#i need to read the light novels i really do because like

[azumasoroshi]

i started typing in the tags but i typed too much so i had to move to the actual post lmfao

tldr izaya envies shizuo for having everything he ever wanted (friends, family, connections, etc) but what he doesnt realize is that none of that makes shizuo happy if IZAYA ISN'T THERE. CANONICALLY APPARENTLY???? he views his bonds and friendships as shallow even if they aren't - all but his and izaya's???? and i joke about izaya being horribly repressed and pining for shizuo's oblivious ass but it's legitimately mutual pining because shizuo is even MORE repressed somehow. give him 10 years and maybe he'll figure out the bare minimum of 'i kinda regret nearly killing izaya'

shizaya is legitimately going to drive me off a cliff i cant do this anymore what is WRONG WITH THEM

their whole relationship is literally shakespearean levels of misunderstandings and irony and things that really shouldn't have been left unsaid going unsaid

I find it ironic that even though Shizuo and Izaya are like equally obsessed with each other, when it comes down to it, Izaya is the one who is able to move on.

Izaya was jealous with Shizuo gaining friends and hurt he didn’t come to visit him in the hospital. But they had their death match and after he expresses everything he’s felt in that, Izaya leaves Ikebukuro and moves on. 

He can’t truly move on because he’s physically scarred by Shizuo and scared of him, but he’s trying to move on. He’s attempting to move on, reflecting on his mistakes and how his love for humans was impure and how he wants to know more about humans. Izaya is still tied to Shizuo by his scar, but he looks to the future. He moves on to new humans, dealing with a new environment and new people. He has less difficulty moving on than one would expect from a man so physically and emotionally scarred. He gets people to interview Kadota, Shiki, Shizuo and Shinra but that’s about all the connection he allows to the past (excluding that of his physical disability)

On the other hand, two years have passed in SH and Shizuo hasn’t forgotten Izaya. Everyone else has forgotten Izaya, in idle talk of Ikebukuro’s residents people joke if there was an information broker like that. Shizuo even has to ask Celty if she remembers Izaya, and Celty deals with Izaya in business the most. It’s natural to forget Izaya who hasn’t shown a trace of himself in years. 

But Shizuo can’t forget him. Shizuo has always wanted to live his life in peace and thinks it’s because of Izaya that he can’t have peace. But Izaya is gone and he still doesn’t have peace. He has all the capacity to live a peaceful life but his fuse is shorter, he’s more (seemingly) tamed but he’d even lay his hands on Kuon, a kid, because his anger outlet is gone. He even misses Izaya so much despite wanting him to disappear from his sight and leave him in peace that he asks Celty what it would have been like if Izaya and him had been on better terms. 

Shizuo says it would have saved the city a lot of trouble, but is it really? He said he was looking at the building they destroyed the other day. That building of their death match. That’s only like one smidgen of what Izaya and him have done to Ikebukuro’s infrastructure. So why that particular building? 

Because it was where he last saw Izaya. Because he probably regrets almost killing Izaya that day, because it caused him to leave Ikebukuro and him alone.

Because Shizuo is alone. Shizuo doesn’t have to be alone. He has friends. He has Celty, Shinra, Kasuka, Tom, he even knows the Raira kids somewhat, he has Yahiro now, someone who’s seen as a monster like him. He may be seen as a monster by most but when it comes to the people who really matter, he isn’t. 

But Shizuo is alone, because Shizuo has isolated himself in his self-hatred propagated by society’s view of him as a monster. He doesn’t think he can be a normal human, he truly believes he must be a monster deep inside and should be away from humans. But Shizuo is human, and so he wants to make connections with humans, even if they’re shallow. While not realizing the connections he makes are not shallow at all. 

And Izaya is the only one who has been able to deal with that. Because to Shizuo, Izaya is his only equal. Izaya is the only other monster. Because Izaya is the only one who can stand up to him without fear.

Whether he loves Izaya or not, that much is true. Shizuo misses his equal. He misses the person who could face him without fear and would even provoke him even though he’s a monster. He misses the man who would come back to him no matter how many times he pushed him away with his violence. 

He misses the person who is just as bad, or worse person as him, and whom he doesn’t have to feel afraid of hurting. 

Because Izaya is a flea. He’s a monster in a different way. Shizuo is a monster like a demon, one you want to never piss off and one you want to stay far away from. Izaya is a monster because he’s just not like normal people even though he’s an ordinary person, and Shizuo has given that monster the name, ‘the flea’.

And that’s why Izaya can’t be human. Because if he becomes human, Shizuo will be the only monster left.

And if he’s human, was human all along, then Shizuo would have done what he’s feared and tried to avoid all along -

He would have hurt the one he loved.

[hazeism]

hi!! wanted to ask if you have any favorite books, either that you've read recently or of all time. Your prose is insane and I need to broaden my own vocabulary so if you have any book recs, fiction or nonfiction, I'd love to know :')

Hii :D ! ahaha, what a well-timed question; lately I've become the kind of guy who just really wants to talk about what people are reading, or are planning to read, and responding in kind, so thanks for giving me an opportunity to indulge that, haha. What a wicked invention the printing press was!!! (Also--thank you!! I'm glad my prose is to your taste. I'm happy !💕)

If you don't mind, I'll put a cut on this right away, because I know I'm very talkative, but let me put a TLDR above for all the novels/authors I mention here. Disclaimer also that I am kind of a dunce (I think you know this) so I like silly shit a lot of times . please be nice to me adfhbjkdg. :D

(No nonfiction also because I'm a frivolous and unworldly little sprite or something but if you want straight philosophy [which counts] come back and I'll do my Top Ten Epic Platonic Dialogues Compilation for you .)

TLDR: Read any UKLG you get your hands on, Cain by Jose Saramago, or any Saramago (though maybe not Skylight, which is not a good introduction to Saramago), very much enjoyed Sartre's The Age of Reason recently, Shadow & Claw or The Fifth Head of Cerberus by Gene Wolfe. If you feel like it, come off anon and tell me what you like, so I can give more tailored recommendations!!

Now if you're asking for favorites, like just the particular and arbitrary objects of my partiality, that stir my stupid little heart, the true answer is probably UKLG's The Farthest Shore, just because it is very special to me. I can't, of course, in good conscience, recommend the third novel of a six-novel fantasy series to someone (but of course read Le Guin, everyone should be reading Le Guin, it's dire for universal soteriology that we all read Le Guin; You'll probably get told to start with Left Hand of Darkness, and that's pretty solid. I liked The Lathe of Heaven as well. And if you read any Le Guin it doesn't hurt to pick up a copy of the Tao. I love the Tao man.)

Some friendlier recommendations, though:

José Saramago is someone I really consider peerless; There's no way to pick up a Saramago and not know who's written it. Cain is a bit drier, a bit more abrasive (almost accusatory, in that particular way you'll find in a Buddhist parable) and bleak than some other Saramagos, but it's one I like (perhaps for the trite reason that I like bucolic atmospheres and Classical antiquity as a setting) so it's the one I'll put forward.

Uhh, I've also been enjoying Sartre's Roads to Freedom lately, starting with The Age Of Reason. I'm partway through the second novel and umm... despite all the other things you could say about Sartre, lmfao, let it not be said that he is not a serious literary force. Serious is maybe the only word for it. Dire, too. I keep a commonplace book, so usually I take excerpts, but this was the first time in memory that I felt compelled to commit entire pages, ahah (I just took pictures though, fuck copying all that).

If you're itching for esoteric language, Shadow of the Torturer (as usually collected with Claw of the Conciliator in a single omnibus edition titled Shadow & Claw; the first of the give-or-take five volume Urth series) by Gene Wolfe will scratch you BLOODY. If you're particularly fussy, you might be irritated by your compulsion to Google, but I find it really makes the experience when you type in a word and the only results are "what the fuck did Gene Wolfe mean by this?" hahaha; Honestly, though, those kinds of complaints are borne from a lack of immersion, but you'll notice pretty quickly that the verbiage is a pretty crucial vehicle OF the immersion.

It may or may not become a commitment, though, if you like Urth enough to want to read through, so if you want Wolfe without the strings--though less of the exciting vocabulary, which is pretty necessarily constrained to Urth--I'd really highly recommend The Fifth Head of Cerberus (the novella OR the novel, I mean the former is volumized in the latter so just start it and if you feel like stopping then stop, haha). Mr. Terminal E is incredible but I scrape enough time out of my daily life to gush about his crazy literary density so I won't do it again here (you should ask my coworker, lmfao, who one time went "stop, hold on, hold on." because my face started getting really red while I was explaining to him some Wolfean gesture). If you read any Wolfe, and I mean ANY Wolfe, because his permatypes and his manipulations of them are endlessly interesting, feel free to come back and chat with me over it!!!

I guess I have to disclaim that my habit is mostly to pick through an author's corpus over a course of, usually, a couple years, and then sometimes I'll read things that will inform my understanding of the genre conventions or currents that the author is writing in (been enjoying Golden Age sci-fi recently)--it's not really as deliberate of a process as it sounds, but I think if you were to map my habits, that's the landscape of it. This means, though, that my reading is actually pretty narrow in scope, and I am not very well read or very knowledgeable in general (who is, in this economy) but it does mean that of the authors I do like, I can probably find the novel that'll work best for your taste.

If you want to come off anon, or I guess just leave another message, haha, (or if someone else wants to, idgaf, we're all friends here at tumblr user hazeism) describing the things you like or look for in a novel I can probably give you a more relevant recommendation. I've been dosing people up a lot lately tbh, it's like a parlor trick I've been doing; I have a conversation with someone and afterwards they'll have a PDF with a relevant Asimov story in their messages, hahaha. I can't help myself sometimes.

Come back anyway, though, if you read anything I talked about, okay? I want to hear about it 🥺

And alsooo (turning to face the audience) if anyone ever wants to put recs in my inbox (or my dms : ) slow replies though sorry I'm a hermit) I'd be happy to take 'em down. Can't guarantee I'll read them in a timely manner, or that you'll ever find out if/when I do, but it's good for me to leave my comfort zone.

[shidoukanae]

Paris Valerian but i redesign his dragon form for funsies based on how i see him=. Not sure if I like this design bc im not a fan of bulkier looking dragons but for Paris I think this works??

Some headcanons about this design:

has a bit of a bull-like look bc I associate bulls with persistence and madness and idk that fits Paris well so if Fian has a “fox” motif Paris gets a “bull” one for his dragon form 

His design is based a lot on how a stereotypically evil dragon would look???? Because imo OG!Paris reads as a massive antagonist and I think giving him a look that fits that vibe in his dragon form works!! Especially because he still is an antagonist in a way (though god does he not read that way lmao)

he’s stronger in his dragon form than Fian is and he uses this to his advantage to bully Fian around whenever they playfight as dragons. That said, it seems Paris is surprisingly gentle towards Fian in this form and never hurts him.

he uses this form to intimidate people into getting what he wants. He’s not used to getting retaliated against while in this form and quickly respects anyone who does so (read: Fian, Lyla and Helene)

the silver scales on his body can glow in the same way his eyes do. Typically, he keeps them dull-colored (see above) but if he feels a strong emotion of any sorts they’ll glow brightly without him meaning to (noticeably: they glow constantly whenever Helene is around for obvious reasons~).

[hydrangeyes]

WHY WAS I NOT WARNED ABOUT THE GUY CRIMSON SCENE????!!!!!

[miusmusings]

"It can skip worldbuilding"

??????

def it can but is this person unaware that there exists a type fic that hinges on worldbuilding??

If they wanna critique the skill of writers, they can just critique that, no need to drag fics writing style into the stage. Fics are written for a different purpose, and if someone tries or actually manages to turn their fic into published book, that's on them.

No need to say that fics in general often skip worldbuilding. Like???

this comment on that vulture article about the "fanfic-to-romance novel pipeline" is very interesting and not something i've seen articulated...much to think about...

[ramonathinks]

matters of the heart — Nanami K.

summary: finding out your ex-boyfriend wrote a novel detailing your relationship isn’t how you expected this week to go and to make matters worse everyone on the internet now thinks your “character” is a total bitch. you decide to pay your ex a visit, but can you do that without succumbing to your natural urges? well, no!

tags: 18+(MDNI/blank blogs) slight porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), brief nipple sucking, daddy kink, creampie, i guess nanami is a bit toxic in this lol, nanami might also be a bit ooc in here

to the moaners: has this been sitting in the draft for about 3-4 months? yes! but happy birthday month, kento 😚. artwork by @/_3aem (twt); @ryomens-vixen (this was the fic I mentioned a while back) word count: 5.6k (yuck), I don't really like this

I’m going to kill him, that was the only thing on your mind once you closed out of the novel. Normally, your weekends were spent relaxing with a fruity bubble-gum colored cocktail but today was different. Shoko called your phone at exactly 9:26 am claiming it was time she divulged some news to you. At exactly 9: 28am, she sent you an online copy of a book titled, “Matters of the Heart” and told you it was nothing but a two or three hour read and then to call once you finished. 

The book had a slow start and it seemed pretty average, just any old love story. Lately, anything was getting published and it seemed that was the case here — wait, you paused your reading and sat up straight. No. Just no. Something just clicked for you which led you to completely start over from page one. 

The moment you finished, at exactly 1:01 pm, you grabbed a salmon colored low cut shirt and light washed jeans, slipped on your white shoes and hurried to get into your car. You didn’t need to call her phone because you were going to talk to her face to face; this situation warranted a real conversation. It was nothing but a 17 minute drive to Shoko’s house, so when you arrived at exactly 1:18 pm, her door was already open. “They’re bashing me, Shoko. Fucking bashing! How could he do this to me?” Were the first words that flew out of your mouth, holding your phone close to her face so that she could see the reviews. 

“Well, it’s not like anyone would know it’s you.” She yawned, handing you a cup of water – probably because of how crazy you looked – before she ushered you to a seat on the couch. A golden brown blanket was lazily thrown on the seat, which she hurried to move. You sat down and faced her with a look of what Shoko could only describe as pure sadness. She had seen you like this many times before, all because of one person. 

“You did.” You sniffled with an eye roll, you couldn’t help but feel uncertain. Reading this book only brought back more uncomfortable feelings towards the breakup and him. You thought that you were over him and the memories that the book produced made you question everything. One question remained which is: Why?

She giggled drily. “Hey, I read all his works. Pseudonym or not. He can’t hide from me. Plus, I know you both and everything that went on. I was there too, remember?” She mumbled the last part. “Maybe this was his way of coping?”

