip tight on the bar as he attempted yet again to pull himself up. His frustration was written clearly across his face, though he masked it with determined silence.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt his focused effort. But when you saw the way his muscles tensed in vain, unable to lift himself even a few inches, you couldn’t help but step in. “Need some help?” you asked softly, your voice calm, yet laced with curiosity.

He let out a deep sigh, a touch of frustration creeping into his words. “I’m trying the pull-up bar exercise,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “But I can’t seem to get up there.”

Tilting your head slightly, you studied his form for a moment, then took a step closer. “Show me,” you encouraged gently, offering a supportive tone.

Bruce gave a small, resigned nod before trying once more. With a quiet grunt, he pulled himself up again, but only for a brief second before his arms gave out, and he dropped back down, his exhale sharp and frustrated. “See?” he said, clearly disappointed. “I just can’t do it.”

You smiled reassuringly, your eyes warm with understanding. “Maybe start with something a bit different,” you suggested kindly. “Have you ever tried the ‘Dead Hang’ exercise?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “What’s that?”

Before you could explain, a loud clatter suddenly echoed through the gym—the unmistakable crash of a heavy weight hitting the floor. The sound reverberated across the room, and instinctively, your eyes shifted toward the source.

Nearby, a small crowd had gathered, applauding and praising Loki, who had just completed an impressive lift. “Nice job, Loki! Impressive as always!” one voice called out with admiration.

An impulsive thought flashed through your mind—daring, bold, something designed to enhance your stakes.

Turning back to Bruce, you flashed a sly grin, a hint of mischief curling at the corners of your lips. “I’ll show you,” you said, but your words carried a weight to them, an undercurrent of something more, in a tone that made your friend blink in confusion.

Slowly, you began to unzip your jacket, making sure each movement was drawn out. This wasn’t just about showing him the exercise; it was about showing someone else, too. The sudden sound of the zipper seemed to almost echo through the gym, a quiet invitation to anyone who might be watching. Finally, you revealed what you had carefully chosen to wear, an outfit designed to put the odds on your side. The effect was immediate.

You could feel Loki’s eyes immediately zeroing on you, and every detail seemed to draw him in like a magnet. The fabric of your outfit clung to your skin with a delicate stretch, outlining every curve and muscle as you moved. The shorts, the tight-fitting gym bra, the length of your legs accentuated by high socks—they all played their part. As you turned slightly, the fabric shifted and clung to your form, showcasing the subtle curve of your back, the way your muscles rippled with the slightest movement. Every inch of you was on display, and Norns did he noticed every part of it.

A loud thud echoed across the gym, followed by a sharp curse. “Damn it.” Loki’s voice rang out, laced with frustration, and you couldn’t help but smile inwardly. He had lost focus—your presence had distracted him so thoroughly that he’d accidentally dropped the weight he’d been holding. The sound of the barbell hitting the floor seemed to reverberate through the space, drawing everyone’s attention for a split second.

You couldn’t help but fight the smirk that threatened to tug at your lips. “I’ll show you what it’s like,” you said, your voice low, but full of intent as you took another deliberate step closer to Bruce. Those words were certainly meant for someone else, too.

You approached the pull-up bar with careful intent, your fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The exercise you were about to perform required complete focus and control. With a deep breath, you gripped the bar firmly, allowing your body to hang freely below it. As you did so, you consciously relaxed every muscle, letting your body fall into the natural stretch of the position. It was a simple exercise, but one that emphasized both strength and the fluidity of the body. Yours curved slightly as the weight of your form stretched out from the bar, loosening up your spine as the contours of your waist and hips became more pronounced with each passing second.

Loki’s gaze flickered toward you once again, his breath hitching at the sight. Every shift in your body, every movement of your muscles, sent a pulse of heat through him. He grit his teeth, the dirty thoughts that had been simmering beneath the surface rushing back to the forefront of his mind. The way your body stretched, your back curving just the right way—it was almost too much to bear. He tried to focus, to ground himself in the task at hand, but his attention kept being pulled back to you.

You let out a breath, your body still hanging for a moment longer before you spoke to Bruce, your voice cool but with a slight edge of confidence. "Relax your entire body," you instructed, your tone a touch haughty. "The point of this exercise is to let the weight of your body do the work. It helps open up your shoulders, stretch your spine, and build the necessary strength for proper pull-ups. Start by hanging for ten seconds at a time and gradually increase the duration. With practice, you'll be able to pull yourself up."

You paused for a moment, letting your body hang freely before pulling yourself up from the bar with smooth, controlled strength. As you reached the top of the movement, you held yourself there for just a second longer than necessary, your muscles tightening, flexing in the process. The motion was fluid, almost sensual, and the way your body moved with purpose sent a provocative ripple through the air. Loki couldn’t look away as he watched you, every shift in your body feeling like a challenge, an invitation. A low pained groan slipped from his throat, the sound nearly imperceptible, but the heat of his gaze on you was undeniable.

Thor, who had been observing his brother, glanced over in confusion as Loki seemed to stiffen, his eyes darkening in a way that made the tension between the two of them palpable. "Are you alright, Loki?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

The god didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still locked onto you as you effortlessly performed the pull-up, your muscles tightening and flexing with each motion. It was an almost agonizingly slow showcase of strength, one that seemed to taunt him, and he could feel every inch of his body reacting to it.

Oh, how he longed to run his hands over the smooth expanse of your back, savoring the lean strength evident beneath. The curve of your waist and flare of your hips beckoned like a siren's call, making his fingers twitch with the desire to explore, to map out every dip and swell. He could almost feel the heat of your body, like the flames of Muspelheim against his palms as he imagined gripping your hips and guiding you down, down, down until you were sheathed tight around his hardness.

Another groan threatened to spill out at the vision, his shorts growing a little too tight for his liking. Gods, the things he wanted to do to you, with you, if only you would finally admit defeat. To run his tongue along the elegant curve of your throat, down to flick against your pulse point as he spread you out before him like a feast. To sink his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, marking you, branding you as his. To work you open on his fingers and tongue until you are dripping and ready, then push into your tight, wet heat inch by delicious inch. He'd rock into you slow and deep, savoring every gasp and moan, building the pleasure higher and higher until you were keening, lost to everything but the feel of him moving inside you.

Without a word, he spun on his hee and strode off toward another station, leaving Thor, in his wake who scratched his head, visibly puzzled. “Brother? What are you—” But Loki paid him no mind, his sharp steps echoing as he distanced himself.

You caught sight of Bruce still grappling with the pull-up bar, his arms trembling as he strained to lift himself even an inch. His frustration was evident in the tight set of his jaw and the way he grumbled to himself under his breath. The pull-up bar clearly wasn’t yielding any victories for him today.

Walking over with purpose, you kept your voice calm but firm. “Bruce, let’s try something different for now. We’ll come back to this once you’ve built up the strength for it.”

The scientist sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck with a self-conscious shrug. “I don’t know... I’m not great with this stuff. Maybe I should just stick to what I know.”

You smiled gently, tilting your head slightly to meet his hesitant gaze. “Come on, Bruce. Trust me on this. Baby steps, right? Let’s just take one in a different direction for now.”

He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line, before finally exhaling in defeat. “Fine. Lead the way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if this goes south.”

With a reassuring nod, you led him to the chest fly machine, your voice calm and encouraging as you adjusted the seat and weights for him. You were focused on making sure everything was just right for Bruce, but what you hadn’t fully accounted for was the proximity of this particular station to Loki, who was seated at the lat pulldown machine just a few feet away. His back was turned, but the tension in his posture was impossible to miss. Like a storm cloud, it hung over the room—dark and ominous, an undeniable sense of impending eruption lingering in the air.

For a moment, you found yourself distracted, your eyes unconsciously drawn to the muscles in his back as they shifted with every movement, the strength in his form almost hypnotic. The well-defined lines of his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed under his skin, it was hard to look away. But you quickly shook yourself out of the moment, snapping back to the task at hand. Focus, you reminded yourself, silently chastising your wandering thoughts.

“That’s it, Bruce. Slow, steady movements. Just like that, don’t rush it. You’ve got this,” you said, your tone supportive as he began his exercise. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help noticing how Loki’s head tilted slightly in your direction, his sharp ears catching every word.

The creak of the lat pulldown cables drew your attention. Loki’s hands gripped the bar with unnecessary force, his movements precise yet edged with irritation. The sound of metal straining filled the air as he finally broke his silence. “Do you mind?” His voice cut through the room like a blade, low and seething with disdain.

You turned to face him, your brow furrowing. “What do you want?” you retaliated, a mix of confusion and irritation lacing your tone.

Loki swiveled his head slowly, emerald eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. “Your incessant commentary,” he drawled, each word dripping with contempt. “It’s... distracting.”

You scoffed, planting your hands on your hips as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Are you serious right now? I’m helping Bruce. Maybe focus on your own workout instead of eavesdropping.”

Loki chuckled—low, humorless, and maddeningly smug. Leaning back slightly, he released the bar, letting it rise with a deliberate clang. “Oh, I’m focused,” he said, his smirk deepening. “But don’t insult my intelligence by pretending this isn’t calculated. Using Banner as a pawn? Transparent. And frankly, beneath you.”

Bruce, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally frowned and glanced between the two of you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice quiet but tinged with irritation.

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you turned to Loki. “Oh, here we go again. Not everything is about you, Loki! Believe it or not, I’m just trying to help.”

Loki raised a brow, his smug expression unwavering. “Help?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Is that what you call it? Dressing like that, speaking like that? Admit it——you’re dabbling in something you don’t even understand.”

“Wha—Excuse me? This is rich, coming from the guy who prances around half-naked! You—”

Bruce abruptly stood, his chair scraping against the floor. His voice cut through your escalating argument with an uncharacteristic edge of authority. “Stop!”

Both you and Loki turned to him, startled. The doctor rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was a sign that things had gone too far.

He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. “What is this?” he demanded, looking between the two of you. “You’re bickering like kids on a playground, and I’m just—what? A prop in your ridiculous feud?”

Your chest tightened as you started to explain. “Bruce, no, I swear it’s not like that—”

“Don’t,” Bruce cut in, his tone sharp and trembling with barely contained anger. “Don’t try to sugarcoat it. I may not be as quick as some people, but I’m not blind. I see what’s happening here.”

Bruce turned his glare to Loki, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “And you—you think you’re clever, don’t you? Always playing games. Well, newsflash—I’m not interested in being part of them.”

His breathing became heavier, his body trembling—not from nervousness, but from something darker, angrier.