“It’s been years… and I heard he’s announced a sequel. Shoko, a SEQUEL! It’ll be released later this year.” You spoke in a shaking watery voice while she rubbed your back in an attempt of comfort. Your mind could only think of what the reactions would be to your character in the sequel… insecurities that you never knew were there flooded your mind.

“There was enough material for a sequel? I thought he covered everything…” Shoko rubbed her chin and looked deep in thought. You just stared at her, she couldn’t be serious. “Sorry, ignore me.” She shook her head ignoring your stare.

“Do I even confront him over this? A-and how would that make me look, like I still check on him right? I’ll look crazy and bitter… which apparently I am. Oh and I’m bitchy and a ‘total cunt’ as they’re putting online.” He didn’t know just how much you changed, he missed your growth. Rubbing your eyes, you ask:“Why did you tell me about this? What made you take so long… I just don’t understand.”

“Well, at first… I didn’t think you’d care.” Moving a strand of her nut-brown hair out of her face, she continued. “Then about a month ago, I decided it was right to tell you, just in case someone else pieced it together.”

“Gojo read it then, huh?” You mentally cringed at the thought. It was the only person you could think of who’d be so crude about it. He knew how damaging the breakup was for you but not as bad as Shoko knows. Now, you’re just grateful that she told you before he did.

“Yep, so I figured that I had to tell you before he did.” She clicked her tongue. “But let’s just calm down before you make any rash decisions on how to handle this.” 

“He wrote a fucking duality series about me, our relationship, our sex life and you want me to calm down? Are you listening to yourself? This is a serious matter. I am being called a bitch, a slut and more on Goodreads and multiple websites, reviews, etc. and he didn’t even have the audacity to give me a heads up. You had to call me.” You let out an unladylike snort.“Why couldn’t he stick to his mystery novels? Wasn’t he doing good at those?”

“Writer's block.” Shoko said in a singsong-like voice. “He hadn’t written a mystery book since you two broke up and then… he alerted his supporters he wanted to switch things up and then… that was that. Ladies loved it, a big hit. By the way, if you two were really fucking like that I need to se—”

“Shoko, now is not the time!” Your face felt hot all over, your mind racing. “I just can’t believe this.” You wrapped your arms around your body and squeezed, giving yourself one big squeeze. It was hard not to cry but you could feel it all in your throat. 

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think his intentions were to make you feel bad.” She hugged you to her chest, pressing a small kiss to the crown of your head. “I think he still loves you. I mean, isn’t this book proof? After all these years, he wrote about you.” 

“I’m sure he moved on by now.” You whispered, your eyes growing tired already and the day had barely started. “I just need to lay down. I need to rest.” Your mind seemed to finally grow calm and your breathing steady, a small hiccup now in your throat but with a gulp of water, you were better.

“Just stay here. I don’t trust you to be alone right now.” Shoko’s voice drowned out as sleep overtook you, you could only feel her warmth as she held you and honestly it was all you needed at this moment, Shoko always made you feel safe and you couldn’t thank her more than enough for that right now as you slept.

You were a light sleeper, it was always something that Nanami pointed out about you. He always said how he felt like he couldn’t leave the room while you slept even if it was to use the bathroom afraid to wake you. He knew how important sleep was to you and he’d risk having a bladder infection if you got all 8 hours that you required. Nanami was sweet and caring like that. 

You didn’t think you’d break up with him ever. He was the one for you and he always made that clear. He pampered you and even after the breakup – though you didn’t need it – he left you with a check for five thousand dollars, saying it was for his half of the lease for the next few months. 

The breakup was brutal for you. You almost quit working entirely. Shoko was the only person you’d confined into and the only friend you left to check in on you especially when you didn’t want to leave the house. She brought you groceries and helped you shower until you finally were able to get up again.

Though it was hard to believe, it was Nanami who broke up with you. You thought it was a joke, a cliche little joke. 

“Baby, I’m not joking.” His voice was quiet and husky, he spoke as if he was going to cry. “I just need some time to myself. I need to figure out if this is what I want. You don’t have to wait for me, you just keep on living your life and being happy. But… I think it’s time we let this go.” 

You didn’t cry in front of him. You didn’t cry when he packed his things up. You certainly didn’t cry when he shut the door, leaving his key on the table because you knew he was joking. He had to be. But when you called him and his number was disconnected and you were blocked on any form of social media… that was when you broke down and cried. 

It happened out of nowhere. You overanalyzed every aspect of your relationship for where you went wrong. You wrote down every conversation you could remember and dissected it word by word. You watched every video and picture you had of the two of you looking for a bit of regret or anything on his face. You read every text message, looking for malice. He said he needed time to figure out if he wanted this but he always made it clear that he did and even that he was looking forward to having kids together, you two had even gone ring shopping months ago. 

You didn’t sleep and when you did, it was only for 4 hours and sometimes barely that. Your heart had an ache in it and the tears wouldn’t stop. You could only think why wasn’t I enough?

When you opened your eyes Shoko was still holding you and a small smile grew on your lips. “Thank you Shoko.” You knew if you could count on anyone, it was always going to be her. She was the one who pieced you back together and made sure that life didn’t destroy you and you couldn’t help but to be grateful. 

“Of course. ‘M going to let you spend the night here, okay? Let’s get some takeout and watch your favorite movies, how’s that sound?” She knew the way to your aching heart like the back of her hand. 

“It sounds amazing!” You stretched your arms out wide, leaning off of her and sitting up. “Should we start with Uptown Girls or Legally Blonde?” 

It took two days before you confronted him. Shoko was adamant about not giving you his address and you were tempted to get it from her phone. But luckily, you wore her down, she was probably tired of you bringing him or his book in every conversation. So now you stood there, nerves washing over you in waves.

The mahogany colored door stared at you – mocked you – and you returned the glare before you knocked on it, hard. This was just a door and you were angry at the person behind said door, not the door itself. 

It was almost like he was waiting on you because the door unlocked and opened. He even stepped aside to let you in, quiet. His straw-colored hair was parted differently and he even looked taller or broader – you couldn’t completely tell – but he looked different… seemed different. The atmosphere around him made your stomach clench and it made you mad; why did it feel like only you suffered from the breakup? Here he was – strong and tall – and you were nothing or rather the same.

“You wrote a romance erotica novel about our relationship?” It was what you practiced saying before you got out of your car – making sure your voice didn’t tremble – this time, it didn’t. 

“Well, hello to you too. Even after three and a half years, you still like to get straight to the point.” He grinned, putting a hand on your back to guide you to a seat on his couch. “I must ask, what makes you think it’s about you?” He does a slight laugh and raises his brow.

“We have the same initials, almost the same name. Are you kidding me?” You retort, folding your arms across your chest. You tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling in your chest that occurred when you heard his voice after so long, hearing him and seeing that damned smile… your nose scrunched up.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know you kept up with me… with my books…” He muttered, glancing your way, a demure look in his amber eyes. “Should I be flattered?” Almost in an instant, he turned on a slight cockiness to himself, though his body language showed his nervousness – his thigh bouncing a bit and his fingers tapping on the couch handle. A light sense of relief filled your system knowing that you weren’t the only one being affected by this.

“I don’t.” You inhaled deeply. “Shoko told me about it and then, I checked it out.” Fiddling with your fingers and even picking at your nails, that was your tell all sign of nervousness and right now you were engaging in it more than ever before. 

“I wanted to tell you or rather, to ask you. I know you got the voicemails I sent last year…and then you kept dodging my calls.” He tells you, you could feel his eyes on you – or more so your fingers… the nasty habit that he had finally got you to stop all those years ago rushing right back in an instant.

“Writing a book to trash me and our relationship… to make you look like some sort of… ugh, like you’re so amazing and I’m just shit. Yeah, that certainly got my attention.” If you were coming off bitchy or rude right there, you couldn’t care less especially when there were worse things that you could’ve said or even could’ve done at this moment. You really wanted to slap him. 

“Is that all you got out of it?” He asks with his head low, almost as if he was admitting defeat or as if he couldn’t believe you came up with something so trivial. 

“Was there anything else to get?” You counter, shifting your body towards him. Maybe it was best that you sat down and actually listened to the author and his interpretations of his work.

“How about that I love you regardless of any flaws… how about I find your stubbornness and attitude sexy and how I knew this breakup would be good for you. I was holding you back. I mean, I heard you got promoted 3 times since we broke up… I just felt like I was changing you, hindering your growth. I needed to reflect on myself and this book helped that.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, yet another sign of his anxiousness. “Believe it or not, I still care about you. No matter what happened between us.”

“What happened? You mean when you decided to just leave? You could've told me everything you just told me and I would’ve understood better. We could’ve talked and came to a compromise. You don’t understand what you put me through after it.” You were close to tears but you straighten your posture and sniffled, it was best not to think about what happened before. “I just needed a bit of closure too, I guess that’s why I came. I just was caught off guard. You could’ve knocked on my door or something, forced me to answer… forced me to talk.”

He met your eye for the first time since you came over. “You wouldn’t have listened,” He huffs. “Didn’t I mention how stubborn you are? Plus, I meant what I said. I needed time to myself and I think we both did.”

“I guess…But Nanami, this book was too much. A letter would’ve been fine if you needed closure, don’t you think?” You see his lips quirk up a bit before he licks them, trying not to laugh it seems.

“My publisher got a hold of some of the documents where I was just going over things, writing here and there. She loved the idea… plus I’m in a contract for six books so I had to put something out soon, it had already been a year.” He told you, sitting his chin on top of his knuckles. “I honestly didn't mean to hurt you. I was writing for fun… reminiscing about us and then later down the line, I realized I was writing because I wanted you to read it, I just didn’t exactly know how to get you to since you were very adamant on avoiding me, which is understandable. But regardless, I didn’t think it’d get on the bestseller list or for the reviews to get so harsh.” He admits, reaching for your hand before his hand froze in midair and he stopped himself, choosing instead to put it behind his head.

“Is there anyway you can stop the sequel from being published then… since you got my attention after all this time?” You asked, putting your most dazzling smile on, hoping to sway him. 

“I can talk to my publisher. Everything’s in print and materials are already done… but I’ll try to see if I can stop production.” His adam’s apple bobbles when he does a harsh swallow. “Are we… okay? Do you forgive me?”

The question made you pause. He always made it hard for you to not forgive him; it took one look or a smile and a small explanation and it made it easy to fall in love with him all over again, no matter what he did… it seems. But it made you ask yourself: Were you too easy? Did you really forgive him? It was thoughts like that swirling around the corners of your mind. You wanted to forgive him, he was just writing and telling a story… but it was your story, not just his. Using this for your attention when he could’ve written about anything else, he didn’t have to. Were you just ready to forgive him because you still loved him? 

You hadn’t realized how deep in thought you were until you felt the couch dip and even then, your mind was still spirling.“You don’t have to…” His voice brings you out of your thoughts, his body so close to yours that it was getting hard to breathe. He still smelled the same; citrus and woodsy and it was easy to get yourself sucked back in. 

“So you can write another book about my stubbornness?” You give a quiet giggle, scooting a bit away from him, seeing him frown from the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to fall back but he made it all so simple. It was easy and you were already falling back on him and you didn’t need that… Did you?

“Baby…” Your body buzzed and hummed, turning to him with wide eyes. “I’ll do anything I can to make this right. Anything for you to forgive me… If they can’t stop publication, what can I do to make us right?” He was doing more than a gaze, he was full on staring and from how close he was it was hard to avoid. 

“Nanami I–” You stopped yourself. You couldn’t really think of anything he could do but you could think of several unhealthy things you could do to ruin your progress on going over him. He had betrayed you and made you a laughing stock so why are you stuck thinking about forgiveness when you should be leaving.

“I never stopped loving you.” His fingers traced up and down your pants but his eyes stayed on yours. “I never thought about anyone but you… I never slept with anyone… it’s always been you. But, I understand what I put you through and I’ll apologize every second until you forgive me…” The blond man who you never saw shed a tear looked more than close to it. “But just please… forgive me.”

“I’m sorry, honest.” He tries again after being met with absolute silence. “Just… let me show you, okay?” His breath tickles your face for a second and when you look into his cocoa brown eyes, you feel everything you once felt again.

Memories of good times dulls out the odd feelings in the pit of your stomach – the confusion and pain – instead are replaced with joy. The trip to Malaysia where he rubbed sunscreen on your entire body and laid back to read a book and you watched as his eyes kept drifting to you while you played in the cerulean water; how you kept begging him to come in until he complied and how eventually in the early hours of the morning when you wanted another dip, he fucked you twice — once in the golden lush sand and another in the cool ocean water. 

His face is in your thighs and you couldn’t help but feel better, feeling his breath fanning so close to your pants covered pussy, your body felt scorching hot. He’s grumbling, “Will you let me make it up to you? Will you let me show you how sorry I am?” 

You must’ve nodded because he was already unbuttoning your pants and helping you lay back, pulling your shirt up just a bit to see your perky tits – he must’ve remembered how you never wore bras unless you felt it was necessary, which was mainly work or any important events. 

He blew a bit on your hardening nipples before he took one into his mouth – playing biting them with a smug look on his face before he began licking around your areolas and kissing around the swells of your breast. He doesn’t say anything but he looks deep in thought as he kisses down your body, his fingers scraping down your sides as he works your pants and your panties all the way down. Bringing his head up for a minute, he looks in your face. “I love you.” He says it simply, heavy emotions swirling in his brown eyes.

Removing your pants and underwear completely from your body, he spreads your thighs and looks over your body – a trimmed low pretty bush sits between your thighs and it makes him smile, he always loved seeing the curled hair on your delicate lower lips. He spreads your pussy, watching the skin stretch with a deep smile on his face. You could feel yourself … the wetness leaking down under your body and it made you cringe, but the way he was staring at you made the insecurities vanish. “All this for me?” He takes a tentative lick before he slurps, clutching your hips. “I know you like to run… but I need you to stay put, got it?” It was hard for you to listen to him, your head already fuzzy and the thoughts swirling around were only about him, nothing more. 

Then your body bucks up, “Wait–!” A broken moan escapes your mouth when he presses a soft wet kiss to your clit. Nanami had always been gentle and very careful whenever he ate you out; making sure his tongue was wet enough and that he wasn’t too rough. His tongue was wide enough to make your back arch, your body leaving the couch when it finally hit your clit and he gave you no time to recover before he peeled back the hood, sitting the tip of his tongue there and rapidly flicked at the bud. 