Your heart sank as you realized what was happening. “Bruce, just take a breath, okay? Let’s calm down—”

But it was already too late. His muscles bulged, his skin darkened into a familiar green, and the roar of the Hulk filled the gym.

Loki’s posture stiffened, the usual cocky swagger evaporating as the Hulk’s colossal frame shifted toward him. For a split second, a flash of pure terror flickered across his sharp features, a haunting echo from the Battle of New York when the Hulk had sent him crashing into the ground like a discarded rag. The fear was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough to betray him.

Before he could react to the imminent danger, Loki’s hand shot out with a swift, panicked motion, gripping your arm. “Hold still,” he snapped, panic creeping into the edges of his words. You barely had a chance to process his command before a surge of green magic enveloped you both, and the world blurred.

When the world came back into focus, you found yourself near the shake bar, the sounds of destruction still reverberating in the air. Almost immediately, the deafening crash of the green giant’s fist pounding into the floor where Loki had just been standing shook the entire gym. The floor shattered under the impact, sending tiles and twisted metal flying in all directions, and the mutant’s fury seemed to crack the very foundation of the gym.

The Hulk roared, his rage transforming the once serene space into a battleground. He flung gym equipment effortlessly, sending heavy machines soaring through the air as if they were paperweights. Chaos erupted, and everyone nearby scrambled to find shelter, the panic rippling through the room.

“Loki!” you shouted, snapping out of your dazed confusion, yanking your arm free from his grasp. “What did you just do?” Your frustration was raw, even as the remnants of Loki’s spell still crackled in the air around you.

Loki's gaze darted over the chaos, his eyes momentarily filled with the same terror from earlier. “I saved your life, you ungrateful—” he began, but his words were interrupted by another piece of equipment flying past, narrowly missing you both.

In the midst of the madness, Steve Rogers appeared, cutting through the mayhem with his usual calm but commanding presence. His shield was already raised to deflect debris, and his eyes locked onto you both, burning with frustration. “What did you two do?” His voice was sharp, his anger evident as he assessed the destruction around him.

Before either of you could answer, Steve held up a hand to silence you. “No. You know what, I don’t even want to hear it. Whatever this is, it ends now.” The sheer force of his frustration was palpable in the air.

Without skipping a beat, he turned to Natasha, who had approached cautiously, her demeanor calm but alert. “Nat’, calm him down. Now.”

The red head nodded, turning her voice soft and steady as she made her way toward the Hulk. Her presence seemed to cause a momentary hesitation in him, but it was clear that the damage had already been done. The gym was a wreck.

Steve shifted his attention back to you and Loki, his voice cold and authoritative. “This session is officially postponed until tomorrow. And you two—” he gestured between you and the god with a firm, pointed finger, “—will clean up every inch of this gym before dawn. No excuses.”

With that, he turned, muttering under his breath about “grown adults acting like children,” his steps echoing as he left.

As the dust settled and the rumble of destruction faded, you whipped around to face the one responsible for the mess. “See, this is your fault!” you accused, your voice rising with frustration. “If you hadn’t been so focused on antagonizing me—”

His eyes narrowed sharply, his lips twisting into a thin line as he interrupted you. “My fault?” he hissed, his tone low and dripping with venom. “If you hadn’t been playing the role of coach, none of this would’ve happened.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Oh, please. You were the one who couldn’t keep your jealousy in check! You’re so petty, it’s unbelievable.”

“Petty?” Loki sneered, stepping closer, his voice dripping with indignation. “I am not petty. I simply refuse to be ignored.”

The two of you kept throwing accusations, a fierce back-and-forth of words filling the already charged air. You stepped forward, jabbing your finger toward his chest, your anger boiling over. “Fine!” you snapped, the words rushing out before you could stop them. “Tomorrow, when we fix this mess, we’ll figure out who’s really at fault.”

Loki’s smirk returned, dark and calculating, his gaze shifting with a mischievous glint. He slammed his hands onto the nearby counter, leaning in until his presence was overwhelming, the space between you growing impossibly small. His voice dropped, laced with something far more dangerous. “Gladly,” he purred, his smirk widening. “But don’t expect to come out of this unscathed, darling. When I settle things, I make sure it’s unforgettable.”

Your breath caught in your chest as his gaze lingered, heavy with meaning. His words held a promise—one that left the air thick with anticipation. Then, without another word, he straightened and turned away, his smirk still in place as he strode out of the ruined gym. You stood there, caught between the remnants of a shattered gym and a body that pounded in more than one place.

Tomorrow, everything would finally be settled, and the weight of it all seemed to hang in the air like a promise of more to come.

⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @cafekitsune .

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 2 hours ago

Text

P.S. Do You Still Love Me| Pt4

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ P.S. I never stopped loving you... ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ pt1 pt2 pt3 bonus ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

Han sat at the studio, tapping his fingers lightly on the surface of the desk, the sound of the beat from the speakers filling the space around him. For the first time in months, his posture wasn’t slumped. His shoulders weren’t weighed down by the invisible burdens that had been dragging him into darkness. Today, his eyes were bright, his hair brushed, his energy different, even though there was still a lingering hesitation in the way he spoke.

But it was a hopeful hesitation.

Felix and Jeongin shared a knowing glance as they watched him hum along to the track him and the other two boys of 3Racha were planning for the next album, his fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard, as Chan tweaked a few things next to him.

"Hyung-ah, what if we layered this over the last portion? Or I think the same layering could work on the title track if you wanted a more upbeat song."

It had been so long since they’d seen Han actively participate in the studio sessions, and it felt like a breath of fresh air to everyone.

Although they still kept quiet, hoping not to break the fragile peace they saw Jisung experiencing. Chan was privy to information that only Jisung and Minho had experienced; due to his fatherly nature and Jisung's attempts at finding a solution to the problems he had created.

Chan had quickly agreed with Jisung leaving early to fix things, but the other members were unaware per sake of focusing on deadlines. Jisung would tell them later. Maybe over a dinner apologizing for the way he distanced himself.

Although no one had said anything, the familiar sight of his focus, the way his hand scribbled notes across scrap pieces of paper- his mind working behind his quiet demeanor, gave them hope.

It was like the Han Jisung they knew before everything had happened was slowly coming back, piece by piece.

"Is it just me," Felix whispered to Jeongin, "or is Hyung actually... working today?"

Jeongin nodded, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and relief. "He’s not just here physically. He’s... here here, you know?"

Felix smiled softly. "I missed him being like this."

Jeongin’s face softened, and he looked down at his hands nervously, before muttering, "Do you think it's becuase he let go of Noona finally?" The fox eyed boy looked up at his older friend. "I don't want to say anything but...I miss noona, too. She's family."

Felix’s expression changed to one of gentle understanding. He knew exactly what Jeongin meant. Since everything had happened, there had been a strange emptiness in the group, and your absence had made the tension between them all palpable.

Han turned slightly in his seat and noticed Felix and Jeongin’s quiet exchange. He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"You two look like you’re talking about something serious," Han teased, his voice light but still tinged with a certain hesitance as he scratched behind his ear.

Felix chuckled, leaning back in his chair, clearly more relaxed than he had been in a while. "We were just talking about how it's good to see you like this again, Hyung. You’ve been...distant recently. We missed the old you."

Han paused for a moment, the smile faltering slightly before he shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. "Yeah, I get that. I’ve been... not myself lately."

Jeongin quickly asked, like ripping a bandaid off, "Did you let Noona go?"

Felix shot Jeongin a look and sighed. "There are better ways of asking that..."

Han chuckled and looked at the two.

Felix leaned forward, a little concerned. "But I'm curious as well...are you okay now? Truly? I mean, we’re all happy to see you working again. But, uh…is...you won't go back to the way you were? Did you really let her go?"

Han’s expression softened, and for a moment, his eyes drifted down to the track playing on the screen. There was something quiet, something almost sad in his gaze, but it wasn’t the hollow emptiness it once was. It was more like he was still finding his way through the wreckage but managing to keep himself grounded, little by little.

"How could I." Jisung said quietly. "It was a stupid mistake on my end to begin with. I hurt her a lot. The only right thing to do is to make it up to her for the rest of my life if she lets me, isn't it?" He let out a soft chuckle. "We’re...going to be okay," Han said slowly, the words not coming easily but feeling like a small relief once they left his mouth. "I think we’re getting there. Just, uh...took the wrap around way because I am an idiot.

"YAH, FOR REAL?!" Jeongin exclaimed excitedly bouncing in his chair.

Han couldn't help but laugh at the youngest's excitement.

"Yes. From what I gauged last night..."

"Omo, you slept together?" Jeongin asked, jaw dropping.

"What! No she was drunk and I had to pick her up because some prick kissed her." Han pouted and crossed his arms.

"Someone kissed, Y/N?" Changbin asked suddenly from across the room. That caused everyone who hadn't been paying attention to start now, as Han nodded.

"Yes! Her coworker! As if he could even compete with me. She hated the kiss too." Han said triumphantly, sparking a conversation about the event of last night, and how exactly he planned to woo you over and beg for his forgiveness.

Unbeknownst to Jisung, you were standing outside the JYPE building, a letter in your hands. You walked up to the desk, a little nervous since it had been a minutes since you were there.

"Uh...hello?" You asked the receptionist, who looked at you with a bored look.

"How may I help you."

"Um, I have something to give to my boyfriend."

The receptionist looked at you if you were utterly delusion and scoffed. "Boyfriend?"

"Y-yes..." You said shifting on your feet uncomfortably.

"Listen, we get a lot of crazies like you. I'm gonna give you a minute to leave or else I'm going to call security."

Meanwhile, Chris was ushering everyone back to work, so Jisung could get home quicker. Felix had rushed out to go grab some water for everyone when he heard a familiar voice.

"Please! Can you just call them or something! I'm not a sasaeng I swear!" Felix looked to the floor below and saw you, a looking tense and about ready to break.

Did you really leave the apartment to come see Jisung?

Felix rushed back towards the studio, forgetting about the water. "Hyung! Hyung! Noona she's downstairs!"

Han looked up as did the rest of the boys. He immediately rushed out the studio, not giving a care in the world for what was surrounding him.

Why didn't she stay home? I was coming back? Did she come to breakup with me? Is she leaving? Is it too late-

You were trying desperately to explain your situation to the receptionist, but it was of no use since you and Jisung hadn't been public.

You didn't blame her for you sounding crazy. She probably felt like you were lying when you weren't you were just trying to find a way to get to Jisung to solve things once and for all without outing your connection.

"Please!"

"I'm gonna have to ask you to lea-"

"Jagiya!" You froze and turned to the voice you had memorized like the back of your hand. A voice you could pick out in the sea of millions.

Jisung stood there looking at you, as if you were the only on in the lobby. As if there wasn't dozens of eyes on you. The receptionist quickly brought her hands to her mouth and bowed in apology. But you weren't concerned about that.

Rather you were concerned about why Jisung's eyes looked so frantic and troubled. You made your way to him and he dragged you to an empty meeting room.

You stood in silence looking at each other for a moment his eyes troubled.

"Baby, are you okay?"

And with that he broke down. Covering his face in his hands.

"How do you still care for me so effortlessly after everything. How can I feel deserving of you when you're like this. So perfect when I'm not."

The words hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating the space between you both.

Jisung's voice cracked with emotion as he spoke, his face a mixture of disbelief and guilt. "I'm horrible."

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. You had imagined this moment countless times, where you could finally address the root of all these problems, but now that it was happening, everything felt too overwhelming. The confusion, the heartbreak, the longing- it was all too much, too soon.

"Jisung..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "I read your letters."

You expected him to be in shock, or question you, but instead he gave out a defeated sigh.

"Ah." He looked at you for a brief moment, eyes clouded with self-doubt, before looking away once again. "I'm a coward aren't I? I pushed you away," he said softly, almost as if the words themselves hurt. "I let everything slip through my fingers because I was scared. Scared that I wasn’t enough for you. That I couldn't give you everything you deserved. And I couldn't even tell it to you to your face."

You took a step closer, your heart aching for him. His vulnerability was something you hadn’t seen in so long. It made everything you’d been through seem even more painful. How could someone so full of warmth, someone who made you feel safe, feel like he wasn’t worthy of your love?

"Jisung, stop," you said, reaching out to him. "You don’t get it. I never stopped caring about you. I never stopped loving you. And I never will."

A breathless laugh escaped his lips, but it was bitter, filled with regret. "But I hurt you, Y/N. I hurt you when you needed me the most. I was so caught up in my own insecurities that I pushed you away without thinking about how it would make you feel."

His eyes were wide now, desperation and guilt etched into every line of his face. He stepped forward, grasping your hands tightly, as if afraid you might slip away from him. "How do you still love me after everything? After I broke your heart? I can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t deserve you, Y/N."

You shook your head, your own emotions rising to the surface. "You don’t get to decide what you deserve, Jisung," you said, voice trembling with the weight of it all. "I do. And I still choose you. Even after everything."

You held out your letter, tears clouding your vision. "Read it. I wrote it for you. So just...read it."

He swallowed, his eyes red rimmed and hands trembling as he grabbed it, a pit forming in his stomach in anticipation.

Jisung, I guess, somewhere along the way, we lost the chance to truly understand what it meant to love each other. We got caught in the noise of everything that came with it—the questions, the doubts, the silent thoughts we never voiced. And maybe that’s why we ended up here. Because, somehow, we never really addressed the most important thing: what it truly means to be enough. For the longest time, I convinced myself that you left because of something I did. I spent nights turning over every little thing in my head, wondering if I wasn’t enough for you. If I wasn’t the right person. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had somehow failed you, failed us. But I never, not in a million years, thought that it would be you asking yourself if you were enough. If you felt like you didn’t deserve me. I never imagined that you would carry that weight, not when you’ve always been the one I leaned on. And here we are, and I’m holding your question—Do I still love you?—in my hands, unsure of how to respond in a way that you’ll understand, in a way that you’ll believe. I don’t know how to say this without sounding like I'm exaggerating, or trying to make you feel like this is some grand, impossible thing, but... I need you. I need you the way I need the air I breathe. It’s almost embarrassing to put it into words, to let you see just how deeply ingrained you are in me. But you need to hear it. You need to know that even after everything, even after all the confusion and the pain, my heart still beats for you. It always will. When I think about the time we spent apart, I can’t help but wonder if there was something more I should’ve said, something I could have done to keep you from feeling this way. If only I had seen it sooner, if only I had known how much you were struggling. I hate that I didn’t, but I also realize that it isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s not about blaming either of us. We’re both human, Jisung. And sometimes, we get lost. We make mistakes. We doubt ourselves, we doubt each other. It’s a part of loving, a part of being vulnerable. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough for me. I wanted you to know that, for me, you were always more than enough. And now, as I sit here and think about everything, I wonder—can we go back to what we were? Can we fix the pieces that fell apart? And part of me hopes we can, but another part wonders if going back is even the answer. Maybe it’s not about reliving the past or undoing what’s been done. Maybe it’s about moving forward. Maybe it’s about growing from what we’ve been through and figuring out how to love each other in a new way, a way that feels whole. So here I am, writing you this letter—something I should’ve done a long time ago. I’ve spent too much time thinking I needed to be perfect, thinking I needed to fix everything before it was too late. But maybe the answer isn’t in fixing everything; maybe the answer is in accepting that we don’t need to be perfect. You’re enough, Jisung. You’ve always been enough. And I’m sorry if I didn’t show you that in the way you needed to see it. But I’m telling you now: I need you. I love you, and I always will. And I hope that, somehow, you can find a way to believe that, even after all the time apart, after all the silence, that you still have a place in my heart. I’m here. I’m still here, and I want to move forward with you. Always, Y/N

He drew in a shaky breath.

P.S. I think you always knew the answer...

He stared at you, eyes searching yours for something, anything-

Then, without warning, he collapsed into your arms, his body trembling as he let go of everything he had been holding in. The tears bursting from you as well. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I'm sorry."

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly, as though you were both afraid that if you let go for even a second, everything would fall apart again.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "We both made mistakes. I’m here. And you're here. It'll work. We'll be okay this time."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting you sobs and

the weight of your shared pain and unspoken love pressing in on you both. It felt like the world had paused, giving you a fleeting moment of peace. The chaos of the past few months, the confusion and the silence- it all seemed so distant now, as if it belonged to someone else.

There were no easy answers, no quick fixes. All you had was each other, and for the first time in months, that felt like enough.

Jisung pulled back slightly, his face still clouded with uncertainty. "I want to be the person you need me to be. I want to make up for all the time we’ve lost."

You looked at him, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and caution. "You already are, Ji," you said softly, smiling at him as you held his cheek. "And we have forever to prove our love for each other, hm?"

His eyes softened, a flicker of hope lighting up behind them. "Hm," he echoed, his voice barely a whisper, but it was all you needed to hear.

You let out a shaky breath, finally allowing yourself to believe in the possibility of a future. You didn’t have all the answers, and neither did he, but one thing was clear: you were both willing to fight for this. For each other.

But before you could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, interrupting the fragile moment you had created. The sound startled both of you, but Jisung didn’t move. He kept his gaze locked with yours, his hand still tightly holding yours, as if he wasn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

"Hyung?" a voice called from the other side of the door. It was Jeongin, his tone slightly hesitant, as though unsure of what he might walk in on.

Jisung sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, the small moment he had with you ruined, but his grip on you remained firm.

"They missed you too." He murmured.

He looked back at you one last time, his gaze searching yours for reassurance. You nodded slightly, the unspoken understanding passing between you two. You weren’t ready for the world to know yet, but you were ready to face whatever came next- together.

"Yeah, just a minute," Jisung called out, his voice a little rougher than usual.

But without a second of hesitation, Jeongin rushed in without a care for the world, the rest of the boys behind him.

The room seemed to pause for a beat as everyone rushed towards you. The tightness in your chest loosened with every familiar face. Minho, the ever-present big brother, was the first to give you a noogie, ruffling your hair as he grinned.

You laughed, even as tears threatened at the corner of your eyes. Changbin pulled you into a warm hug, and you could feel his steady heartbeat, a comforting presence. "Missed you," he mumbled into your hair.

Felix was next hugging you like no tomorrow, just to get pushed out the way by Jeongin who slipped his arms around you like a safety net. His embrace was gentle, but there was an unmistakable tenderness in the way he held you. He pulled back slightly, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. "You’re back, noona. We missed you."

You looked up, meeting Jisung's eyes. His gaze was intense, but there was something softer in the way he held you now. "She’s my girlfriend, Innie-ah," he said, his voice a little rough but proud, as he pulled you closer to him.

Jeongin stuck out his tongue.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart swelling with the truth in his words. The guys were all there, their presence overwhelming in the best way. You felt safe, loved, and, for the first time in a long time, enough.

Jisung kissed the top of your head, gently stamping his affection on you. The weight of everything you’d been through, the distance, the silence- it seemed to fall away with that one small gesture.

You other were the human embodiment of everything he’d both hoped for and was scared for- everything he needed. And as you were wrapped in his arms, with the guys surrounding you, he finally felt it- the reassurance that he was enough. That he was worthy of this love.

Of your love.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy @holly-here ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz stay #stray kids #skz angst #skz fluff #skz #skz reactions #stray kids reactions #han jisung #jisung skz #han skz #stray kids jisung #stray kids han jisung #stray kids han #skz han #skz jisung #skz han jisung

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mumblesplash · 3 days ago

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i’ve started getting so unreasonably cranky at those posts that are like ‘i’m sick of [aspect of popular media] someone should make [opposite thing]!!!’ by people who don’t seem invested in the idea they’re pitching as anything beyond a subversion of the norm. like ok. i see where you’re coming from but where are you actually going. look me in the eyes and give me one good reason you think that story concept is possible to pull off

#DID YOU ACTUALLY ‘HAVE AN IDEA’ OR IS THIS JUST COMPLAINING WITH EXTRA STEPS JANET #yes this was prompted by the cat finding witch in the alps post #but no that is not the only one i’ve seen by a long shot #and i fully realize how much of a nothing problem this is i just get reeeeally touchy about people demanding specific creative decisions #without even demonstrating a solid grasp on what they’re asking for #mumbling

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calciferstims · 6 months ago

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tiktokers be like “I am going to create the most beautiful, relaxing, aesthetically pleasing video ever, with gorgeous lighting, and deeply satisfying content”. …….. “and then I’m going to cut the video fifty thousand times in thirty seconds-”

#chatting tag #WHY. WHY. PLEASE.#I swear like every gifset I ever see that comes from tiktok is like the most gorgeous shit I’ve ever seen in my life #(specifically those videos of food that have really sunny lighting. OUGH that’s my SHIT)#but then EVERY TIME there’s like 5 cuts in every single individual gif. and it drives me crazy #don’t get me wrong they are good gifsets and it is not the gif makers fault. and obviously I know why the tiktok makers do that #bc there’s such a short time limit on the videos and they want to keep their attention and what not #but I swear to god they will make cuts that are SO FUCKING UNNECESSARY like just cutting literal milliseconds out of a satisfying shot.#which makes it no longer as satisfying. why. why do you do this to me.#listen I just have this secret rule that I never use gifs that have any cuts in them at all in my boards #unless they’re like really really nice. but even then like only two cuts max or I go crazy. I don’t like how weird and choppy it looks!!!!#so then like all of the prettiest gifs ever. I can’t use. BC THERES SO MANY GIDDAMN CUTS #like there’s so many videos I’d want to make gifs of but you can’t even get like a millisecond long gif out of it without including cuts 😭😭#ugh. anyways. that was my unnecessarily petty and extensive rant that I’ve just been holding in for a while. sorry.#also sorry but the other thing that bothers me is that stupid logo taking up half the gif.#one of my othe hyper specific secret rules is that I cannot use any gif that has a visible logo or watermark on it bc it drives me nuts #and like. not to rag on gif makers. bc gif makers are the most wondrous thing in the entire world and everything they do is great.#but I DO know a REALLLYYY easy way to download TikTok’s without the watermark it’s so simple it would take like two seconds. please. for me #just look up tiktok video downloader there’s like four good functional websites immediately. it’s so easy #let’s all start doing this pls we could make the most perfect gifsets ever without that ugly ass logo #(again not mad at gifmakers. I love u gifmakers. muah.)