Hearing the lewd squelching noises coming from the mixture of your cunt and his mouth made you close your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. He spits before he licks it up and down your aching slit, nudging his tongue inside only slightly, much to your dismay. You’re gasping every second when more of his tongue slips in and out of your pussy; sliding a bit more each time and it makes your thighs shake. When he finally slips his entire tongue inside of you, curling it just enough that you can feel it everywhere, your legs attempt to close up around his head. “Please– ‘m so… soo–oh…” His fingers join in on the fun and in small sloppy circles he rubs your clit, pressing down on the pearl while his tongue continues flicking inside of you. The split second that you open your eyes, his are already on yours and it was that moment, that made your body tense up and for you to cum. 

It happens fast, clear sticky wetness leaks out of you and Nanami still tries to get more of it on his tongue, catching anything that drips and sucking on your folds. “Always so fucking good…” He mutters, spreading you again and smearing more of your slick on his face by shaking his head between your thighs, so that he’s completely covered in you. 

When he moves his head, embarrassment comes over you, looking at his wet face… even his forehead was wet and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby but… I’ll be right back, stay wet for me.”

Your heart hammers against your chest, lying there on this now wet couch. You didn’t come over here for this and yet here you are… about to get fucked and really, it was no turning back now. You’d been on dates with men after Nanami but they never lasted past the second date and you certainly hadn’t had sex in a while, but he made you come apart like it was nothing.  

But then again, Nanami knew your body… so of course this was a walk in the park for him. It honestly annoyed you right now, you couldn’t even make yourself cum half the time especially these last few years and now, barely an hour here and he has you right where he wanted you… bare and practically back in love with him.

Nanami came back with a fresh face and unbuttoned pants that he was currently pulling down. You clenched around nothing, your mind thinking only of the perfect dick that was going to be coming out of those pants. You licked your lips, this would be the first dick you saw in years and it was his. 

His drooling cock slapped his stomach and you swallowed, your mouth felt unreasonably dry. The length of his cock always impressed you, standing tall at seven and a half inches, he shakes with laughter which snaps you out of your daze. “Now let me look at you.” His whispers and even though he already saw you, both years ago and right now, you can’t help but feel hot all over again. He’s staring – drawing his eyes down every inch of your body –  focusing on your breast before getting to the stare of the show yet again. He smirks, laying you back down, pressing his body against yours to kiss you. 

Your breath was caught in your throat, his tongue still tasted of you and his hands cups your jaw. He’s gentle, his tongue moving around your mouth messily before he stops, saliva breaking apart when he does so. His fingers make a ghostly featherlight touch on your clit that makes you jump, the head of his cock at your entrance. He holds out his hand, close to your mouth. “Spit.” Gathering up some, you spit in the palm of his hand and stroke it along his length, huffing at the sensation. 

He pushes in, taking his time to work himself inside of you, a strained expression on his face. Hips pulled back, he focuses more on just the tip of himself fucking you, watching your pussy stretch with just the tiniest bit of resistance. Inching himself inside, you watch his torso flex and he groans, obscene noises plop and plap around the apartment, his heavy cock pushing in and out of you, your toes curling. 

“Pussy still mines, right? Didn’t give it away, did you?” You’re struggling to talk - to fucking breathe - your eyes rolling back and your jaw slacked but you babble out a soft ‘no’ which makes him finally thrust in you harder, completely bottoming out. You feel him in your belly, feeling full and embarrassingly wide with him stretching you out, his balls sitting on the crest of your ass before he moves. 

He moves you a bit, your bodies flush to each other and he moves his hips in harsh circles, his pelvis so close to your clit. His hands on your calves, he pushes your legs so that they rest on his shoulders, your knees touching your ears makes you tighten up and he groans above you.

“Nanami I-” You call out, eyes closed with pleasure shaking through your core, wetness slapping between the both of you. 

“Nanami? No, call me what you used to call me.” His hips slowed down, a whine escaping your lips. His cock dragging inside of your walls, pulling out slowly, awaiting your response. 

“Please…don’t slow down, Ken—” before the word even left your lips, his hand slapped your cunt, leaving your legs shaking a bit and your eyes snapping open. Drops of tears run down your cheeks and you sniffle, reaching for him… you couldn’t help but feel so small in his presence.

“Say it.” Then, you knew what he meant. A name that now feels foreign in your brain and even when it leaves your mouth, it comes out in a strange rattled whimper.

“Oh, oh… daddy, ‘m sorry. Please, keep fucking me. It’s so goooood!” He’s grinning before the words leave your mouth.

“Still my good girl huh? Always so fucking good for daddy.” He licks up your neck and it makes you tremble, your tongue lolling out a bit and he moves to suckle on it. “Did you skip over all those sex scenes or did you rub this pussy out to them?” He asks, his fingers digging in the back of your thighs. 

You choked out, sobbing, “I did, daddy… But I-I don’t want to remember everything.” 

“You don’t remember all the words I used to describe this cunt? This pretty pussy? That changed his life… my life? That made him always crawl back? That made him so fucking hard? The pretty words I used to describe you? To describe how pretty she always looked when he fucked her? How his heart felt like it was going to explode when she looked at him too long because he loved her so damn much?” He’s groaning in your ear, thrusting into you, his depth reaching your g-spot, your pussy spasming and begging for his cum at every word he uttered. 

Pumping himself inside, you could see the white creaminess that was on his cock, most likely because of you, he was constantly fucking the cream inside of you, your nails digged into his arms and he moaned at the feeling. Your stomach tightens and you move to push him away, “I’m going to c–cum!” You felt him throbbing inside of you, signaling that he was close too. “Please, cum inside of me… I can’t take it.” You couldn’t stand it any longer, it’s been years and you needed him to fill you up. He stopped for a moment, changing positions so that you’ll be sitting on his lap, grabbing your hips and forcibly bouncing you on his dick, dangerously slow. 

Wetness gushes on him as his tip hits you from a new angle, seeing the outline of him in your tummy, he’s stretching you again with each nasty thrust. Each drag of his cock making you go crazy and the aching between your legs continue, your body shaking and both of you moaning loudly and over each other. 

Finally, your orgasm rattled and shook your entire body, your pussy sucking him in, milking him for all he’s worth and it makes his body shake and he releases inside of you, trying to stay quiet as his body jerks up, unable to stop himself from fucking you through both of your orgasms.

It’s quiet for a while, just heavy breathing with you laying on his chest. “I love you too…” Your voice is scratchy and your face tear stained. He doesn’t say anything, his cock still pulsing inside of you.

“I know. I love you too, never stopped.” 

“Did you at least read the acknowledgements or did you just dive right in?”

“I never read the acknowledgements for books, thought you would’ve remembered that.” You watch him get up, walking around the living room, looking for something. You were both still naked and the entire room smelled of sex. 

“I did remember that and when you barged in my door, I already knew that you still hadn’t changed when it came to that. Here, read this part right here.” He brings you over a copy and you run your fingers around the softback cover with a small smile on your face; this silly thing had brought you both back together and right now you could give less than a fuck about those reviews. 

Feeling the spine of the book, you open it and can practically smell the scent of an unopened new book. Turning the first few pages, you go to the one page acknowledgment and read it aloud: “She might not read this book. But if she does, by chance. I hope she knows that I still love her.” You wiped your eyes and smiled. “You’re an asshole, you know?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, “I know baby.” Kissing the top of your head, he gets up and grabs his phone from the kitchen counter and you follow him. “I think I have enough material to write a third book now.” He grabs his phone and starts typing, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was deep in thought. Attempting to grab his phone he chuckles and uses his height to his advantage by standing taller.

Standing on the tips of your toes you snort, “Don’t even joke about that!” But a smile takes over your face and he can’t help but smile too. 

[enderlovez]

It's Romantic

Spencer Reid x Female Reader WORD COUNT: 980

Summary: When Spencer learns that his girlfriend is also an avid reader after visiting her apartment for the first time, something she's kept from him for reasons unclear, he is ecstatic. And a little concerned, when he reads one of your 'romance' books.

Content Warning: reader gets embarrassed, your book has a sex scene in it, reader bites Spencer once, possibly shy!reader?

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer has never once been to your apartment. You're spend most of your time at his place, occasionally spending the night with him when you feel like it, and he loves having you there with him... But quite frankly, he's curious to see the place you spent most of your nights.

How you've decorated, how you've make it comfortable for you. Yet every time it comes up, the topic of, at some point, going over to your apartment, you change the subject, or insist on going to his.

'Why would we go to my dirty old apartment when we can just go to yours?' you'd asked on multiple occasions.

He doesn't understand what could be so terrible about the place you live, so disgusting that you wouldn't want him to see it?

Well, tonight, he wants to find out.

"Why don't we go to your apartment?" he asks quietly, swinging your linked hand between the both of you as you walk down the street.

You side-eye him, opening your mouth to give him the usual spiel, but he beats you to it, pulling you to a stop and pressing a finger to your mouth.

"Come on, Y/N, we've been dating for almost a year and I still haven't seen where you live!" he states matter-of-factly.

"Why do you need to see my apartment?" you ask, a defensive tone lingering in your words, your voice rising a few octaves. He doesn't need to be a profiler to realize you're nervous.

He sighs lovingly and wraps and arm around your shoulder, guiding you down the sidewalk once again. "Because I love you, and I'm curious to know where you disappear to when you leave me every night."

"I don't leave you every night, though."

"Okay, almost every night, then," he corrects himself. "Whatever you're worried about, trust me when I say there's no reasons to be."

You know he would never judge you for anything, right? Especially not when you're so wound up about this whole thing.

He peeks down at you again, using his free thumb to gently pull your bottom lip from between your teeth.

"Look, if you're really set on me never seeing your apartment, that's fine, I'll never see it," he breathes, not wanting to cause you actual stress about it. "I didn't mean to upset you, just wanted to know more about you."

"No," you snap back immediately, hesitation swimming around your eyes as you reach up and take his hand in yours again, "you didn't upset me at all, Spence. You... you can come see my apartment."

"Sweetheart, if you don't want me to—"

"I do want you to," you cut him off, pressing a kiss to the side of his hand. "I want you to see it. Please, come see my apartment, Spence."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Your apartment is lovely.

Fairy lights and posters decorating the walls, all the furniture worn and cozy, and it smells so distinctly you. It's exactly what he would expect for you, actually, something just as sweet and cozy as you are.

The only thing he didn't expect was the tall wooden bookshelf in your living room, filled with books, none of which he's read. You don't have it organized in any particular order — actually, you don't have them organized at all.

"I didn't know you liked to read," he commented softly, plucking one of your novels from the shelf and flipping it over to read the back. How could he be romantically involved with you for almost a year, and not know something so simple about your day to day life?

You don't say anything, blushing from head to toe as he picks up another one of your books. He looks back at you when he finds the one he gifted you a few months back.

He never actually thought you would read it, simply wanting you to have something in your apartment that reminded you of him, so he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was worn — more than any of the other books.

Spencer doesn't need to know you started reading it the night he gifted it to you, or that you spent every free second away from him reading it, or that you've already read it two times at this point.

It's obviously not something you would usually read, but it's from Spencer, so it's different. You loved every second of it because of him.

He puts the books he's holding down and grabs another random one from the shelf, settling into your pastel-rainbow-blanket-covered sofa, and flipping open to a random page...

Only to see that the two main characters of this particular book are having sex. Very descriptive sex, he might add, red coloring his face as he gently closes the book again and slowly turns his eyes to you.

Your face is a similar shade of crimson, knowing exactly what he's just opened the book up to find, as you snatch it away from him and put it back onto the shelf.

"Is this why you didn't want me coming here?" he asks, somehow managing to keep his voice steady — for your sake, since you're clearly embarrassed about the situation.

You drop down onto the sofa beside him, pressing your face into the soft bend between his shoulder and his neck, and just barely nod.

"You know I'd never judge you for anything, Lovely," he assures you, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of your head, "but that might just be the most vulgar thing I've ever read."

"It's romantic," you argue without moving your face away from his neck, gently biting down on the skin there as if to reprimand him.

"Alright," he agrees with you, too easily for your liking, but you don't say anything more, "if you say it's romantic, then it has to be."

[cleo-fox]

Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

*

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?”  he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

*

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation. 

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later. 

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together. 

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

*

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it. 

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

*

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh. 

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net. 

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly. 

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar. 

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say. 

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants. 

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. 

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine. 

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you  and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

*

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee. 

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.

[writer-logbook]

How to improve your writing style : a 5-steps guide.

Intro : I love the 5-steps format, don’t mind me. Again, this essay is based on my personal experience.

Read in different genres. Ok, I know you’ve probably heard this advice more than you can count but did you ask yourself why it is so important ? You probably wonder ‘‘How reading some historical fiction will help me writing my sci-fi novel ?’’ For that simple reason my friend : they meet different purposes. You don’t know how to describe a castle ? It’s okay, historical fiction got your back. Because it aims at something more realistic and accurate, it would tend to be more specific and detailed when it comes to describing clothes, furniture, places and so on. Why ? Because, most of the time, THEY ACTUALLY EXISTED. Take a closer look at how it is done and draw your inspiration from it (but please avoid plagiarism it’s bad - and illegal)

Take notes and CLASSIFY them. To make reading somehow useful, you have to actually make it concious, which means you have to write things down to remember them. When I come across a description I like, I tend to takes notes of the figures of speech that are used and class them, so when I have to write a similar scene, I have an idea of what have been already used, and weither or not it achieved its goal. I am NOT talking about COPY another author’s style !!!! It’s about finding inspiration and new approaches. I also tend to take notes of the new words I wish to incoporate into my writing. The thesaurus is my new bestie.

Rewrite the same scene from different POVs. First of all, it’s fun. And it’s a really good way to spot quirky formulations. For instance, if you describe a ship, the captain’s POV should be different from that of a simple observer. The first one would be naming each part princisely whereas the other would only be admiring the surface without knowing anything. If the caption is the same for both POVs, maybe you should consider write your passage again (or have a good reason, like a strong amateurism for the mere observer). It’s go hand in hand with coherence - but it would be an essay for another time (maybe).

Read your text aloud. I put major emphasis on that one because it’s as underated as reading books for various genres. You have no idea how much we DON’T speak the way we write. Even dialogues are crafted in our stories - so make sure to give them proper attention. (i even read my email aloud but-). I KNOW how cringey it might be as I am doing it MYSELF but the benefits are worth the 35-minutes shame I endure from my own mess. Before you can shine, you have to polish (shout out to the one who said that first if it’s not me).