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xxsabitoxx · 9 months ago

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Yuji being obsessed with the eating your pussy and accidentally teaching Sukuna how enjoyable it can be.

Sukuna, who’s never seen the appeal in going down on a woman. He figures he would personally gain no pleasure from it so why even bother?

Yuji, who’s the polar opposite and dreams of the day he can finally get you in his bed. Just so he can shove his head between your thighs and eat you out until you’re crying

Sukuna, who’s been forced to listen to these thoughts for years now because Yuji won’t grow a pair and just ask you out. Seriously, it’s been years, he’s losing his mind.

Yuji, who finally asks you out after one shot for courage and can’t believe it when you’re telling him that you’ve been waiting forever for him to ask that question.

Yuji, who forgets that even a single shot of liquor can get him buzzed and in no time at all he has his hands all over you. Not that you mind, you’ve waited just as long for him.

Yuji, who’s dragging you into a random bedroom at this house party and is locking the door behind you, lips glued to yours as he backs you up until you’re falling onto the mattress with him on top of you.

Yuji, who’s kissing his way down your body, falling to his knees before you as he nearly drags your lower half off of the mattress. Tugging your pants and underwear off in one go just to toss them somewhere into the room

Yuji, who’s spreading your thighs apart to finally catch a glimpse of the cunt he’s been dreaming of for years. Saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight of your dripping cunt.

Yuji, who’s whining as he moves his head lower, nipping and sucking the plush flesh of your inner thighs. Your nosies only egging him on as he moves his way upwards.

Yuji, who’s breath is coming out in short pants as he hovers just above your cunt, asking your permission one last time since he knows he’ll be too far gone to stop soon.

Yuji, who’s whimpering against your cunt as he eats you out, tongue licking greedily along your slit before prodding at your swollen clit. Drool leaking down his chin and subsequently your cunt, mixing with your arousal.

Yuji, who has you falling apart on his tongue over and over before he’s even satisfied enough to come up for air. His cheeks flushed pink and hair a mess from where your hands had been pulling at it.

Yuji, who’s begging you to let him eat you again, as if his lips and chin aren’t covered in your sticky arousal. Watching as you struggle to catch your breath, not thinking he would make you cum as many times as he had.

Yuji, who’s practically crying when you lazily nod “yes”, your eyelids almost impossible to keep open as you fall back against the mattress and let him eat you out for the umpteenth time that night.

Sukuna, who’s eyes have been fully opened (against his will) to the appeal in eating a woman’s cunt.

Mildly unfinished but like… the vision is there my

Edit: based on some recent comments and anons I’ve received, there seems to be some confusion with this post.

So let me clarify that Yuji is 21-22 in this, he is in college, I’ve written him the age he would be in 2024.

If you don’t agree with aging up characters? Don’t read the post, or just block me. It’ll save all of us the time and sanity.

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macfrog · 2 months ago

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homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #fic: cowboy like me

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ceilidho · 2 months ago

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language

masterlist

He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.

At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home.

But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John.

Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.

“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt.

John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself.

The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain.

“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”

The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers.

When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone.

Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage.

The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit.

“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”

The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff.

Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.

“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty.

Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that.

“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak.

And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back.

He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”

John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus.

Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves.

“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “‘Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”

“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”

The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that.

John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens.

The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots.

You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty.

Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground.

A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading.

You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed.

“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away.

The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants.

A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height.

Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups.

The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around.

The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed.

You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself.

Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.

Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes.

In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves.

You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench.

“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before.

Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again.

“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood.

You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath.

The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.

“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest.

The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.

When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it.

John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.”

There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod.

“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.

Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second.

His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”

Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls.

Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world.

You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse.

“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass.

John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him.

“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.

John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground.

With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall.

Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.

You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth.

The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle.

More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line.

“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear.

“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”

Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”

So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life.

And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave.

Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.

“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”

You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point.

John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me.

He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death.

Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds.

There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.

You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words.

These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.

Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him.

John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”

Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #john price/reader #price/reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you

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fear-is-truth · 3 months ago

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𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 – nicholas alexander chavez x fem!reader

summary — you’re a rising pop star and best friends with cooper koch. when you visit him on set of “monsters”, he introduces you to his co-star. / wc: 1.9k

tags — fluff. not proofread. english is not my first language

05/16/2024

The warm, late afternoon sun beat down on the set of Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story, where the buzz of production crews filled the air. You stepped out of your car, smoothing down your blouse as you made your way through the maze of trailers. You were here to see your friend Cooper Koch, who was playing Erik Menendez in the docuseries. He had invited you to visit him on set, and you hadn’t seen him in months. As you approached the craft services table, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Yo, there she is!” Cooper exclaimed happily, rushing over to scoop you into a bear hug. You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder.

“Hey!” you pull back slightly to get a good look at him. Even in character, with his hair styled in a very 1980s fashion and wearing the sharp suit of Eric Menendez, he still had the lighthearted energy that you adored.

“How’s it going, ‘Erik Menendez’?” He shrugged, letting out a playful sigh. “You know, just emotionally preparing for a murder trial.” He looked around, then nodded his head toward a nearby tent. “Come meet Nicholas. He’s playing my brother.” Following him across the set, you spotted Nicholas sitting alone, flipping through his script. Even off-camera, he looked striking: sharp jawline, dark, neatly styled curls, and an air of seriousness. The fitted suit he wore only added to the whole intense vibe, his features tight with focus.

“Hey Nic,” Cooper called out, breaking the actor’s concentration. “This is y/n l/n, pop sensation and my dear friend. y/n, meet Nicholas—my on-screen brother.”Nicholas stood up, a little stiff, offering you a polite smile and extending his hand. “Hey there, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm but quick, his expression serious and distant, almost cold. You let go, your own smile faltering slightly as you glanced at Cooper. Nicholas excused himself almost immediately, returning to his script as if he was still lost in Lyle’s world. You raised an eyebrow at your best friend.

“He always this… serious?” Cooper chuckled. “He’s in serious actor mode right now. Give it time, he’s actually an unbelievable goof once he’s done being all ‘Lyle Menendez on trial.’” You shot him a skeptical look.

You ended up visiting the set a few more times that week. Cooper always made you feel welcome, but Nicholas? He was always in the zone—focused, methodical, brooding. There was something almost intimidating about his presence, even though you knew it was probably just him getting into character. But still, it didn’t make for easy conversation.

One afternoon, you sat beside Cooper during a break, watching as Nicholas sat a few feet away, quietly reviewing his lines again. You nudged Cooper. “Does Nicholas ever… like, smile? Or even talk off set?” He snorted. “Told you, once he’s out of character, he’s cool. He’s just locked in right now.” You leaned back. “Sure, but it’s been days, and I feel like I’ve barely heard him say more than ten sentences to him. I’m starting to think either he hates me, or he’s got a permanent serious face.” Cooper just grinned. “Give it time. He’ll warm up. Trust me.”

It wasn’t until later in the week that you finally got to see what Cooper had been talking about. It was late, and most of the cast and crew had already cleared out for the day. You were waiting for Cooper to finish up with a quick scene when you noticed Nicholas walking toward you, hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants. He plopped down on the bench next to you, and he looked worn out, his usually composed expression softening as he leaned back and let out a sigh.

“Long day?” You asked. He laughed dryly, a sound that was low and tired before replying. “You have no idea.” He looked over at you, and for the first time, his face softened. “I feel like I owe you an apology.” You blinked. “for what?”

“For being… distant. Weird. Cold, even,” he said, running a hand through his dark curls. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just… I needed to focus.” You frowned. “On the role?”

“Yeah, on the role… but also, I just went through a breakup,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to the ground as if saying it out loud made it harder to hold back. “I was kind of using that energy to dive into Lyle’s head. You know, put it all in the work. I didn’t want to get distracted. Especially not by… well, by a pretty girl on set.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a strange warmth creep into your chest. “A pretty girl?” Nicholas gave a small, sheepish smile, finally meeting your gaze. “Yeah. You.”

“Wow,” you said, pretending to be offended as you put on a mock-serious tone. “So what, you’re saying you don’t hate me? Or my music?”

His eyes widened, panic flashing in them. “No! God, no. I don’t hate you, and I definitely don’t hate your music.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s not it at all. I just… didn’t want to get in my own way, you know? Especially after the breakup. I thought if I let myself get distracted, I’d fuck everything up. But it’s been eating at me. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pushing you away.”

The honesty in his voice surprised you.“I get it. I really do. I’m just glad it wasn’t personal. I was starting to think maybe you thought I was annoying. That you hate me or my music.” He grinned, visibly relaxing for the first time. “Trust me, neither. I’ve actually been dying to talk to you, but I’m terrible at switching gears. It’s hard for me to get out of character when we’re filming.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you teased lightly, nudging him with your shoulder. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Being a distraction doesn’t sound too bad.”

He laughed, the tension finally lifting between you both. “You’re more than a distraction. That’s why it’s been so hard to focus around you.”

Suddenly, the distance that had been between you two these past few days didn’t seem so far anymore.

“Friends?” you asked, extending your hand. He smiled, shaking your hand firmly but gently.

“Friends. For now.”

After that conversation, your dynamic with Nicholas shifted dramatically. What started as a tense, awkward distance between you two morphed into something much warmer. You found yourselves hanging out more, both on and off set. Cooper would tease the two of you endlessly, claiming he was the reason for your sudden ‘best friend’ status.

You quickly realized how sweet Nic was—thoughtful, always paying attention to the smallest details. Whenever you sat around with the cast, he’d ask if you wanted a snack or offer you his jacket when the set AC was too cold.

It became this easy, light friendship. But there was something else there. You knew it, and by the way his gaze would linger on you when you laughed or the casual touches that became more frequent, you had a feeling he knew it too.

Then one day, as you were scrolling mindlessly through social media, you saw your name trending—again. Your new album had just hit the charts a week ago, and it was all anyone could talk about. One song in particular, a love song that was a bit more sentimental than your usual style, had skyrocketed to number one on Billboard. Everyone was dissecting it, trying to figure out who it was about, but you’d stayed quiet. Part of you wasn’t even sure if you’d admit it, especially to the person it was written about.

That night, you were at Nicholas’s place at the hotel for a small get-together with some of the cast and crew. The two of you had slipped away to the balcony for some fresh air, away from the noise and chatter inside.

“So…” he started, leaning against the railing with a crooked smile. “I, uh, listened to your album. Pretty much the whole thing.” You looked up at him, grinning. “Oh? What’s the verdict?” “It’s incredible, honestly,” he said, sounding genuine. But then, he hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. “But there’s this one song—uh, the last one? ‘Silver Linings?’” He raised an eyebrow, clearly fishing for something. You felt your heart skip a beat. Of course he’d pick that song. “Yeah?” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your stomach was doing flips. You knew where this was going. “What about it?”

“Well… I might be totally off-base here, but… the lyrics…” He trailed off, his cheeks growing into five shades of pink. “I mean. Call me crazy but, was that song… about me?” Of course he would pick up on it. You hadn’t exactly been subtle in your songwriting, but you didn’t expect him to ask about it, especially like this. He had that hopeful, boyish grin on his face now, like he was waiting for you to admit it.

And honestly? You were tired of dancing around it.

Instead of answering, you closed the space between you, pressing your lips to his. Nicholas reacted instantly, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. His other hand rested on your waist, grounding you in the moment as your body melted into his. There was something so gentle yet eager about the way he kissed you—like he’d been holding back for so long and finally allowed himself to let go. His thumb brushed the nape of your neck, sending pleasant jolts of anticipation down your spine and warmth in your stomach. When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. You stared up at him, breathless, fingers still clutching his shirt. “Does that answer your question?”

present day

Nicholas was lying beside you, both of you in matching pink pyjamas, that he’d insisted on getting when you went shopping together. You were curled up in the crook of his arm, head resting on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His fingers absentmindedly traced shapes on your arm, the simple motion soothing.

“You know,” he began, his voice soft in the quiet, vast room, “I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to wear matching hello kitty pyjamas with my girlfriend.”

At this, you laughed, lifting your head to look at your boyfriend. “Don’t act like you didn’t pick these out.” “Fine,” he conceded, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “I did. But only because you look cute in them.”

“Right, because that’s why you’re wearing them too?”

“I wear them because I’m committed to the bit,” he joked, pulling you closer so he could press a kiss to the top of your head. Nestling back against his chest, you let out a soft sigh. “Do you ever think about when we can stop hiding this? Us?” his fingers stilled their movements and rested on your arm. “Yeah, I think about it a lot too,” he admitted. “But… we’ll get there. We’ll figure it out.”

“I know… It’s just so hard sometimes.” You whined. He must have sensed the frustration your tone because he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, “I know, baby.” His voice was soft, soothing. “But until then, I get to have you all to myself, like this.” Nicholas smirked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip. “Not the worst deal.”

#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓 #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #Nicholas Chavez fluff #nicholas chavez imagine

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xneens · 1 year ago

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three cents

you butt dial your boss during a girls night … the girls night where you told them you’d fuck aaron hotchner for three cents.

Girls' night out was wild, no one knew where you would end up. One night, you ended up on a boat and the next you were on a train to NYC. After getting thrown in jail with Emily, JJ, and Penelope during another night out, you all vowed to keep whatever happened during the night a secret from everyone, specifically Derek Morgan. Derek Morgan who had bailed all four of you out of jail, Derek Morgan who teased you relentlessly for weeks after.

After a long case, Emily suggested another girl’s night which all of you agreed on, desperately needing a celebratory drink after saving a little girl. It was around one in the morning when you got back to Quantico and though Aaron gave you the day off for tomorrow–or well, later today–all four of you decided to crash at Emily’s and drink to your heart’s content.

Popcorn and Hersey kisses lay on Emily’s coffee table, bottles of half-empty wine and jello shots litter the floor and you’re all giggling about whether to prank Derek by getting phone cases with a picture of him shirtless. You’re all on board and Penelope is getting them custom-made through a website she’s found.

“Speaking of Derek’s abs.” JJ drags the ‘s’ creating a hissing noise. She turns to you, grinning. “I’ve wanted to ask ever since you went to that Doctor Who convention with him. Do you like like Spence?”

You giggled, taking a small sip of wine, thinking about the genius. “Noooo. Spence is my friend. And he runs with his gun like it’s weighing him down. Besides, I only went to that Doctor Who convention because he went to see Barbie with me. He’s, like, too young for me, too.”

“He’s older than you.” Emily points out, smirking, knowing full well you liked older men. “He’s adorable and sweet.”

“Spencer is definitely cute and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had a sex dream about him,” you confessed, smiling as the girls burst out laughing. “But he’s too … inexperienced. I like my men like I like my wine. Old.”

Your phone had been on mute since you entered the plane, not wanting to abruptly wake anyone up if they were resting, so not a single person in the room had heard your phone ringing or Aaron’s multiple “hello’s” trying to get your attention. All of you were oblivious to your boss listening in to the conversation.

“Is Rossi too old for you?” Penelope asked, inciting another round of giggles.

You nodded, finishing off your glass of wine. “Just a bit. I’ve seen pictures of him when he was in the Marines though, and I definitely would’ve been the fourth Mrs. Rossi back then.”

Emily cackled, a bit of red wine spilling from her full glass. “Okay, I have a question. Would you guys fuck Hotch for ten million dollars? Be honest here.”

“No!” both JJ and Penelope spit out. They all turned to you, grinning like madmen.

You shrugged, filling another glass. “I’d do it for three.”

“Damn, three million? That’s–“

“Nope,” you smirked, taking a sip.

Emily paused, head tilting in confusion. “Three … hundred thousand?”

“No.”

“Three thousand?”

You shake your head, grinning at the confused woman. “Nope.”

“Three hundred?”

“No.”

Emily’s eyes widened, jaw-dropping a little further as you denied her guesses. “Three dollars?”

“No.”

“THREE CENTS?” JJ was the one to shout, mouth dropping open when you giggled and nodded.

Penelope threw a pillow at you, and you giggled, dodging it, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “Hey! This is supposed to be a judge-free zone. I’d suck and fuck Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner for three measly cents.”

“Okay, I’d understand if you said Derek but Hotch?” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head at the thought. “He’s like twenty years older than you!”

“Exactly! That’s part of the appeal,” you replied. You were sure by tomorrow no one would remember your confession–though you were positive you wouldn’t either–and that they wouldn’t tease you too much over it. “He’s the literal definition of a DILF.”

The girls laughed at your words, JJ having to clutch onto a pillow to control herself.

“And!” you continue. “I was working out with Derek once and Hotch came in the gym with gray sweats and his dick looks humongous. It was a huge fucking bulge. I think I saw it twitching.”

Penelope slaps her hands over her ears, playfully grimacing at your words while Emily chugs the remains of her glass, absolutely baffled. You didn’t mind, sex and boys were common conversation topics during girl’s night (and sometimes when Emily would catch you making eyes at someone.

The rest of the night continued the same, though less talk about Hotch’s big dick and more on whether you all should make more jello shots. By the time you’re coming up with an answer, it’s five in the morning and all four of you are knocked out from the alcohol in your system. Even in your drunk state, you knew you’d wake up to a pounding headache.

When Derek calls in the morning, telling everyone about a new case, you’re all moody and grumpy. Hotch wanted everyone in even though he had given the day off, so no one was jumping for joy especially not in your hangover state.

Despite drinking the most, Emily drives the four of you back to the BAU, mumbling obscenities under her breath on the way. When you enter the elevator, Derek is there, causing all of you to groan at his presence. One look at you and he laughs loudly, knowing what had transpired the night before.

You wish you could shoot his foot.

In the briefing room, Hotch apologizes for having you all come in on your day off, pausing to glance at you before presenting the case. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid that much attention to it, your headache taking up your attention. Fire, serial arsonist, fifteen dead, Seattle.

“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch announces, walking across the table. As the team filters out of the room, he calls your name. “In my office, please. I want to discuss something with you.”

Confused, you follow him to his office, pushing through your headache to think about what he could possibly want to speak to you about. You come up blank, even more confused when you see him lock the door to his office as you enter. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hotch shook his head, moving past you to his desk. He picks up something and turns around. In his hands are three pennies, and he’s holding them out to you. “Three cents.”

You’re getting deja vu on the words, and it’s not until several seconds of standing in silence and confusion that it clicks. Three cents. You blush, looking at the pennies. “I don’t understand.”

“You said you’d suck and fuck me for three cents,” he smirks at your shock, placing the coins in your hands.

“What–”

Hotch unbuckles his belt, causing you to stop mid-sentence. “You’ve got twenty-eight minutes to suck my cock. Get to work.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner smut

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darnell-la · 4 months ago

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I NEED A SMUT ONE SHOT OF THIS LOGAN I CANT FIND ANY

𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗 𝗠𝗘

pairing: mob boss! Wolverine x mutant!reader

summary: After getting mutant powers, Wade and y/n thought they could save the city from gangsters to be recruited as an avenger. They soon find out that the boss of all the gangsters in the city is a variant who slipped his way into their universe. A new Wolverine, but the worst of them all.

warnings: blood, possessive, animalistic, neck biting, marking, tasting, smut, etc.

note: Logan can't ignore a woman who's just like him.

please message and request us for more of this variant!

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“How about we shut the fuck up so we can make it out of here alive, hm?” Y/n asked Wade who kept whispering over to her that he swore he knew the man sitting in the chair.