Take a step back. I strongly advice you to let some time pass before reading your text again and profreading it. It will cast a new light upon your work and with fresh eyes you’d be more likely able to spot what needs to be erased or rephrased.

That’s all for me today. Since I would be entering my proofreading phase for my writing contest, the next essay would probably about proofreading (with examples from my own novel ?). Unless someone wants me to write on a specific subject first.

Gentle reminder that I’m still French and not a native so please forgive my dubious grammar and outrageous mispellings.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Mistletoe Magic

Summary: OP81 + “What are you doing with that mistletoe– oh.”

Song: All I Want for Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 8.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

You’ve liked Oscar for a while now—longer than you probably want to admit. Maybe it started as a silly crush, like the kind you read about in romance novels where the protagonist can’t help but blush at the mere sight of her crush. But this was different.

Oscar wasn’t just a flicker of attraction; he was a spark that ignited every time he entered the room.

Everyone around you seemed to sense it, from your friends to his teammates. You’ve witnessed plenty of sideways glances over the months, most of them playful nudges and knowing whispers, but they fell on deaf ears.

The one person who mattered—the one you were enamored with—had no clue.

With a frustrated sigh, you called Lando one evening. Your heart raced as you paced your apartment, the soft hum of your phone ringing soothingly in your ear.

“Lando, I can’t take it anymore,” you ranted as soon as he picked up.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he replied, a hint of laughter in his voice, probably because he could already sense your exasperation.

“It’s Oscar! I don’t know if he hates me or something!”

“Hate is a strong word,” he laughed, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“It sure feels like it. He can’t even look at me, let alone speak to me! Every time I try to approach him, he finds some excuse to leave!”

Lando kept his tone light. “Okay, give me the details. You’re saying the guy is terrified of you?”

“It’s not funny!” You found yourself arguing, but even you had to stifle a chuckle. Lando was right; it just sounded ridiculous. “He’s not scared. He’s just… I don’t know, awkward. And the way he follows me on social media—not that I mind, but…”

“But? You’d rather he didn’t like your posts? Is that how you feel? Because I think he’s into you.”

“But he never talks to me! He just flicks and swipes through my photos like a ghost!” You dropped to the couch, running a hand through your hair. “What does it mean?”

Lando paused for a moment. “Maybe he’s just shy? You’re not exactly a wallflower, you know. You’re dazzling. He might feel intimidated.”

“Intimidated? By me?” You leaned back, disbelief etched across your face, but Lando’s sincerity hung in the air, urging you to consider it.

“I mean it,” Lando insisted. “Just imagine yourself in his shoes, surrounded by all his friends. He probably thinks you’re out of his league, and his social media habits? Maybe he’s trying to muster up the courage to say something. When was the last time you actually had a conversation?”

You furrowed your brow, the memories coming back like scenes from a vague film. “I think the last time we really talked was at that charity event a couple of months ago. We barely spoke for five minutes, and then he vanished.”

“Then you need a plan. A real plan. You can’t let him sweep away like that.” Lando’s voice dripped with assurance, as if he believed everything you felt was not only valid but fixable.

“What do you suggest? Should I just somehow trap him in a corner of a party?”

“Not exactly how I’d phrase it, but yeah, kinda,” Lando chuckled. “You’ve got to make your move, even if that means grabbing him right after practice or before the next race.”

The idea spiraled through your mind, one that filled you with both hope and anxiety. The next race was only a few days away. You had to do something.

The streets of Baku were alive with energy, an intoxicating mix of adrenaline and excitement that filled the air as the Grand Prix weekend unfolded.

You stood just outside the McLaren garage, your heart racing not from the prospect of the upcoming F1 race, but from being in the same space as the drivers you idolized—especially the charming Oscar Piastri.

“Hey, are you sure you’re ready for this?” Lola smirked, her eyes sparkling with teasing mischief. “I mean, with the way you look at Oscar, we might need to tie you down.”

“Shut up!” you laughed, swatting her arm, but inside, you felt a flutter of nerves. How could you even think about talking to him when your heart did backflips every time you laid eyes on his curly hair and boyish grin? “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

Aaliyah chimed in, her voice playful yet conspiratorial, “Or maybe he’s just shy! Guys act like that when they like someone, you know?”

“Please, you’re giving me false hope,” you sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “That’s the last thing I need today with the race and everything else going on.”

The paddock was bustling with activity. Mechanics darted between cars, engineers discussed strategies, and the sound of laughter mixed with the roar of engines.

“Let’s go inside,” Lola urged, pushing you toward the McLaren garage.

As you walked in, the familiar vibrant colors of the McLaren team enveloped you. There, surrounded by the scent of burnt rubber and the hum of teamwork, stood Oscar, deeply engaged in a conversation with the engineers, his focus absolute.

You mustered every ounce of courage, but just as you stepped closer, your gaze accidentally caught his. Time seemed to freeze.

For seven whole seconds, you locked eyes, and there was an undeniable spark, or perhaps you were imagining it, because just as quickly, he turned his head away, his cheeks crimson.

“See? What did I tell you?” you whispered to your friends, who were equally giddy with excitement.

“He totally likes you!” Lola teased, grinning from ear to ear while giving you a playful elbow to the ribs.

“Guys, he doesn’t want to talk to me. Trust me,” you replied, trying to sound unfazed, but it was difficult given the flutter in your chest.

“Did you see that? He totally likes you!” Lola declared with a gleeful bounce. “He looked at you like you were the only person in the room!”

“It’s not what you think,” you replied, trying to sound unfazed, but your heart was pounding in your chest. “He probably just didn’t expect me to be here.”

“Stop!” Lola said, feigning outrage. “You can’t keep denying this. You’ve been crushing on him for what, a year? Just go over there and talk to him!”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the knot in your stomach tightened. “It’s not that easy! He’s way out of my league.”

“Pfft. As if!” Lola tossed her hair dramatically. “You are amazing! If he can’t see that, then he’s the one missing out.”

Before you could muster another protest, the tide of the crowd shifted, and Lando walked over. “Hey Y/N,” he said, breaking into a warm smile. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

“Uh, sure…” you stammered, glancing back at Lola and Aayila, who were both wiggling their eyebrows in a way that was both comical and slightly alarming.

“Okay, just stay around here and do not go over to him,” you warned your friends and with a playful roll of your eyes, you followed him through the throng of people.

As you walked away, you didn’t see how Oscar’s gaze remained fixed on you, a flicker of curiosity dancing in his deep brown eyes.

Lando led you to a quieter corner of the venue, away from the pulsing crowd. “I just wanted to make sure you’re having a good time,” he said, leaning against the wall casually. “I know these events can be overwhelming.”

“Yeah, I’m good, just a bit… you know,” you mumbled, trying to shake off the embarrassment of being away from your friends. You took a deep breath, gesturing broadly with your hands.

“The music is great, and the atmosphere is amazing. I just—” you hesitated. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just nervous about being around all these people? You know it's a completely different atmosphere.”

Lando nodded knowingly. “I get that. If it helps, I’m here if you need a distraction from all the noise.”

Just as he said that, Lola's voice cut through the chatter like a knife.

“Y/N! Come back!” She was waving frantically, her other arm pointing toward Oscar, who was now staring directly at you.

Your stomach dropped. Lando caught your eye, his expression shifting from concern to amusement. “Looks like you have an admirer,” he said, nudging you playfully.

“Don’t even! He’s probably curious about why I’m speaking to you,” you quickly denied, cheeks flushing.

“Are you sure? Because it looks like he wants to speak to you instead of me,” Lando teased, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat on your cheeks didn’t fade. “Stop it. Oscar’s just being polite.”

“Polite? Y/N, that look he’s giving you is way more than polite,” he chuckled.

Despite yourself, you risked another glance at Oscar. He was still looking in your direction, a small smile creeping across his lips.

What was even more annoying was how attractive he looked in that moment, leaning against the wall, confidently engaging with a couple of people.

“Okay, maybe he isn’t just being polite,” you conceded, trying to feign indifference.

Lando leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s the deal with you two, anyway? I thought he 'hated' you.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “He does hate me maybe just not today.” But even as you said it, the truth felt slanted. There was something more that bubbled underneath the surface, something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

“Right,” Lando said, raising an eyebrow. “All I see are two people who clearly have some unresolved tension,” he smirked, clearly enjoying the fact that he could tease you.

Before you could reply, there was an announcement over the loudspeakers instructing all drivers to head to their garages and prepare for the race.

“See you later?” Lando asked, giving you a easy smile.

“Of course! Good luck, Lando,” you said, genuinely wishing him well. You knew how hard he trained and how much this race meant to him.

As he walked away, your attention shifted to Oscar, who was a few spaces down, adjusting his helmet strap. When he caught your eye, he hesitated for a moment, those familiar warm brown eyes locking onto yours.

He looked almost bashful as he realized you were watching him. “Good luck, Oscar!” you called out, trying to sound casual, though your heart raced.

His face broke into a magnificent grin, cheeks reddening slightly. “Thanks, Y/N!” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of excitement and appreciation.

He glanced down, fiddling with his gear as he turned to head into the garage.

You watched him disappear behind the metal doors, an inexplicable thrill coursing through you.

It was silly, was it not? Your hope had doubled just from this interaction but you knew it meant nothing in Oscar's eyes. . .

The adrenaline still buzzed in the air as the final laps of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix raced through everyone’s minds. The street circuit glimmered under the twilight sun as Oscar Piastri, the newly crowned champion of the day, burst from his car, his helmet clutched under his arm.

The roar of the crowd echoed off the old buildings surrounding the circuit, celebrating the victory that had become so hard-earned.

You had watched the entire race with bated breath, your heart pounding with each corner he navigated, each overtake he executed. You couldn’t believe it—Oscar had done it.

The memory of his previous win played faintly in your mind, but it didn't compare to this moment. This was the race where it felt like he had truly battled every inch of the track and his competitors for the victory.

“Are you guys going to come?” you asked, as you stood up, barely able to contain your excitement. Your fingertips tingled with anticipation.

“Nah, we’ll watch the celebrations from here. Go congratulate your boyfriend,” Aaliyah teased, her eyes sparkling as she nudged you playfully.

You felt a rush of warmth spread across your cheeks at the mention of the word “boyfriend.”

“We’re not dating, Aaliyah! It’s… it’s complicated!” you stammered, your excitement mingling with nerves.

“Complicated, huh?” she continued, her smirk undeniable. “You should probably clear that up once you get down there.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile. It was more complicated than Aaliyah could imagine.

Today, watching him work so incredibly hard and finally claim that victory felt like a turning point that ignited a fire in you.

“Right,” you said, gathering courage and taking a deep breath. “I’ll be right back!”

With that, you made your way to the pit lane where his team was erupting in cheers, everyone surrounding Oscar as they hoisted him high above their heads.

The sight made your heart swell—he was a champion, and he was thriving.

When you reached the edge of the celebration, you watched him for a moment, his laughter ringing out bright and infectious. He had that light in his eyes, a rare spark that shone brightly after the stress of the race.

You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to interrupt the joyful chaos surrounding him.

Your moment of hesitation was abruptly interrupted when you felt a gentle tap on your arm. Turning, you found Tom, Oscar's race engineer, standing there with a warm, inviting smile.

"Y/N, should I bring you closer to Oscar?" he asked politely, as though he could sense your internal struggle.

You weren't quite sure how he even knew your name. You'd never formally introduced yourself, nor had you visited the paddock often enough for recognition. But amidst the whirlwind of happiness, you pushed your curiosity aside.

"Yes, please," you responded, the anticipation racing through you. Your heart pounded at the thought of actually getting to congratulate Oscar in person.

Tom nodded, leading you through the throngs of people, laughter, and cheerful chaos. The closer you got, the more your nerves fluttered. What would you say?

“Congratulations” felt too simple for what you wanted to express—too small for the monumental achievement he had just secured.

As you stepped closer, you could see Oscar surrounded by a group of teammates and a few friends.

“Oscar!” Tom called, breaking into the cheers. Oscar turned, and his face lit up even more when he spotted you.

“Y/N!” Oscar exclaimed, a hint of surprise in his voice. The way he said your name, like it was a sweet melody, made your heart skip.

You took a step closer, fueled by an impulse you weren’t sure would be welcomed.

“Congratulations, Oscar!” you said, and in an uncharacteristic burst of spontaneity, you pulled him into a hug. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and for a moment, the world around you faded.

It was weird to hug him—Oscar was not the type of person who hugged a lot. He was usually the stoic, strong type, but today was different.

You felt his arms wrap tentatively around you, and you almost pulled away out of embarrassment, but the thrill of the moment kept you there.

“Wow, I didn’t expect a hug,” he chuckled, his breath warm against your hair. “I mean, thank you! It means a lot coming from you.”

You released him slowly, feeling your cheeks heat up. "You were amazing out there. I could hardly believe it when you scored that final goal! The crowd went wild!"

His eyes sparkled with genuine happiness. “It was a team effort, honestly. But…” he paused, looking into your eyes, “I’m glad you were here to see it.”

In that moment, the world around you faded, the roaring crowd and chaotic celebrations dulled to a soft echo as his words hung suspended between you.

The emotions in his voice and eyes overflowed, washing over you like a wave, and it affected you more than you wanted to admit. You could feel the heat radiating from your cheeks; it felt like a stage light had been trained on you alone.

“I…,” you began, swallowing hard. “I need some air.”

The last thing you wanted was to break down under the weight of your feelings in front of everyone.

You patted his chest gently, though your touch lingered, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. “Go celebrate with the team; you deserve it. I’ll be around later,” you managed to say, your voice a mix of encouragement and self-preservation.

Letting go of him felt like releasing a balloon into the sky, and as you stepped back, you couldn’t shake the weight of what had just transpired.

He hesitated, searching your face for something—reassurance, clarity, whatever it was, he didn’t find it. But he nodded, albeit reluctantly, and turned to join his teammates.

You watched as he melded back into the celebration, his laughter ringing out above the rest.

The moment he turned away, you felt an overwhelming storm of emotions.

You had never had someone like Oscar reciprocate your feelings, and that scared you. The crush you had nurtured for so long was starting to sprout, but the uncertainty about what that might mean felt suffocating.

You wandered toward a quieter corner of the stadium, trying to catch your breath. Leaning against a cool metal railing, you watched the team celebrate, the glint of victory sparkling in their eyes.

Everyone was so happy, so carefree. You could hear Oscar’s laughter clearly, a sound that made your chest constrict with a mixture of joy and fear.

Why was this so complicated?