“How would you possibly know a mob boss Wade?” She annoyingly asked, thinking he was joking as usual, but after she turned to look at Wade, she noticed how serious he was.

“That’s the fuckin’ Wolverine,” Wade gasped, noticing the man’s muscles and body structure as well as his hair that stayed up perfectly. Wade was a fanboy and knew from the comics, this had to be a variant of him.

“C’mon, y/n! We’ve had too much shit happen for you to not at least think. Look at him! The man looks exactly like him!” Wade said, as y/n shook her head. Sometimes she regretted teaming up with Wade. This was one of the times.

“God fuckin’ damn, do I have to prove myself every time I say something!?” Wade said before dropping down to the floor and kicking up into the man’s face.

As the man holding Y/n loosened his grip from the unexpected fight with Wade, y/n turned around, elbowing the man in his face, causing him to knock out next to the other man.

“Mister Howlett, I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you-“ Wade said as he walked towards the man who was still facing the pool table. Before Wade could finish his sentence, the man brought out his claws and stabbed Wade in his face.

Y/n gasped loudly as the man pulled back and Wade fell to the ground, groaning in minimal pain.

Y/n charged at the man, hoping he’d stay faced forward so she could end him, but he got up and grabbed Y/n. All in a swift motion, the man turned her around and slammed her on the table, one hand around her neck as the other brought out his claws and strapped her in the gut.

Y/n yelled, feeling the sharp pain, but it quickly went away. Y/n breathed heavily as she looked up, about to throw a punch, but she froze.

“Holy shit,” she said, seeing rare eyes looking down at her. “Told you!” Wade jumped up onto his feet before a few bodyguards pulled him back.

“H-How?” She asked as the man dug deeper into her stomach with a head tilt. The last time he checked, he was the only one to regenerate. How come a man in a red onesie and a pretty young lady he’s never seen before, can do the same as him.

“Take the man to the basement, and her — Get her cleaned and dressed to my liking,”

Y/n looked at the man, confused as well as Wade. “Hey, wait! We need to talk!” Wade yelled as the men dragged him away. “Don’t worry — We will,” Logan said as he removed his claws from y/n, eyes still burned into her.

Y/n stayed still, looking up at the man she knew was dangerous. He looked dangerously and anyone who knew who Wolverine was, would know he was.

“Fascinating,” the man said as he lifted y/n’s tight shirt up, grazing across her wound that healed in seconds. Logan quickly stepped back and snapped his fingers.

Y/n leaned up, getting ready to fight anyone that came near, but she failed as four men grabbed her. Y/n yelped after a sharp pain stuck in her neck. Before she could say anything, she fell out.

Y/m had woken up thirty minutes ago, cleaned, and dressed in some skin-tight silky dress. She had no idea what was going ok and why she had red bottom heels on.

She stayed seated on the bed in the huge room she was locked in before the door finally opened. “Said, I can handle her, alright? Stop fuckin’ buggin’ me, Bub,” Logan said before shutting the door behind him with a sigh.

“Where’s Wade?” Y/n asked after seeing blood stains on the man’s white suit. “Being held,” he replied as he made his way over to the bed she was on. The young lady crawled back onto the bed until her head hit the headboard.

“Let us go, and we’ll let you love — For now,” she added, making the man chuckle. “You can’t handle me just because you can regenerate, Bub,” Logan said, now standing on the bed.

“Your little partner told me what you were up to. You thought you could kill me? Serious, y/n?“ the man said, making her heart drop. He knew her name. Fuckin’ Wade…

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you. You’ve got me all wrong,” the man said as he reached out to her. The girl flinched, not knowing what he was going to do until his hand softly touched her skin.

“No one knows what I do, so if I tell you this, you’ll have to promise to keep that pretty mouth closed,” he said, taking a look at her lips.

“D-Depends,” she said as his fingers trailed around her leg. “I had been demoted from these bastards wearing helmets. They tried stickin’ me with something, but I took care of it,” Y/n knew what he meant by that.

“Took one of their devices, and got here. Same world but different. Wanna know how?” He asked, hands close to the bottom of her mid-thigh dress. “Why?” She asked low.

“Because pretty girls like you back at home don’t come into my space trying to kill me,�� he said, slightly scarring the girl. What did she get herself into?

“But don’t worry, Bub. You thought I was one of them, so I’ll let it slide. I’m not a drug dealer, I’m not a gun dealer, and I don’t kill people unless they demand shit. Usually, they’re bad,”

“Wade isn’t bad, and you stabbed the man,” Y/n said, making the man chuckle. “He was in my face and broke into my home. You gotta understand me on that, princess,” he said, now tracing his hands up her clothed thigh.

“Good, so, now that we’re at some kind of understanding, is like to offer you what I offered your partner,”

“Work with me to keep this place from falling apart. In my last world, I was the bad guy. I was all the things I just told you I’m not. I’ve changed, and I need more people like me to help,”

Y/n was confused at the sudden change in the man. At first, he seemed like he was going to murder her and Wade in the worst way possible, but now, he’s asking for help.

“And if you don’t wanna get your pretty hands dirty, you can just be by my side, lookin’ just like that,” he said, slowly hovering over the girl who didn’t think of pushing him off.

“Hey, your friend’s fine. This isn’t his blood. I know it doesn’t make it better, but just know, the stranger deserved it — Trust me, princess,”

Y/n didn’t know what came over her, but she believed him. Maybe he isn’t bad, and he’s just disguising himself like this to move around the safe.

“You trust me, baby?” He asked as his free hand cupped her chin. “C’mon, Bub — Talk to me,” Logan said as he leaned towards her, lips inches from her. He knew that if she didn’t want him on her, she would’ve done something about it.

“I don’t even know you,” Y/n said, feeling her stomach tingle. How is he doing this to her? “Then let me introduce myself,” the man said before softly attacking her lips, instantly forcing his tongue in her mouth.

Y/n moaned low in between their kiss, hating herself for letting a stranger touch her in any kind of way, but it was hard to push him away. The man was intimidating.

“You don’t understand how good it feels to know there’s someone like me. Especially when they look like you and taste so good,”

Logan hikes the younger lady's dress up until he could fully grab her ass, squeezing until she earned a loud whine. “Soundin’ pretty, Bub,”

Y/n wanted to respond, but the feeling of the man’s teeth softly biting down on her neck stopped her.

Y/n’s hands flew to his shoulders to grip down on as she let out a low whine. The man groaned in her ear before he continued moving his hands down her body.

“Your little friend told me, you and I would get along. He wasn’t wrong, Bub,” the man said as he tugged on his dress pants until his cock fell out, rubbing against y/n’s thigh.

“What did that bastard tell you?” Y/n asked, trying to control her whine as the man kept nibbling on her neck. He was hungry for the young lady and wasn’t afraid to show it.

“Said you’re a hard ass just like me. Can’t listen, do what you want, cuss like a sailor, and need a man to match your energy,”

“Said you’d scare anyone off, but wouldn’t be able to scare me. Seems like you need me as much as I need you,”

Logan pulled Y/n’s panties to the side so he could push at her entrance. “Augh, shit,” the man grunted, feeling the woman grip him instantly.

Y/n’s legs wrapped around the man, tightening to pull him into her so his cock could fill her fast. “Fuck, y/n,” the man was shocked at how much she wanted this too.

“Alright, Bub, I got some rules for ya,” the man said as he leaned up, cock still in her, stroking slowly. “I don’t want you treatin’ no one with respect. You walk around how I dress you, and make it know you’re with me,”

Y/n traced her hands all over the man’s upper body, even his arms as she listened with lustful eyes.

“Gonna need you to stay close to me. Needa keep safe and on my lap, mhkay? Needa keeps my hands on you,” the animal had slipped from Logan. He’d never felt like this before, but the need to claim her all around was no question after he felt her walls clamp onto him.

“All fuckin’ mine, and I know I said Ian a bad guy, but if someone pisses you off or makes you emotional in any kind of way — I swear to god, I’ll separate their head from their body,”

Logan had leaned close to Y/n’s face, allowing her to grab his cheeks and rub at them.

“Need my girl happy. Need her to look good every second of the day. I know you regenerate, but you need me, baby. You need me to protect you from whatever’s out there,”

“Please take care of me,” y/n said, knowing he meant every word he said. He was claiming her now and will claim her any other chance he can.

After she came into his mansion, acting recklessly, he knew he had to keep her in check and close. There are not many people like them, and no one deserves them. No one deserves her. Only he deserves her, and no one can tell him otherwise.

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Idolification.

Pairing: Yandere!Itadori Yuuji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: No Curse/College AU, Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Stalking, (Unintentional) Emotional Manipulation, Oral Sex, Drunk Sex, Unprotected Sex, Age Gap (Reader's 27, Yuuji's 22), Intimidation, Brief Mommy Kink, Pepper Spray, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry.”

“It was an accident, you don’t have to—” Yuuji was cut off by another splash of milk, quickly followed by another jet of water. Her makeshift treatment was harsh, the temperature alternating unpredictably between ice cold and scalding hot, but Yuuji took the abuse with a smile that was almost bright enough to distract you from the red, aggravated skin around his eyes. Almost. “It’s alright,” he managed, eventually, doing his best not to sound like he was being slowly drowned in your bathtub. “Believe it or not, that’s only the second worst thing I’ve gotten in my eyes.”

Knowing him, it was probably closer to the fourth or fifth, but that did little to ease your guilt. He’d been leaving as you were getting home from your second twelve-hour shift of the week, and from there, it’d been a comedy of errors. He spotted you coming down the hall, haggard and bleary-eyed, and saw the babysitter who’d spent more summers than not keeping him (and, by association, his older half-brother) out of trouble before their family fell off of the face of the planet, and reacted the way Yuuji reacted to most things – with open arms and a contagious smile. You’d looked at him, a far cry from the kid you’d spent so much time looking after, and seen a very strange, very grown man loitering outside of the door to your shoebox of an apartment before charging towards you with a manic expression and, well, you had always wanted an excuse to use the pepper spray you carried near-religiously. It was only a shame it had to be on someone as sweet as Yuuji.

Now, you were on your knees on the floor of your bathroom, your fingers tangled in Yuuji’s hair as your roommate gently waterboarded him with a cartoon of organic oat milk in one hand and your decade-old showerhead in the other. The front of his t-shirt was soaked through, his lung half-flooded at least, but he was still grinning like you’d greeted him with a blank check and a litter of puppies. “Honestly, it’s on me,” he insisted, his enthusiasm too potent not to be genuine. “Miss Shoko mentioned she was living with someone.”

At the mention of your roommate, Shoko Ieiri, your attention shifted to the woman in-question. You weren’t an idiot. After the shock died down, it hadn’t taken long for you to piece together why a young man would be rushing to get out of your apartment while your attractive (albeit, socially dead) roommate was home alone. When she met your prying eyes, you shot her a pointed glare. “Cradle rocker.”

She threatened to turn the showerhead on you, but relented as soon as you flinched away. “He’s in one of my classes,” she muttered, then pushed herself to her feet with a soft groan. “We’re out of milk,” she said, shaking the empty carton. “Let his eyes air-dry. I’ll be in my office – come get me if he starts crying again.”

“I’m a doctor too, y’know.”

“You’ll be a doctor in another year. Right now, you’re an intern.” She eyed Yuuji wearily. “An intern who physically assaults her patients, at that.”

Without any real way to retort, you stuck your tongue out – a gesture Shoko mimicked as she slipped out of the crime scene that was your bathroom. Despite Shoko’s advice, you fished a towel off the nearest rack and handed it to Yuuji, who accepted it with a grateful hum. “I really am sorry,” you repeated, burying your face in your hands. “It’s just, it’s been so long, and you look so different, and god, it’s been—”

“—ten years,” Yuuji filled in, probably tired of hearing you repeat the same two excuses. “I remember, ‘cuz you invited us to your graduation that year. I wanted to go, too, but Gramps got sick and…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with an airy chuckle. “You know how it is.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “I loved your grandfather. How is he?”

Yuuji’s smile wavered for the first time. “He passed, actually. A few years ago.”

Fuck.

If the building was going to collapse and bury you in the rubble, that would’ve been the time.

“Sukuna’s doing good, though,” Yuuji went on, kind enough to pretend there hadn’t been a lapse. “He opened a restaurant a few months ago. It’s a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but it’s been keeping him out of the ring.” His expression brightened. “And you’re a doctor! I mean, I knew you would be, but you’re a doctor!”

You felt your face heat up his brother’s name, your eyes falling to the tiled floor. “Almost a doctor. I just started my internship.” And they’d already managed to work you half to death. “You’re in med school, right? Shoko never teaches undergrad.”

“It’s my first semester,” he said with a slight laugh. “It’s harder than I thought it’d be, though. Miss Shoko offered to give me a few pointers, but, y’know—” He sighed, let his head lull back. “I’m starting to think I’m just not smart enough for stuff like this.”

“You shouldn’t say that kind of thing about yourself. You’ve always been—” You cut yourself off with a sudden gasp, clapping your hands together. “If you’re struggling, let me help you study! I have tomorrow off, and I promise, I’m not as strict as Shoko.”

Immediately, he straightened up, your towel still strung around his neck and his smile returned to its full brightness. It only dimmed slightly when he glanced down at his damp shirt. “…there won’t be as much pepper spray this time, right?”

His smile was as contagious as it’d been when he was still a kid, begging you to let him stay up yet another hour past his already-lenient bedtime. Despite his bloodshot eyes and your lingering, only slightly lessened guilt, you found yourself biting back a grin.

“No pepper spray, this time. I promise.”

“Room for one more?”

She glanced over her shoulder as you struggled past the jammed sliding door, taking a moment to evaluate your stiff shoulders and strained smile over the thick frames of her glasses before nodding curtly. Your relief was immediate and all-encompassing. Honestly, you should’ve known better than to do anything but shake your head and flee the country when Yuuji invited you to hang out with a few of his friends, but he’d sworn up and down that it wasn’t a party and promised that you wouldn’t be out of place and pouted in a way you’d never been able to resist. You were starting to think that, no matter how old you got, you’d never learn to say ‘no’ to Yuuji.

The blaring music was only vaguely muffled by the glass, the blurry outlines of other guests playing behind thin curtains. There was a red solo cup in your hand, a lipstick stain on your cheek from a girl who’d passed out half an hour ago, but you were hyper-aware that you were too old to be at a college party with people at least half a decade younger than you, in the best cases. You braced yourself against the balcony railing with a soft groan, crossing your arms and hanging your head low enough to warrant a hum of sympathy from the woman next to you. She held up a box of cigarettes – the cheap kind you and Shoko used to split on the days you had to decide between food and rent – and you accepted her offer with the kind of gratitude you could only assume a starving lion would’ve shown to a limping gazelle.

“Maki,” she said, shaking one into your open palm and fishing a lighter out of her pocket. “You’re one of Itadori’s friends?”

“You could say that.” You let her light you up before taking a shaky drag, the bitter taste a welcome distraction. “I’ve been tutoring him for a few weeks. I think he just invited me as a way to say ‘thank you’.”

Her eyes flashed with recognition, the corner of his lips turning upward for the first time. “You’re the chick who used to babysit him. (Y/n), right?”

“He’s mentioned me?”

“He won’t shut up about you. Every other word out of his mouth is ‘(Y/n) this’ or ‘(Y//n) that’.” She tapped her cigarette against the edge of the railing, sending a few flakes of ash fluttering down to the street below. “Megumi gets it the worst, but we’ve all had to see the fucking pictures.”

“That… that sounds like him.” You forced out a half-hearted laugh, then wavered. “I’m sorry, pictures?”

Maki opened her mouth, but the balcony door was jerked open before she could respond. Yuji appeared in the open entryway, cheeks flushed and grin wide. He drawled your name in a single slur before moving on to more important topics. “We found a—We found a karaoke machine! ‘gumi thinks he can get it running!”

You sent Maki an apologetic look, but she only shrugged, a sliver of a grin. “Better get him tucked in.”

This time, when you smiled back, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

It took a month for Yuuji to start ‘forgetting’ his textbooks when he came over for your little study sessions.

It took three for Yuuji to drop the pretense of studying at all – calling you out to some late-night diner or lethargic early-morning café or, better yet, showing up at your apartment door unannounced and empty-handed with only that unnerving smile and a half-baked excuse to spend time with you.

It took six for his hand to drift just a little lower than your shoulder while you watched some awful, b-rated horror movie on your well-beaten couch. You let him reach your waist before clearing your throat and shifting away, your smile pained.

“I… I think you should probably leave,” you half-mumbled, your voice shaking. “It’s getting late.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” Predictably, Yuuji was undeterred. His persistence used to be endearing, but now, it just felt unfair. “I don’t mind sleeping over, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s not like we’ve never spent the night together.”

A nervous laugh, his hand planted just a little too close to your thigh. “I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like—”

“I mean, I know I’m your type.” It was almost impressive, what he could say with such an innocent expression. His free hand found its way to your other side, pinning you between the arm of the couch and his broad chest. “I know you had a thing for Sukuna, and everyone says we’re practically identical. That means you should be into me too, right?”

“Yuuji,” Your eyes darted to your phone, left absent-mindedly on your coffee table. The urge was there, but it wasn’t like he would actually hurt you. He’d always been a sweet kid – a little overzealous, but that wasn’t a crime. This was just… a bad decision, one you had to stop him from making before he did something he’d regret. “Sukuna is my age, and—”

“I don’t care about that.” He cut in swiftly, definitively. His bright eyes had glazed over, catching the dim light of your T.V. as he leaned in further, as his face came to hover less than a full breath away from yours. “I’ve loved you since I was eight. Can Sukuna say that?”

“That’s not—”

“I know you used to fuck him.” His chest was touching yours, now, his breath hot against your skin. “I know you’d fuck him again, if he was here. I know—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. It was a weak blow, simultaneously hesitant and instinctual, but your open palm made contact with his cheek with a deafening crack, his head snapping to the side and putting that much more distance between his body and yours. He moved to cup his swelling cheek, and you took the opportunity to slip out from underneath him and stumble to your feet. “I think you should leave,” you repeated, the words spat hastily enough to blend together. “Please, Yuuji.”

For a second, he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Then, he turned to face you, his smile wiped away and his expression so blank, you couldn’t remember how you’d ever looked at him and saw anything other than void.

He didn’t say anything, only pushing himself to his feet and shambling out of your living room. You kept your eyes on the ground until his footsteps faded out of earshot, until you heard the front door creak open and slam shut with enough force to shake the walls.

When you were sure he was gone, you collapsed onto your couch and laid motionless while an actress screamed in the background.

“Your golden boy’s asking about you, again.”

You groaned, buckling at the waist and burying your face in your arms. Shoko glanced up from the exams she was grading, but whatever sympathy she might’ve felt apparently didn’t warrant the effort it would’ve taken to reach across the table to comfort you. “Satoru’s been getting it, too,” she went on. “That’s how you know it’s bad. I can’t remember the last time someone managed to talk over that narcissist.”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t remember how many times you’d already apologized for Yuuji’s recent fixation. “He’s… probably just worried about his grades, or something.”

Her lips quirked into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I was helping him study,” you admitted, reluctantly. As much as Shoko had to hear about your unruly patients and patronizing coworkers, you’d been less open about how much time you were spending with a student fresh out of undergrad. “He’s never been that good with school. I used to have to help him with his homework in elementary school, too.”

This time, she decided your conversation was important enough to earn her full attention. “Itadori’s one of my best students.”

You felt your chest tighten. “But, the first time he came over, you were tutoring—”

She said your name, curt and blunt, and you went quiet. With a sigh, she shook her head, dropping her pen entirely. “When was the last time I offered to personally tutor a struggling student?”

You swallowed dryly. “Never.”

“And when was the last time I gave our full address out to literally anyone?”

“Never,” you said, again. After a second, you added, “Well, there was that one time with Iori…”

“Not the point. I know you don’t want to hear it, but the kid’s a creep. You might have to—”

She was cut off by your phone buzzing against the table. Your eyes scanned over the caller’s name scrawled across the dim screen before moving back to Shoko, her gaze now narrowed into a sharp glare. “Don’t.”

And, for a second, you didn’t. You convinced yourself that you wouldn’t. You told yourself that, after you bought Satoru around of drinks as an apology, you’d do… you’d do something about Yuuji, even if you weren’t sure what you could do, just yet.

Then, you let yourself picture the kid you used to watch for a few dollars an hour while his grandfather was sick and his brother was on the other side of town doing something dubiously legal at best, dead in a ditch at worst – all wide eyes and scuffed elbows and lopsided grins. You let yourself remember the way he’d ramble about his day after you picked him up from school, and how excited he was the first time you made it to one of his school’s sports days, and how he’d clung to you and sobbed the day before his family moved to the other side of the country. At the time, you’d been thankful to have one less responsibility, relieved that you’d never have to see Sukuna again. You’d been selfish, even for a kid.