The bustling atmosphere around the racetrack was electric, but finding McLaren's hospitality room amidst the chaos of the after-race frenzy proved to be a little more challenging than expected.

A couple of minutes passed as you navigated through the throngs of jubilant fans and team members, your pulse quickening with each wave of color and sound, when you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder.

You turned sharply to see Lola, her blonde curls bouncing with enthusiasm, eyes bright with excitement.

“Hey! We’re going to the club to celebrate Oscar’s win later. You coming?” she asked, her voice almost melodic over the murmur of the crowd.

You hesitated, wringing your hands nervously as a wave of uncertainty washed over you. “Um, I’m not sure…” You couldn’t shake the thought of retreating to your safe, quiet apartment instead.

“Oh, come on! It won’t be the same without you,” Lola urged, her eyes wide with sincerity. “Oscar was asking where you went. He really wants you there!”

There it was again—the familiar tightness in your chest that accompanied thoughts of Oscar. The way he had smiled when he had crossed the finish line, the joy that radiated from him like an aura. “Really? He said that?”

“Of course!” Lola replied, rolling her eyes playfully. “You’re his lucky charm. He’ll be bummed if you miss out.”

You bit your lip, weighing your options. It would be so easy to slip away, return to that quiet corner of your life where things felt safe and uncomplicated. But was that truly what you wanted?

The thought of Oscar’s disappointment tugged at your heart, igniting a flicker of bravery deep within.

“All right, I’ll go,” you finally said, your voice steadier than you felt.

Lola beamed at you, the corners of her mouth curving with delight as she spun around. “Yay! I’ll meet you in a bit then! You have to look fabulous, so hurry!”

With that, she bounced off into the crowd, leaving you standing there, a rush of excitement and anxiety swirling within you. You had just enough time to get to your apartment, so you hurriedly made your way back to your place, thoughts racing.

The moment you stepped inside, you knew you had to pick the perfect outfit. 

The air in the apartment felt charged with anticipation as you rummaged through your closet, trying to piece together the perfect outfit.

After a long week filled with monotony, tonight was a chance to step out of your comfort zone. You settled on a sleek black club dress, the kind that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric shimmered subtly under the light, giving you an air of elegance while the plunging neckline added just a hint of daring.

You paired it with your favorite strappy heels that always made you feel like you were walking on clouds.

With a final glance in the mirror, you felt the tiniest bit of confidence swell within you. Maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different. You pushed a few errant strands of hair behind your ear, took a deep breath, and stepped out the door.

As you made your way through the bustling city streets, the energy around you buzzed with life, the neon lights of the club flickering in the distance.

When you finally arrived, you could feel the beat of the bass thumping in your chest. The air was thick with excitement, laughter mingling with the rhythmic pulse of the music.

You spotted Lola right away. She was a whirlwind of energy, chatting animatedly with a few friends, her laughter cutting through the noise like a beacon. You pushed through the crowd, your heart racing not just from the music but the thought of seeing Oscar.

As soon as Lola saw you, her eyes lit up like a thousand fireworks, and she waved her arms as if she were a traffic conductor guiding you through the chaos.

“There she is!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling over with excitement.

“Lola! You look amazing!” you replied, enveloping her in a hug.

“Thanks! But look at you in that dress! Wow! You’re going to turn some heads tonight.” She stepped back, her eyes sweeping over your outfit with awe. “Are you ready for a night of fun?”

“Let’s hope so! Just promise to help me if I start to fade into the background,” you laughed nervously.

Loka grinned. “You will not fade. Just follow my lead!”

You two made your way deeper into the club, where the lights spun like stars and bodies moved in a kaleidoscope of color.

The pulsating bass of the club thrummed through your chest as you and Lola maneuvered deeper into the throng of bodies. Lights twinkled overhead, cutting through the smoky air like stars scattered across a midnight sky, and everywhere you looked, people danced with abandon, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

You felt the energy of the crowd washing over you, but in the back of your mind, you couldn't shake off the nervousness that settled there.

“Apparently Oscar’s coming later,” Lola said, her voice a melody lifted above the noise as she twirled, her skirt flaring out around her.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name, though thinking of him made your stomach churn; the last time you saw him, your feelings had bubbled over in an awkward, embarrassing moment.

You’d pushed him away, confused and overwhelmed, leaving him staring after you with a look you couldn’t decipher—a blend of disappointment and surprise.

“I can’t wait to see him! I just… I should probably apologize today,” you replied, trying to sound lighthearted, but your voice betrayed the nerves knotting tight in your belly.

Lola chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just don’t trip over your words. That would be classic you!”

You shot her a playful glare. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

A few minutes later, the music faded slightly as the DJ called for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed through the speakers, “We have a special guest in the house tonight—the winner of the race! Give it up for Oscar Piastri!”

The club erupted into cheers, and your heart raced as you turned to face the entrance. The door swung open, revealing Oscar, flanked by Lando and Max, both radiant with victory and excitement. The crowd surged toward them, voices rising in a joyous cacophony.

“There he is!” Lola shouted over the music, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of the moment. “Go on! Go say hi!”

But as you tried to get closer, a wall of fans obscured the pathway, blocking you from reaching him. You clenched your fists in frustration.

Why was fate working against you?

“Let’s just wait by the bar,” you suggested, resigned. “I’ll wait until the fans clear out, and then I can talk to him.”

“Suit yourself, but I’m going to the dance floor!” Lola laughed, waving as she disappeared into the mass of moving bodies.

You downed a drink, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of hope and despair. Time passed, and you remained at the bar, only to see the fans crowding around Oscar, capturing selfies and shouting his name.

He seemed gracious yet slightly overwhelmed, laughter spilling from him as he interacted with the crowd.

As the minutes dragged on and your drink count steadily rose, you felt your heart sink lower. It was hard to swallow as more people pressed in, and when you finally dared to look back, your heart lurched painfully.

There, in the midst of the frenetic energy of the club, stood Oscar with a beautiful girl, their lips brushing together in an unexpected kiss.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a rush of tears threatened to spill over.

You turned away, biting down on your lip. “What am I even doing here?” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as if that could shake off the image before it lodged itself into your mind like a stubborn burr.

It was absurd, really. You hadn’t even realized you had that much feelings for him until this very moment, and now, every insecurity you possessed rose up like a tide.

The club seemed to swell and pulse around you, but its vibrant atmosphere faded into silence.

The laughter turned into whispers, and you could almost hear your own thoughts screaming: He’s out of your league. She’s everything you’re not.

Suddenly, you felt claustrophobic, trapped in a cycle of unwanted feelings and doubt.

As if on autopilot, you threaded your way through the crowd, pushing past gyrating bodies, dodging the strobe lights that seemed to explode in front of your eyes. You reached the exit and stepped outside.

The fresh air hit your face like a splash of water, shockingly crisp against the sticky humidity of the club. You leaned against the cool brick wall of the alley beside the entrance and breathed deeply, trying to get your bearings.

“What did I expect?” you whispered to the empty night. “Of course he’d choose someone like her.”

Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, and a message popped up. It was from Lola.

“Where did you go? I thought you were in there! I found a booth by the bar! Get back in! :)”

You almost typed back, “I’ll stay out here forever,” but instead, you just hit the home button and sighed. The night was still young. Maybe there was more to this evening than you could see.

You took a moment, your mind racing. The truth was, you liked Oscar. Like, really liked him.

You had hoped that tonight might be the night you could tell him, but that seemed impossible now. . . .

You sit on your bed, the soft quilt embraced by the evening light filtering through your curtains. The room feels heavy, shadows gather, and silence reigns from the world outside.

You set your phone down, and the earlier events flood back.

The memory of that night at the club is vivid. The pulsating beat of the music had echoed through your heart, but all that vibrancy shattered like glass when you spotted them.

Oscar—your Oscar—leaning in, kissing someone else. You had felt the blood drain from your face, the weight of a thousand crushed dreams falling on your shoulders.

“Why did I come here?” you whisper, even though your bedroom feels like a cocoon, wrapped away from the world outside.

In a moment of impulsivity, you had blocked Oscar on every social media platform you could think of. His posts would only serve as daggers, and you wouldn’t let him hurt you like that.

You wonder if he even noticed. Lando, his best friend and a thousand times more perceptive, had already begun to question you.

Just moments before, your phone buzzed with a text. It was Lando, naturally, with his usual bluntness: “Hey, why did you leave the club yesterday??? Did you get sick or something?”

The truth clawed at you, but you didn’t owe them any explanation. So, you replied with a simple lie.

“Just felt tired. I’ve been working too much lately.”

You knew he wouldn’t buy it, but you hoped to evade the topic long enough for things to quiet down.

Turning your phone face down, you sigh and lean back against your pillows. The weight of the night settles over you—anger, sadness, longing—and then your phone buzzes again.

“Hey, you okay?” Lando’s message flashes across the screen.

Your heart races. “Yeah, just tired,” you type, heart pounding, expecting his response any moment.

“You don’t sound like it,” Lando replies, and you can almost picture him furrowing his brow, a concerned expression tightening his features. The thought stings, a remembrance of all the times he has been there for you, holding space in his easily approachable way.

“Seriously, Lando, I’m fine. Just needed some air,” you type back, each word more strained than the last.

He replies quickly. “You want me to come over? We can have a movie night or something.”

As tempting as it sounds, the idea both comforts and terrifies you. You know Lando well enough to recognize that he’d dig deeper into your feelings, convinced something is wrong.

Still, there's a part of you that craves that familiarity, the bond you share.

“No, it’s all good. Just need some time alone,” you respond, unsure of your own feelings.

“That’s not really your style, though. You’re always inviting me over. What’s up?” Lando pushes back gently, a sense of worry lacing through his words.

You can’t hide from the truth forever, but admitting your feelings about Oscar feels too raw, too exposed. Lando’s your friend, but he’s also Oscar’s best friend; anything you say could wind up back to him, and you’re not ready for that.

“I just saw something—something I didn’t want to see at the club,” you finally muster, the honesty spilling from your fingertips despite your reservations.

There’s a pause—a beat of silence—and for a moment, you wonder if he’s already piecing it together.

“You mean Oscar?” Lando asks, his tone softer but still probing. “What about him?”

“Nothing.” The word feels hollow, the truth clawing at your throat. “I just... I just need some space, alright?”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Lando persists. “You and Oscar were pretty tight when he won until…”

You cut him off. “Until he kissed a girl right in front of me?” The anger again simmers to the surface. “I think I have a right to be upset.”

Another pause from Lando, and you can sense the concern shift in his tone. “Do you want to talk about it? Because I’m here, you know. You can tell me.”

The dam inside you threatens to break. The memories of your laughter, the fun late-night conversations, the promises whispered amongst friends; they flood your mind like a tidal wave, overwhelming you.

“What am I supposed to say, Lando? That I got my heart broken? That I liked him more than a friend and now he’s off with some random girl?”

A soft sigh echoes from his end. “That’s... tough, I get it. But you know Oscar, he—”

“Knows how to play with everyone’s feelings, apparently.” Your voice sharpens, the words tasting bitter. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Lando insists, and there’s a quiet strength in his tone that covers you like a reassuring blanket.

“I...” The protest slips from your lips, but you can’t help yourself. It comes rushing out. “I’ve liked Oscar for so long, Lando! And to see him throw it all away with someone else was just... it was like the ground fell from beneath me. I don’t want to feel like this. It hurts.”

Lando falls silent on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve crossed a line, if you’ve shared too much.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he finally asks, his voice gently probing. “I would have kept my mouth shut about it—”

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had,” you admit, the weight behind your voice strong now. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“All friendships can survive that.” His tone softens. “And honestly, it’s okay to feel hurt. It’s more than okay; it’s natural.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, tears brim at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “I just wanted to be happy, Lando. And now, I don’t know... I feel lost.”

“Hey, listen to me.” Lando’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts. “You are so much more than how Oscar makes you feel. It’s his loss if he can’t see you for the incredible person you are.”

The resolve in his words wraps around you like a lifeline. A small warmth unfurls in your chest, a flicker of hope that perhaps you can heal from this hurt, that you can find a way to be more than just a side character in someone else's story.

“Thanks, Lando,” you say softly, the sincerity warming your heart.

“Anytime.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “But I'm coming over tomorrow for that movie night; we’re going to drown ourselves in popcorn and bad romantic comedies until you feel better.”

You smile, though it’s still fragile. “Okay, deal.”

As you hang up, the shadows in your room seem less daunting, the weight a little lighter. Just maybe, you think as you finally allow your eyelids to flutter closed, the dawn will bring a new perspective.

And perhaps, amongst friendship and healing, you’ll find your way back to yourself.

The next day, Lando sat across from you on your well-worn couch, a colorful array of snacks spread between you. The smell of popcorn and sweets filled the air, a comforting distraction.

You had planned this night as a refuge from your thoughts, to sink into the warmth of a rom-com and ignore the knot tightening your stomach at the memories of Oscar.

As the movie played—a predictable plot about two people destined to be together—you tried to focus, but the image of Oscar’s lips brushing against that girl’s haunted you.

Halfway through the film, Lando suddenly turned toward you, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you mad at him?”

“What?” You blinked, stunned by the abruptness of the question.

“Are you mad at Oscar?” he pressed, his eyes unyielding.

“Lando, we agreed on watching a movie today, not discussing this,” you warned, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth, hoping to drown your emotions under buttery goodness.

“I know! But I spoke to Oscar—”

You cut him off, “No, I don’t want to hear it! I’ll probably just get more upset, and I really don’t want that right now.”

Lando raised his hands in surrender, looking both apologetic and mildly amused. “Okay, okay. No talking about Oscar.”

“Thank you,” you replied, the tension easing a bit. You leaned back, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. “But since you made me mad, you know what the punishment is.”

Lando’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Not the ‘punishment’!”

You grinned despite yourself, reveling in the playful banter. “Yes! You brought it upon yourself. I hope you brought your dance shoes."

“I did not!” he exclaimed, his face buried in his hands. “Please, anything but that!”

You chuckled. “What’s the matter, Lando? You afraid of a little dancing?”

His gaze peeked through his fingers. “You know I can’t dance! I’ll embarrass myself!”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning closer, the earlier sadness momentarily forgotten. “It’ll be fun!”

“Fine! But I swear if I break a leg...”

“Which you won’t!” You laughed, getting up and putting on an upbeat song.

You opened your arms theatrically, ready to embrace the moment. “Come on! Show me your best moves!”