The phone was in your hand in a moment, the call answered in another. You stood as you brought it to your ear, hoping that would be enough to block out Shoko’s mumbled cursing.

“Yuuji?”

The silence in your car was thick, nearly suffocating.

It’d been one of Yuuji’s friends calling from his phone – the dark-haired one with the monotone voice, barely audible over the blaring music of whichever nightclub they were standing outside of. He’d asked you to, in his own words, ‘come get your problem child’, and when you’d asked why Yuuji needed you specifically, he’d only handed the phone back to Yuuji and let you listen to a full minute of whining, your name the only coherent thing to make it off of Yuuji’s tongue. Shoko urged you not to go, and yet, twenty minutes later, Yuuji was slumped over in your passenger seat, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in an uncharacteristic frown.

He was less talkative than he’d been on the phone. The clingier stages of his inebriation had passed, leaving room for a disassociated sort of passiveness that meant, even if you’d been brave enough to try and start a conversation, his response wouldn’t be anything worth that kind of effort. By the time you reached his apartment complex, the knot sitting at the pit of your stomach was equal parts dread and second-hand embarrassment, but you tried to keep your tone light as you turned to him. “It’s time to get out, Yuuji.” And then, when he failed to move, “You’re on your own from here.”

He looked at you, eyes unfocused and hands folded almost childishly over his lap. You softened more than you should’ve at the sight. “…do you need help getting home?”

A second of thought, a quick nod. You shouldn’t. You knew that you really, really shouldn’t.

And yet, somehow, you found yourself in front of Yuuji’s door, fussing over the lock as Yuuji clung to your side, his face buried in the dip of your shoulder. He was cooperative enough; able to stand on his own with minimum swaying but not so lucid that it took more than a gentle suggestion to lead him to his bedroom, where he was more than happy to collapse onto his unmade bed. With a shaky exhale, you turned to leave, but something caught on your sleeve – Yuuji’s hand, when you could bring yourself to check.

“Stay,” he mumbled, his voice dampened by the sheets his face was buried in. “Please?”

You felt your throat go dry. “I can’t.”

You expected him to go shrill and whiny, but he proved to be a touch more mature than the ten-year-old you used to babysit. Rather flatly, he asked, “Why not?”

How were you supposed to answer that? Would it be good enough to say that you didn’t want to, that you couldn’t spend your night looking after a drunk kid you’d known a decade ago, that you’d already done more than you should’ve just by giving him a ride? Was it worth trying to talk to him at all when he could barely hold his head up? Would it do anything to soften the burn of the bile rising into your throat to point out that, the last time you’d been in the same room as him, he’d tried to—

No, it wasn’t and it wouldn’t and you had to leave. With your heart racing in your chest, you tried to jerk yourself out of his hold, but his vice-grip only grew tighter, his head rising up from the mattress just enough to let him stare at you with those big, bleary eyes. “Why not?”

“Yuuji, this isn’t—”

He was so, so much stronger than he had been, the last time you’d seen each other. One second, you were on your feet, at his bedside, and the next, you were on the floor of his bedroom, forced onto your hands and knees while Yuuji’s body pressed into yours from above. “I love you,” he said, his voice as steady as it’d ever been. “I love you, and I—Fuck—” He panted against the back of your neck, something uncomfortably stiff grinding against your ass. “It makes me so fucking hard when you say my name like that.”

A hand slipped under the hem of your top, his palm pressing into the small of your back. You moved to speak, then thought better of it, biting into your bottom lip as your anxious squirming turned to full-blown struggling. Yuuji only laughed, the noise airy and affectionate, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you that much closer to him – making it that much more impossible to get away. His free hand worked clumsily at your top; drawing it up and over your head. You fought against it at first, but froze the first time you felt something stretch a little too far, heard fabric tear. This couldn’t happen, but you absolutely couldn’t be stranded in Yuuji’s apartment with no clothes and no way out.

With his face buried in the back of your shoulder, he cupped your chest, catching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb and pinching with just enough force to draw a low, strained whimper from the back of your throat. “So cute…” He nuzzled deeper into your neck as his touch drifted. Your skirt was drawn downward – a long piece, something you’d thrown on without much thought – then discarded completely, his own shirt wrestled off in the same motion. You felt his fingertips slip under the hem of your panties, but he pulled away and straightened his back, instead. For a second, you let yourself believe that he’d come to his senses, that whatever sick idea he’d gotten into his head had finally worn off, but the arm wrapped around your waist only drew tighter, hauling you off of the floor and into his arms. You were dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of his bed, and Yuuji sunk onto his knees between your open legs.

“I know you’ve probably slept with other people – aside from my brother, I mean. It’d be nice to find out you haven’t, though.” His tone was distant and dreamy. He was still drunk, but not drunk enough for how he’d been acting earlier. Not drunk enough for what he was doing now. He traced the pad of his thumb over your clothed slit, keeping a hand curled around your ankle to keep you in place. “I used to hear you with Sukuna – in his car, and his room, on the couch after you two thought I’d fallen asleep …” He trailed off into an airy laugh. “He likes to show off – always has. If he wasn’t my brother, I think I’d kill him.”

He sighed, pressing a lingering kiss into the inside of your thigh before shifting his attention to your pussy; his tongue laving over the thin material covering your cunt. You were crying, now, openly and audibly – your choked sobs almost loud enough to block out Yuuji’s quiet groans and pleased grunts. However his obsession might’ve made him think he felt about you, your distress didn’t seem to affect his appetite. Your panties were pulled down your legs and slid into some unseen pocket. With the last barrier between you and him gone, he was free to trace his tongue over your slit, to latch onto your clit and suck in a way that made you want to bury your face in your hands and scream. You tried to – crossing your arms over your face, but any sound you tried to make was quickly strangled into a broken moans as his tongue fucked shallowly into your pussy. It was invasive, disgusting, but your body didn’t care. You felt cunt clench around him as his nose ground into your clit, his need for air irrelevant while he spread you open with his tongue. Your thighs clenched shut, attempting to block him out, but his only response was a reverberating groan – and hand on your thigh encouraging you to squeeze him that much tighter.

You couldn’t tell which you hated more; the unwanted stimulation or the fact that your body was reacting to it, heating up where you needed it to go cold. As he sunk further into you, ate you out like a beast starved, you clenched your eyes and willed yourself to go numb, to ignore the sloppy sound of your slick on Yuuji’s lips. It was useless, though, as futile as trying to ignore him in the first place. Your back arched off the bed, legs twitching where they hung limply over his shoulders, and—

—and Yuuji pulled away with a sharp gasp. He was on top of you before you could process that he was moving, his mouth crashing into yours before you could think to avoid him. The kiss was brutal, rushed; all teeth and tongue and lips shoved against yours with enough force to bruise. The only hint of tenderness was the soft, satisfied noise he let out as his tongue raked across yours, the bright grin painted across his lips when he drew back from you. “It’s alright.” He brought a hand to your cheek, cupping your face and brushing away tears with his thumb. “I’ve slept with other people too, ‘cause I knew I’d need a little practice to catch up with you. Could never go all the way, though. I just thought about you, and…” He blushed, simpered, like he thought he could pass himself off as the shy, lip-biting schoolboy with your slick coating his chin. “I guess I just didn’t really want anyone else to touch me. Not when I knew I’d see you again.”

A horrified sob bubbled up from somewhere deep and primal in your chest. Yuuji didn’t seem to hear it, only sighing as he pressed a lingering kiss into your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything,” he muttered, his hands falling to your waist. “I want to take care of you, tonight.”

You watched in stunned, paralyzed horror as he pushed himself to his feet, as he hastily worked off his jeans, his boxers (the dark material already notably stained with proof of his arousal). You made one more feeble attempt to squirm out from underneath him, to get away before his attention turned back to you, but confused and betrayed and so, so exhausted, you didn’t stand much of a chance against Yuuji. All he had to do was glance your way, his expression as warm as it was soulless, to leave you helpless against him.

He was eager enough not to reposition you, not to draw this out with the pretense of romance. With one hand on your hip and the other planted near your head, he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance and forced himself into you, bottoming out in a single thrust.

It was agony – pure and unrelenting. Any semblance of gentleness, of restraint fell away as soon as Yuuji was inside of you, as soon as your hyper-sensitive cunt clamped down around his cock. He cursed under his breath before collapsing, his chest pressing into yours as he tried to bury himself that much deeper inside of you, to chase the feeling of your pussy milking him for all he was worth. As hard as you tried not to think about Sukuna, Yuuji hadn’t been lying when he said they were alike. He was just as insatiable as his brother had been any time you let him but his hands on you; just as rough in the way his hips ground into yours between sporadic thrusts. There’d been bruises, the next day. At least Sukuna had been the type to make sure he was gone by the time the damage set in. You doubted Yuuji would be so kind.

“I—I’m sorry,” he managed as he buckled into you. Panting against the dip of your shoulder, he took your hips in his hands and dragged your ass of the mattress, his brutal pace stuttering as he found a new angle to abuse. “Next time—I’ll be gentle next time, I just need to—”

His cock hit something soft and sensitive inside of you. Reflexively, your hands shot to his back, your nails finding skin and tearing. The moan Yuuji let out in response was nothing short of sinful; hitched and guttural, ragged and loud enough to block out the wet, slick sound of his cock pumping into your cunt. “M—” His hand wraps around your thigh, catching you under the knee and dragging it towards your chest, letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much faster. His face never left the crook of your neck, as if he was afraid to give you space to breathe. “Mommy, ‘m sorry, I need to—”

His teeth sunk into your throat as something hot and thick flooded into your cunt, as your body went stiff and your vision burned white. While his climax was sudden, intense, the peak to a decade’s worth of patience, yours had to be dragged out of you despite your attempts to hold it back, to deny yourself pleasure in the vain hope that it’d somehow be able to convince Yuuji to stop what he’d already finished. It seemed to hold you there in that state of dark, distorted euphoria for minutes – Yuuji’s movements turning slow and languid as he nursed you through your orgasm.

Eventually, mercifully, he went still, going limp above you with his canines still planted in the curve of your neck. If there was any pain, any other unwanted burdens he could force onto you, you were too lost in your own despair to notice, too distant to feel anything other than the mildest tinge of dread as he pulled back, raising his head just far enough to stare down at you, adoration heavy in his eyes and his grin wide and love-struck.

A small, naïve part of you found the sight suffocatingly familiar, while the rest could almost convince itself that you were looking at a stranger.

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