With a reluctant sigh, Lando stood up, giving you a resigned grin. “Okay, but just to prove to you how awful I am. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

As the music thumped through the apartment, Lando executed the most exaggerated dance moves imaginable—one hand in the air, feet sliding across the wooden floor. You couldn’t help but laugh uncontrollably.

“Is this your best?” you challenged, twirling into your own clumsy routine.

“Okay, okay! Here goes nothing!” He leaped into an interpretive dance that was equal parts flailing and sheer comedy, and you collapsed back onto the couch in a fit of giggles.

“Lando, you’re a legend,” you wheezed between breaths.

He finally stopped dancing, slightly out of breath and grinning. “I think I’ll stick to racing, thanks. But, how about you?”

You paused for a moment, your laughter fading. “Honestly? I just don't get why he’d kiss someone else. I thought...”

“Thought what?” Lando pressed gently, his tone shifting to a more serious note.

“I thought he liked me,” you admitted quietly. “I thought maybe there was something between us. But seeing him with someone else, it just hurts. I guess I feel foolish.”

“Hey.” Lando took a step closer and sat beside you. “You’re not foolish. Oscar’s the one who’s a bit of a jerk for messing things up. He should know how amazing you are. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you question their intentions.”

You looked at him, and while his words comforted you, they also tore at a different part of your heart. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” Lando smiled softly at you. “And you’ve got all the time in the world to find the right person. Just don’t let Oscar’s choices define how you see yourself, okay?”

You nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’m just... trying to sort it all out.”

“Well, until you do, I'm here. Movie marathons, dance-offs, and endless supplies of snacks included,” he declared, gesturing to the spread between you as if it were an unbreakable vow.

“Thanks, Lando,” you said, appreciating his unwavering support. “Really.”

As you settled back together to resume the movie, the weight of the world felt just a little lighter. Sure, thoughts of Oscar still lingered, but Lando’s friendship reminded you that you weren’t alone in this.

You had someone who not only understood but also cared enough to make you laugh through the pain.

And for that, you were grateful. . . .

You decided to skip the next races.

"I need to clear my head," you thought, convincing yourself that the distance would help you forget the feelings you harbored for the Australian driver.

Instead, you found yourself engrossed in your studies on campus. Why watch the races on TV when you could be in the paddock?

But here you were, torn between wanting to support your team and an overwhelming need to shield your heart from Oscar.

When Lando skillfully maneuvered his way through the track, you stifled your cheers in classrooms, mouth clamping shut when he crossed the finish line.

"Focus on your studies," you’d remind yourself, but the pride bubbling within you was impossible to contain.

For every overtaking move Oscar pulled off that sparked a rush inside you, you felt the weight of your heart, one that couldn’t help but cheer for a man who had stolen your thoughts.

Before you knew it, the championship was upon you, and McLaren had claimed victory.

In a moment of exhilaration, you snapped a picture of yourself in McLaren merchandise, a radiant smile gracing your face. You shared it on social media with the caption, “I’ll always bleed McLaren orange! #TeamMcLaren."

Within moments, notifications flooded your screen: Lando’s account liked your post and the McLaren admin account liking with a comment that read, “We miss seeing you in the paddock 🧡!”

It was bittersweet, a confirmation that you still held a place with the team—but it brought memories of the paddock flooding back, along with reminders of Oscar.

When the invitation to the team’s Christmas party arrived, it triggered a mix of excitement and dread. Should you go and face him? You hesitated, the idea dawning over you like a storm cloud.

“Just come, please!” Lando’s persistent voice broke through your musings. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. It’s going to be fun, and besides, I’ll be there. You know it won’t be the same without you.”

“Lando,” you pleaded, biting your lip, the thought of Oscar’s lingering gaze causing a swell of anxiety. “What if I see him? I’m not ready.”

“Then be ready! Just wear something orange and channel your inner Papaya spirit. I’ll look out for you,” Lando grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. You finally relented. “Okay! One night—just one!”

On the night of the party, you chose a shimmering orange dress that hugged your figure, giving off a radiant glow that felt gratifying and powerful.

Grabbing your jacket, you inhaled deeply before stepping into the vibrant atmosphere of the venue, where laughter exploded and voices danced around you.

The place was bustling with McLaren energy—feasting, drinks flowing, and music swelling. It felt like a family reunion, everyone cherishing the victory together.

The festive spirit washed over you, and for a moment, you forgot about Oscar.

“Y/N! You actually came!” Lando’s voice cut through the crowd, and you turned to see him beaming at you, his dark hair glistening under the lights.

“Yeah, I had no choice. You would have dragged me out of my house otherwise,” you shot back playfully, matching his grin.

“You know me so well!” Lando laughed, pulling you into a hug.

He stayed by your side for a while, joking and chatting about the race, but eventually excused himself to the bathroom. “Just stay here! I’ll find you!” he called over his shoulder as he weaved through the throngs of partygoers.

Left with the vibrant atmosphere and pulsating music, you pulled out your phone to scroll aimlessly through social media. But time crept on, and you found yourself growing bored, the joyful sounds around you meshing into one indistinguishable noise.

Suddenly, a voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Y/N.”

You looked up, dread pooling in your stomach as you met Oscar’s gaze. He stood a few feet away, an uneasy smile stretching across his face. “Hey.”

“No, no, no,” your mind raced. Not now. You almost turned to flee, but his hand caught your wrist with a gentle grip, stopping you mid-stride.

“Y/N, please.”

His eyes held a mix of sincerity and something else—maybe regret? Despite your instincts screaming at you to pull away, you found yourself halting, torn between running and wanting to melt into the warmth of his presence.

“Can we talk?” he continued, his voice softer now, nearly lost in the clamor of the room.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m happy for you and your girlfriend,” you retorted, trying to maintain the wall you’d built around your heart.

You expected him to let go of your wrist, to back off and accept your words as the final note in this dissonant symphony. Instead, his grip tightened, marshalling a mix of surprise and frustration.

He guided you through the thrumming crowd, out of the main hall and into a smaller, dimly lit room. The sudden calm clashed violently with the noise outside.

Once you were inside, he released your wrist but blocked the door, leaning against it with an expression that was both earnest and somewhat frustrated.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, crossing your arms defensively.

“I want to explain myself to you, but since you’re so stubborn, I have to lock you in a room for you to listen to me.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “There’s no need to explain. I already know—”

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’ve got the wrong idea,” he interrupted, urgency threading his tone.

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping closer. You hated how close he was, how safe, how intoxicating.

“I’m sure you’re thinking about the club,” he rushed, his eyes searching yours. “That girl, whoever she is, came over and just kissed me because I looked like her boyfriend. She apologized and walked off. That’s all that happened. You can ask Lando or the others."

Your heart rate quickened as you took another step closer. “Why are you even telling me? I had nothing to do with it,” you pressed, your voice a mixture of challenge and curiosity.

He swallowed hard, visibly nervous. “Because it matters. You matter. You have to understand that I didn’t want it, that I wasn’t interested.”

You took a breath, the weight of the moment heavy against your chest. “So, if you weren’t interested, then what do you want?

You tilted your head slightly, trying to read the emotions flickering across his face like shadows in the dark. His jaw worked, as though he was searching for the right words.

“I want you to know…” he started but faltered, glancing away for a split second, as if the courage to continue was caught in his throat.

When he looked back, you noticed a flicker of determination igniting in his gaze. “You know I’ve liked you for a while now, right?”

The admission hung in the air, visceral and raw. Your pulse quickened, the world around you fading into a blur.

“Liked me? As in… more than friends?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding earnestly. “I didn’t know how to say it, and then… and then that happened.” He gestured vaguely towards the club, frustration lacing his words.

“I was so caught off guard, and all I could think about was how I didn’t want you to think something was going on—because nothing is. It was just... a mistake.”

A thousand butterflies erupted in your stomach, and the challenge melting from your voice was replaced by something softer, deeper. “It’s hard for me to believe that when you just let it happen. Didn’t you want to push her away? Didn’t you think about me at all?”

He took a step forward, his expression earnest and intense. “Of course, I thought about you! That's exactly why I’m here, explaining all this to you. I thought maybe you’d get the wrong idea, and I didn’t want that. The last thing I want is for you to feel hurt because of something that wasn’t even my fault,”

You could feel the electricity between you, the shared vulnerability tugging at the edges of your heart. “So, what now? Do we just pretend like tonight didn’t happen?”

“No,” Oscar’s voice was clear and firm, cutting through the tension like a knife. “I don’t want to ignore this. I want to figure out what we are… or what we could be.”

He paused, searching your face for reassurance, hope mingling with uncertainty. “Can we…”

“What if I just got jealous?” you interrupted, tilting your head while letting your walls slowly drop. “What if I’m just overreacting because the thought of you with someone else drives me insane?”

His lips curled upwards, a tentative smile forming as the weight of the moment shifted. “Then that’s good, right? It means you care.”

“I do care,” you confessed, the admission flowing out of you like a soft sigh. “I care more than I should. You’ve been… well, hard to read. But I like you, too, Oscar. I have for a while. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

His relief was palpable, and he stepped a fraction closer, closing the gap between you. “So, what do you say we start fresh? Just you and me. No more mixed signals, no more misunderstandings.”

You held his gaze, the corners of your mouth lifting in a soft smile. “I’d like that. I really would.”

Oscar took a deep breath, as if steadying himself for what came next. “Come here,” you said, raising your arms for a hug. Without hesitation, he stepped into your embrace, his warmth seeping into you like the first rays of sun after a long winter.

He melted into you, resting his chin gently atop your head, and you felt a flutter in your chest, a feeling that said everything would be alright.

After what felt like an eternity, you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. You placed a kiss on his cheek, wishing it to be understood as a promise, a seal to this new beginning.

“You missed,” he joked playfully, breaking the tension and causing both of you to smile.

“Did I?” you teased back, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “I think my aim was just fine.”

Oscar shook his head, laughter escaping his lips. “You must have missed the target completely,” he replied, grinning, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You both stood there, a moment of levity hanging beautifully between you, until Oscar looked up suddenly, as if struck by a realization.

“Hey, it seems like fate gave you another chance,” he said, his voice laced with excitement.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, and you followed his gaze upward. A sprig of mistletoe hung above you, the innocent plant a stark reminder of holiday traditions and the spark of romance it promised. Your heart raced.

“Guess you’re a lucky man, Piastri,” you said, a teasing tone lacing your words. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at him, a playful challenge in your eyes.

He stepped back, his grin widening as he looked at you. “Lucky? How so?”

“Well,” you began, your heart pounding in your chest, “I mean, just look at the circumstances. Here we are, two people who have been dancing around each other forever, and we’re under a mistletoe. You know what that means…”

“What does it mean?” he asked, leaning in, curiosity painting his features as he watched you.

Shifting your gaze back to the mistletoe, you felt bold. “It means we should kiss,” you stated matter-of-factly, suppressing a giggle at how ridiculous the notion felt in the best possible way.

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, stepping closer once more, his sincerity igniting a rush of exhilaration within you.

As he leaned in, your heart raced faster, a million thoughts spinning in your head. Would it be awkward? Would he pull back last minute?

But then his hand found the back of your neck, and it felt like the world around you faded away. Time slowed as his lips finally met yours, tentative at first, then growing fervent, a collision of emotions.

You held onto him tightly, drowning in the moment, feeling everything you've kept bottled up finally surge forth—a mixture of relief, tenderness, and the thrill of shared possibility.

You could taste the sweetness of victory in the kiss, savoring the promise of what was to come.

As you shared a tender kiss, the door creaked open just enough for Lando's head to peek in. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he caught sight of the two of you lost in the moment, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him.

Oscar gave a silent thumbs back to Lando, his eyes still closed, fully aware of the carefully orchestrated plan.

This was all part of the scheme they had devised, aptly named "Operation Mistletoe Magic,". . . .

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 5 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: We continue the sex from where we left off previously.

A/n: Apologies for the delay. I was genuinely worried about whether this chapter was going to be good enough. Thankfully, @findingstephanie and @div94 were a huge help. ✨✨ Everybody clap for them because the smut is now smuttier. (I'll be crying in the corner for the contribution of the Internet in uniting smut lovers)

Warnings: smut, full-blown smut, like Azriel throwing reader around kinda smut, oral sex (male & female receiving), Azriel's tattooed chest, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

“Wrap your legs around me.” Azriel ordered, unyielding and firm.

He didn’t look like the composed man whom she’d dined with or went grocery shopping. He was unhinged, deranged even. 

Y/n complied as she brought her hands behind his neck. 

He lifted Y/n, his hands under her thighs, and walked towards his bedroom. 

The feel of his hands on her skin made her bury her face in his neck because how large were those hands? 

She imagined how well those hands would grab her breasts and ass. How spectacularly he’d spank her. 

And that hand and those tattooed fingers wrapped around her throat while he fucked her stupid was. . . An aroused Azriel looked like he’d do all that and much more. 

And she wanted all that and much more. 

It was dizzying to be held tightly as he lifted her, when her breasts were against him. And from the way he glanced at her upon that contact, he was also affected by it. 

This man was large. Intimidatingly so.      

So what about his cock?

That painful bulge on his pants was enough to make her nervous. 

But gods, she wanted it. She’d cry and beg for it.

She wanted to be railed till she couldn’t understand anything other than him.

She could see the startings of his tattoos which eventually descended and spread across his chest. The nape was inked here and there but his neck in general was clean, displaying his clear skin. 

At this point, everything seemed to be a prelude to how frenziedly he’d fuck her and how willingly she’d submit. 

The golden lighting was dim, perfectly complementing Azriel. The sheets were cold. Y/n was wearing only her panties when Azriel made her sit on the bed.  

He now towered over her, putting all her fantasies to shame with his ravenous gaze. 

That inked chest was a vision. An inspiration for images, each more provocative than the previous. 

“Y/n?” She felt hot and light. So sensitive and drunk on his touch. Y/n really did but she really needed to be thoroughly fucked right now. 

She was consumed by her lust enough that it was becoming difficult to concentrate on anything other than his touch. 

“Stand up, sweetheart.” He kissed her deeply when she obeyed, maybe as a reward. 

“Do you trust me?” He rasped like a cunning predator ready to ruin her to the ground.

“Yes.” She received a soft kiss in return for her compliance. 

“Take off my belt.” Y/n blinked. She’d definitely read that line in a dark romance novel. When he pinched her nipple, she let out a surprised squeal. 

What washed over her was so hot it was electric. It was so sudden and too powerful. She nodded and her hands rose, heading towards his belt. 

Oh. Was he going to actually. . . 

Was he going to be rough? 

Would she get to taste his cock? 

The idea of it excited her. She was now impatient. 

This man, so perfectly crafted and intimidatingly large, desired her. And as she unbuckled his belt, Y/n felt confident. He was attracted to her. 

She felt glorious as she eagerly unfastened his pants and pulled it down and his undershorts just enough. The raw desire between them, now a palpable thing. 

The sight of his cock made her want to cry in gratitude because thank fuck for this unholy monument. 

Her hand extended to touch it when Azriel caught her wrist. “No touching.” She looked back at him, offended by that. What was the point of getting here if they weren’t touching?

But then he leaned in and growled. “Kneel.” 

****

Azriel had to remain in control. He knew that much. Y/n hadn’t had sex in a while so it would be inevitably painful for her in the beginning and he was determined to make her comfortable before he indulged. 

But all that determination went out of the window when he saw her breasts against him as he took her to bed. And when he’d glanced at her and saw her peering up with eyes filled with confusion and trust, he faltered. 

He was depraved and deprived and only determined only to fuck her like a primeval creature. But he couldn’t deny how much he adored this woman. 

And while his desire battled with his worry for her, Y/n gave him no room to think any further when she obeyed him and kneeled. She was so good for him. 

Azriel brought a hand to her cheek, his thumb tracing her lips before she opened it enough for it to slip in. 

He felt the tip of her tongue against his thumb while his woman sat there innocently as if she wasn’t the reason his cock was raging and aching. 

“Open.” Her lips parted and he saw that tongue. His hand impulsively went to the back of her head and brought her head closer to his cock.

He saw how her eyes widened, eager and afraid. And without any further instruction, her tongue darted out to lick him like an ice cream. From the bottom to the top. And she began teasing him around the tip. 

Her hand gently took hold of his cock. She took her time to gather her saliva, spat on his cock, and used her hand to gently spread it. 

Now, Y/n was a decently tall woman. There were few who were taller than her but she was so small compared to him. Small hands, small mouth, completely small. 

She was too soft.

Too gentle. 

He felt it acutely when her fingers teased over the veins of his cock, his grip on her hair tightening. Her tongue continued to lick him. 

Y/n. . . his beautiful Y/n pushed her stray curls behind, as if preparing for something. 

Azriel craned his neck when she sucked the tip with a wonderful amount of force. She was. . . heavenly. And such a dirty little girl. 

He was this close to taking advantage of her hair in his hand. Of pushing his cock in. His knuckles were pale, veins pulsating as he tried to restrain himself from doing just that. 

Her hand fisted the rest of his cock gently. 

Too gently. 

Oh.

His Y/n was a confident, cunning seductress out to hunt him and he was already bleeding on the ground for her. 

“More, Y/n.” 

He barely got the words out but the little minx looked up at him, removed his cock from her mouth, and looked at him all pretty with a coy smirk. “What?”

“Suck harder, sweetheart.” He repeated and brought his cock to her lips. And as soon as she opened her mouth, Azriel grabbed the back of her head and slammed in. 

Y/n was so fucking pretty as those teary eyes looked up at him. 

So fucking gorgeous. 

Nearly naked and on her knees. At his mercy. He hadn’t planned on a blowjob right now but whatever they were headed for better than anything he’d planned. 

All her whimpers and cries and her tears. And Azriel barely remembered that he wanted to come inside that sweet pussy first. 

He remembered how tightly she’d clenched around his fingers. Gods, he was going to enjoy claiming her. 

This beautiful woman, such a delicacy, he’d feast on her again and again. 

He’d ruin her so well. So thoroughly she’d never even look at another man.. 

Or maybe he’d crawl to her since his desperation was already established. 

But her mouth felt too good right now. Her face was so pretty as she struggled with his size, tears streaming down her cheeks. The look in her eyes made determined to unleash himself inside her pretty mouth. 

And he gave and gave and wanted to give more and more and but not now. 

He took out his cock, finally giving her enough time for breathing, and pulled her to her feet.

Fuck.

Fuck.

His Y/n. His woman. So fucking beautiful licking her lips. He had no other thought as he pulled her into a kiss. 

He wanted to breathe this woman into him. All of her essence, his and his only. 

With one hand grabbing her ass and the other buried in her thick hair supporting her head, Azriel asked. “That greedy for my cock, pretty girl?” 

“Why didn’t you come in my mouth?” She was gasping for air. 

“I plan to come in your pussy first. And when I want to, I’ll use your mouth. Is that clear?” But he kept looking at his lips, letting a thumb brush over them. 

He’d take that mouth. Azriel would fuck her in the shower like that. And then he’d beg on his knees for Y/n to one day wake him up with a blowjob. 

Y/n gave him a secret smile. He pulled her hair at the lack of an answer, baring her neck for his mouth. “Words, Y/n.”

“Yes, sir.” And any semblance of control he had was out of the window. 

****

Azriel threw her on the bed and wasted no time in hovering over her. Y/n knew calling him sir had done it. She’d seen his eyes darken and her pussy ached. 

Calling him sir seemed like the best idea she’d had recently. How much longer could she poke him before he fucked his life into her?

Azriel now kneeled at the side of the bed and she whined. His hands spread her for his convenience, threw her legs over his shoulders and he began feasting on her for the second time. 

Her panties were ripped to shreds and discarded somewhere she couldn’t care about.

“Hanhhh.” And if there’s anything Y/n could say confidently right now, it was that Azriel had a very wicked mouth and an even wicked tongue. 

His tongue moved over the slit, parted her, and easily found her clit as if he’d known her body for ages. He flicked her, teased her, again and again while her hands were clutching the sheets. 

Her impatience rose and so did her excitement. She was so close and it was so easy. She’d been sensitised after the first time he ate her out at the table. “Az!”

Her head turned to the side every now and then, eyes shut, and she was begging for relief. To be finished and Azriel was determinedly pursuing her. 

“Please, please, please, please, please.” Y/n cried loudly as she found her pleasure and shattered. 

She was numb from it all. And just when she thought she couldn’t feel anything more, Azriel hovered over her, parted her legs and settled between them. 

Y/n knew he was feral for her as he brought that delicious cock to her. She was aching, and absolutely ready to cry and scream if he began teasing instead of  fucking her properly. 

He closed in, bringing all of that heat with him to her breasts and abdomen. And he entered her surprisingly slowly. Azriel’s face displayed his pleasure—eyes shut tight, mouth open, quick breaths. 

Y/n was, in simple terms, being split apart. 

She took quick breaths, trying to cope with the pain and adjust to him. He was slowly sliding inside her, easing in. 

Gods, Azriel was actually keeping his promise of fucking all the air out of her. 

And fuck her all the way to her ass but Azriel looked way too alluring, lost out of his mind as pleasure enveloped in the form of her very own pussy. 

A sense of pride bloomed in her for being the cause of his pleasure. But the pain kept returning and kept melting away the more he pushed in. 

She didn’t realise that sex after a few months would hurt her. It didn’t matter how many fantasies she had of fictional characters or of random hot strangers. 

She felt herself become sensitive. Y/n could feel her nipples against his sweaty chest, the press of his hard muscle against her soft curves. 

And Azriel’s fingers began playing with a nipple while he sucked the other softly to ease her through it.  

When he was completely nestled inside her, the best of sensations overwhelmed her.

For all his dominance, Azriel continued to be considerate and greatly restrained as he entered her slowly. 

“Fuck.” The word sounded foreign to her due to its tone. He was now ready to let go. Y/n could feel it in his gaze, his warmth, and his touch. 

And once she’d relaxed and found her pleasure, Y/n called him. “More, please.”

“All okay?” He stopped his ministrations on her breasts and rose to meet her. 

This man now cradled her. And she loved it. And all her affections and desires for him became overwhelming and  she was close to crying with how insanely good she felt. 

“Yes. Move, Az.”

“Still greedy, I see.” He grinned wickedly, as if he was not sweating and desperate for her. Azriel pulled himself partially out of her cunt and she whined in complaint, not enjoying that. 

Now, Y/n was not a virgin. Neither in body nor in spirit. She’d read more than enough and explored less than enough and was curious to explore. 

And Azriel had a habit of empowering her in ways unknown. 

Her legs were spread apart to accommodate him and now, she wrapped them around his hips. 

A lustful groan escaped him when Y/n used her conjoined legs around his hips and pulled his cock further inside, moaning in satisfaction at the impact.

“You little demon.” His eyes blazed, acknowledging her lust for him and he thrusted in harshly, finding satisfaction in her moans. 

“Fill me up.” They were three words. Three mere words. And he’d unleashed himself on her. 

“I want you.” Another thrust. “Every.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Time.” 

“And yet hhhanggh-” Her nails were now digging into his back. “You tease aahngh too much.” 

“If you can speak, then I’m not doing my job so well.” Azriel removed himself from her. Y/n whined as he rose like a death god, dark and cruel, and removed his body and his heat away from her. 

His hands settled on her hips and he flipped her so her ass was in the air now. 

What was that? 

What the fuck was that?

Why was that so hot? 

Why was he- Y/n moaned when Azriel fucked into her in one smooth movement. 

She was clenching his cock tightly. He pushed her head into the pillows and leaned, warming her body with his own. “Hold the pillows tight.” 

And as he began to lose his control, his manners, and any sense of consideration, Y/n moaned and cried at his frenzied thrusts. 

She knew nothing else but his cock as he slammed into her repeatedly, fucking her like nothing less than an insatiable beast. 

Was she grabbing the sheets or the pillows? Y/n couldn’t comprehend or care for it. 

All she cared for was this man on his knees behind her, so thoroughly claiming his ownership of her, making every inch of her his. 

He was ensuring her body knew his grip on her hips, his cock in her pussy, his mouth on her neck, his breath against hers. 

And for all that he had teased her for this long. . . well, there was no teasing in what he was doing at the moment as he thrusted ferociously. 

She was crying again. Her eyes were hot and wet and the tears were already on the sheets. “Please.”

It was there. That spot he’d been wildly ramming into. Oh god, she was going to break. To crash into some place. 

It was dizzying as she neared it. 

“You like that?” She felt a harsh sting on her ass. He’d smacked her. She was probably reddening by now.

And when she didn’t answer, she felt his hand on her hair, wrapping it around his fist. Azriel pulled her hair, bringing Y/n easily up and his other hand wrapped around her throat to further support her against his chest. “Answer me.”

From this angle, she could see their conjoined shadow. Could see him pumping into her like a beast. Could see her breasts bounce wildly. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh fuck, yes!”

Azriel leaned towards her, the familiar feeling and warmth of his chest against her back so perfectly arched for him. 

“Such.” Thrust. “A.” Thrust. “Dirty.” Thrust. “Girl.” Thrust. “For me.” 

He was so close to her and even then she wasn’t satisfied. She wanted him ingrained in her being. His touch and warmth. 

The scent of sweat and sex was all around them. Azriel was still furiously thrusting his cock inside her and Y/n was blissfully moaning and falling and finally, she was shattering. 

Even then, Azriel refused to let her go. Refused to let her breathe as he continued fucking her into her orgasm and beyond. 

“No more.” Y/n wanted to breathe. At least for a while. But Azriel showed no signs of stopping. He continued to slam into her as if he hadn’t heard her at all. 

And she was just his to fuck and use as he pleased. She could only moan and cry. Tears flowed freely as she was brought to another orgasm made her tremble. 

Azriel made an lustful, inhumane sound like a roar or a growl as he came. She could feel him inside her, cock softening and their fluids running down her thighs. 

This was it. She’d never felt this perfect. This desirable. This sexy. And Azriel was there, making her feel all of it, prompting her to believe it. 

But when he removed himself from her, she cried. She was now frustratingly empty. 

Y/n only felt his hands gently embrace her as he settled her down. He wrapped the blanket over her and moved around a bit. 

She felt his hands on her inner thighs with something cool. “Sweetheart, let me clean you up.” 

And she felt the cool and tender graze of intimate wipes in her inner thighs. 

Y/n watched him and brought a hand to his cheek. He looked at her and she felt so comfortable. And so loved and cherished. This was surely a dream, wasn’t it?

She smiled and Azriel kissed her lips. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Forty seconds.”

“Thirty.” Azriel pulled back and did something and something. Y/n had closed her eyes, drifting away to blissful sleep. 

Footsteps sounded and he’d probably left the room. She didn’t keep count of the seconds but he was back by her side soon. She looked at him with a tired smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Azriel adjusted all the blankets and tucked them both in cosily. 

“Did you lock your door?” 

“Yeah. I just checked.” So that’s why he’d left the room. 

“And the lights?” He joined her in bed, entering the blanket and kissing her forehead. 

“All switched off.” Y/n felt his hand on her cheek and his body come closer to her. 

“Good.” She closed her eyes and snuggled closer, relishing in his warmth. “How are you?”

“I’m great. How are you?” Gods, he was so perfect. Was there any need for this much perfection in one person? 

He switched off the bedroom lights and laid down properly on the bed, her body finding comfort in his steady warmth.  

“I’m great.” She couldn’t stop smiling. Was that bad? She liked him, didn’t she? And maybe, he liked her too. 

“Come closer, Az.” She invited, extending a hand that found his chest. Azriel took it immediately and moved closer. 

And yet, she felt that he was definitely not close enough. Y/n caressed his hand with her fingers. 

“Close enough?” He asked so softly, she could’ve fallen asleep. This man exuded warmth and something so powerful yet gentle. 

“Not nearly.” She whispered, arching her back so her breasts would be pressed even more against his chest. Y/n draped an arm around his midsection and brought herself closer.

She craned her neck and moved forward to kiss whatever part of him that her lips would touch. It was probably his jaw from the bone structure she felt. 

Azriel leaned forward, his hands wrapping around her waist and he gently kissed her forehead. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“It’s dark in here.” Y/n felt something wrap drop over her body like a veil. And it was easy to find peace in his arms and drift away to sleep.

“Doesn’t make you any less beautiful.”

****

Taglist:

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[yaymiyas]

ISEKAI!YANDERE!CROWN PRINCE INTRODUCTION

warning: female reader, his name is saer…just so you can follow a bit lol, isekai lol

a/n: it’s structured a bit differently than my other introductions, do note that yes this is x reader but you had gotten isekai’d into a novel so….i do say her name but…..you’re also you…..if that makes sense, also he is hardly in it but its like….an introduction to the story bc its…an isekai and i needed to layout how i wanted everything to be

its not like you didn’t realize something was up. bright white lights blind you right when you open your eyes. maids coming in and out, calling you ‘miss’ and telling you not to sit up because ‘it will harm you even more’. granted, you were very thankful for their words because, around ten minutes before they came in, you attempted to sit up and gave yourself a headache. even though nobody was explaining anything, you remained quiet, trying to gather as much information from the surrounding maids as possible. the red-haired one with tight curls and an everlasting smile was amanda. she seemed to like you much, more than the other two, and tended to you more carefully. maybe she was your personal maid,or maybe she was just good at her job, but she never let up and called you your ‘name’.

admittedly, none of the other two maids called you your ‘name’ either. it was all just ma’am or miss from them. you just expected a hint of your identity from amanda, based solely on her care for you. selfish? maybe but you needed more hints. the other maids are named cynthia and tilly. the former of the two had long black hair slicked into a low bun, with a small maids hair on top to finish the look. it was a cute detail, if you must say, since the other two didn’t wear them. cynthia hardly spoke above a shout, coming off as more soft-spoken than the other two. she wasn’t really rude, nor did she have an attitude while tending to you, but she wore an expression of indifference that made you think she would rather do anything else.

tilly, on the other hand, was more bold than the other two. still not outwardly rude, but she tested your patience a few times. the main one that got to you though, was when she was rubbing your face. while she was washing off your face with the washcloth, she rubbed against your cheeks too hard, and upon this ‘realization’ she gave you a malevolent grin. her thin lips formed an o shape, mimicking the action of saying ‘oops’. luckily, it seemed as if amanda and cynthia didn’t really care for this ‘prank’ of hers. they both scoffed in disgust, continuing to pick out outfits for me to wear for the day ahead.

a soft but stern knock was heard at the door, revealing a man with black slick back hair and yellow eyes to put the look all together. he reminded you of those webtoon male leads that were cold but female audiences loved. being a sucker for those types, you raised your neck up, making sure to keep your body in the same supine position. the man standing at the foot of your bed looked down at you with an expression that you couldn’t read. an expression that wasn’t scary but wasnt welcoming. tapping along the footboard of the bed, he let out a low sigh out that resembled a growl and turned around to leave. tilly, amanda, and cynthia didn’t acknowledge the man. neither did he to them. the only thing that could resemble an interaction between the four of them was when tilly and amanda gave small bows and the slight side eye cynthia gave before going back inside your closet to look for something.

“madam,”

thats a new one.

“lord saer would like you to have breakfast with him today.”

lifting your head enough to turn your focus towards amanda, you started to guess your facial expression was a bit too expressive because amanda started to giggle. the pain in your body wasn’t really high; it was more the numbness that bothered you. moving your neck and head didn’t really take much strength, it was attempting to move your legs that was the problem. walking towards you in a shift movement, amanda placed the rich, deep purple hair piece down on top of the dress set she had picked out for you. upon arrival, she softly removed your blanket and shifted your body into a sitting position. you felt like a doll.

“okay now miss, i will be lifting you up to wash you now.”

placing her right arm underneath the backs of your knees and her left arm supporting your neck, she quickly moved you to the area you’re assuming was the bathroom. the door to the large room was already open, since once she had lifted you up, cynthia had pushed the door open and walked in herself. the room was massive, twice the size of a normal person’s kitchen. the walls and floor tiles were both the same shade of pale pink, matching the sleeping set you had on. amanda sat you down in a chair and started to strip you down. while she was doing that, the other was running the bath water and testing if it was safe enough. every time the water was a bit too hot or too cold, you saw cynthia’s eyes squeeze shut.

“alright madam edina,”

cynthia sighed, standing up from the clam shaped tub.

“it’s all set for you. please do not make it hard as you have always done.”

not sparing you even a small look, she and amanda were already picking you up and guiding you into the tub. quietly instructing you to lay back, wet, cold liquid found its way both on your scalp and on your legs. edina? are you sure thats what she said? the only edina you knew of was the villainess from the hit novel “obsession falls”. you never really read the book, but you knew of the characters and the content that surrounded it. it was rather controversial for how obsessive and dangerous the male lead was. he had stalked the female lead for years, and it didn’t stop once he got married. with a wife so dismissive and uninterested, the male lead was given all the time in the world to go hunt his prey.

unfortunately for him, once edina randomly started to care about what her husband was doing during the day he had to slowly stop. losing the love of his life to the second male lead, alastair. due to this very random string of events, saer had grown irritated by the events his wife was clumsily stringing together. he then decided to take care of his wife, edina. the night before he was to go and kill alastair, he had poisoned the dinner he had helped make for his wife. from your memory, this was one of the few times in years he had asked his wife to sit at the table and eat with him. she would usually just take her food into her room separately. this night, edina came into the dining room with her most expensive jewelry and dress. she thought this was the night her husband was going to admit his faults and leave the female lead for her. however, what actually ended up happening was that the moment she took a bite out of her steak, her vision went black and her head banged on the table.

focusing on the soft brushes of your hair, you start to put the pieces together. you don’t remember the faces of any of the characters in the story, you just remember the basic blot and conflict. if what cynthia said was true, that you are in fact edina tudor gwynn then that means the reasoning for your stiff body was because of your ‘husband’ trying to kill you. sharply sucking in some air, you seek strength within your legs. even though the lower half of your body was still partially numbed, the feeling of pins and needles filled the tip of your toes to the back of your knees. not wanting to cause much of a scene, even though you were sure she wouldn’t care much, you looked up to check to see if your maid was paying you any mind. cynthia was too focused on rinsing your body, while amanda stopped brushing your hair to grab towels for you.

“cynthia,”

it was amazing how you could even get that out. due to the affects of the poison, your throat had become overly dry and it hurt you to even swallow. that was mainly one of the reasons as to why you hardly spoke to them this morning. stopping in her tracks, she lazily turned her head into your direction. the woman didn’t have much of any emotion on her face. her eyelids halfway down, making it appear that she was tired or just bored. her lips were in a thin line. you had hardly seen her smile or really speak, so you started to believe this was just how her resting face looked like.

“why did he poison me?”

tilting her head a bit, cynthia’s facial expression changed. it was as if your question intrigued her. her low eyelids raised a bit, along side her eyebrows, as she tried to tame the smile that was creeping on her thin lips. this was the most expressive you have ever seen her. she began to part her lips when amanda came back through the door with the towels.

“perhaps this conversation will need to be revisited, my lady.”

[uchizana]

SPARK

synopsis: in a whirlwind romance, a seemingly perfect relationship is shattered when jealousy rears its head, revealing minjeong’s unsettling obsessions and igniting a battle for sanity between love and darkness.

pairing: toxic girlfriend! minjeong x girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s): fire (uhm yeah...), jealousy, manipulation, toxic relationship, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, victimhood, violence. (let me know if I missed something!!)

word count: 7,2k (i had to rewrite it because my docs hates me and for some reason deleted the file where i had the original work... anyways this version is very similar.)

aespa masterlist.

your relationship with minjeong was complicated.

at first, the world appeared pastel and soft, built on hues of affection and endless laughter. 

you remember the early days clearly — she was the kind of girlfriend who would take you out on dates every weekend,how she would surprise you with breathtaking bouquets, each more vibrant than the last. there were daisies, peonies, and delicate lilies, transforming corners of your home into a floral wonderland. your place started to resemble a botanical garden, petals spilling into every corner, their sweet scents blending with the memories of her laughter.

minjeong had a gift for warmth; there were times when she gazed at you as if you were a novel she could read forever, showering you with compliments that seemed to ebb and flow like the tides; “you look so beautiful today,” she would say, even on days when you hadn’t left the house or merely tied it into a messy bun. she would compliment you even when you forgot to fix your hair or wore an old hoodie. 

her sweet, simple gestures spoke volumes—kissing you on the knuckles, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, and watching you intently when you spoke like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered. sometimes, she’d slip her hands into your pockets while you two held hands, wanting to keep your fingers warm when you forgot your gloves in winter. everything felt right, perfect.

but then, like a sudden storm cloud obscuring a clear sky, everything shifted. the first crack in your fairy tale surfaced when life’s mundane obligations got in the way of love.  one fateful weekend, you had to make a choice — a subject looming over your head like a dark shadow. with an important exam creeping ever closer, you found yourself compelled to cancel your much-anticipated date night with her. the guilt settled heavily in your stomach as you dialed her number, knowing how much she’d been looking forward to it.

“hey minjeong, i’m really sorry…” you started, your palms sweaty around the phone. “i can’t make it this weekend. i need to study. it’s this exam, and—”

nerves consume you, leaving you speechless. there was a long pause on the line. you could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind.

“it’s okay,” she finally said, her voice tight. “don’t worry about it,” her voice chimed back, light yet edged with something you couldn’t pinpoint. “good luck with your studies.” 

there was an unsettling dissonance lurked beneath the surface, leading you to believe she was fighting back something more than disappointment.

“i'm really sorry, baby. i promise i'll make it up to you as soon as possible.” you assure her, feeling the guilt eating away at you and making you feel bad, even when you weren't doing anything wrong other than putting your studies first.

“i told you not to worry about it. i understand, it seems that right now your studies are more important than your girlfriend, i get it.”

you didn’t miss the subtleties in her tone; the tension that suggested she was biting back words that didn’t fit into her kind demeanor.

“anyways, i'll hang up right now. i'll leave you to study in peace.”

however, judging by her tone of voice, you’d swear she was tapping the inside of her cheek with her tongue to keep from blurting out what she was really thinking.

of course, that’s how it was. you used that weekend to study, but there were a couple of changes along the way. you ended up meeting at a friend’s house to study. she told you that she had knowledge of the subject since her sister was studying the same subjects at university and spent nights and nights studying, so inevitably your friend ended up listening to her sister study, whether she wanted to or not, memorizing more knowledge than she anticipated.

you were focused on studying, hair tied in a messy bun, books and notebooks scattered all over the table, along with pencils and empty coffee cups. your friend thought it was kind of funny to see you so focused on studying when most of the time you never studied for tests or even put a pencil down in class, so she had no better idea than to take a photo when you weren’t looking.

you were deep in the grasp of equations and theories when your friend, in a mischievous moment, snapped a photo of you. you had been so absorbed that you hadn’t sensed her reach for her phone.

as she clicked the shutter, the light captured you: hair a mess, scribbles sprawled across your notebook, a look of fierce concentration. unbeknownst to you, that seemingly harmless moment cascaded into something monumental. your friend, having the joys of social media at her fingertips, instantly uploaded it to her instagram stories, a lighthearted snapshot of you crushing it at studying.

minjeong was home, idly watching television, when her phone buzzed, instantly receiving the notification that your friend had made a post seconds ago. why she had notifications from your friends activated and how she managed to get updates in real-time? well, that was a secret better left unsaid. you knew that she followed your friends closely, but you never thought much of it. that was her way of staying connected, of knowing what you were up to, as if weaving a delicate thread between you, even from afar. but this thread snapped when she clicked on the notification.

within moments, minjeong sat frozen in her living room, her heart racing. she glanced at the photo on her phone: you, hair piled haphazardly, surrounded by crumpled papers and empty coffee cups, looking like you were about to conquer an academic mountain. but it wasn’t only that. in the background, through the window, she could see your friend's house, ryujin’s house. the instant flash of jealousy sparked inside her—a gut-wrenching twist of envy that she fought to suppress.

the blossoming rage was immediate and insatiable. she nearly smashed her phone against the wall, leaving it to dangle dangerously from her fingertips, all shatters and anger. seconds felt like hours as her mind raced, spiraling through anger and betrayal with dizzying speed. 

her hand trembled, tightening around the phone as she scanned the comments already popping up, friends praising your focus, others playfully teasing you. each word only fueled the fire in her chest. the image replayed in her mind, vivid and cruel, making her heart race. what had she allowed to slip while you studied with another girl—so effortlessly immersed in the comfort of your friendship while she was left behind?

minjeong felt a sudden jolt of irritation surge through her. the kind that ignited flames of a insane jealousy. the realization that you were spending time with someone else, not just anyone, but with someone who was so visibly present in your life. someone who had now become a part of this moment you were sharing without her. it felt like betrayal—the photos intended to capture your essence instead felt like reminders of her absence.

what did it mean that you were there, alone with her? had you been telling her the truth this whole time about studying together? or had you grown tired of her and her little quirks? it felt like betrayal, visceral and raw. how did her sister's extra study sessions become her own?

in a rise of frustration, she silenced her phone, the sound echoing like a decision reverberating through her thoughts. she tossed it onto the couch and stood there, still as a statue. the warmth of the living room seemed to suffocate her, and her mind whirled with conflicting emotions. without thinking, she grabbed her jacket from where it hung and impulsively marched out of her apartment, slamming the door behind her—her heart racing as the chill of the evening air surrounded her.

where are you going? the question echoed in her mind as she stepped onto the city streets, her breath misting before her in the winter chill. she didn’t know where to go; the cold wind cut through her, much like the realization of what she felt inside. she was filled with confusion, anger, and hurt, questions swirling around her like the fallen leaves.

what if you didn’t want her anymore? what if this was just the beginning of something spiraling out of control? the images of you studying with someone else, laughing and flirting, ignited feelings she hadn’t felt in a long time.

maybe she was overreacting? the right words swirled out of reach, tangled in the threads of her heart. she played back memories—each sweet moment together battling with the icy reality of this new picture, this betrayal. she questioned every second they had spent together, every revelation she had quietly harbored about her feelings for you. you—who were supposed to be her source of happiness, now felt like a threat, a source of pain.

your walk back home is peaceful. the cold breeze of early winter kisses your face, sending tiny shivers down your spine. luckily, you have your coat on, its fabric a comforting barrier against the chill wrapping around the city. 

the faint glow of street lamps illuminated the sidewalk, their lights flickering like distant stars against a darkening sky. the scent of fallen leaves mingles with the faint aroma of smoke from distant chimneys, creating a vivid tapestry of autumn giving way to winter. you found comfort in the rhythm of your footsteps, each echo resonating against the chill of the night air.

as you reached the entrance of the building where you lived, you noticed a profound silence enveloping the space. the usual sounds—the laughter of neighbors, the creaking of doors, the faint hum of life—are conspicuously absent.

normally, you would hear the hum of distant conversations, the clatter of heels on the tile floors, or the soft notes of music drifting from neighbors' open doors. but tonight, the only sound was the faint rustle of your coat as you shuffled inside.

a strange feeling settled over your shoulders, as if the air itself was holding its breath, the kind that prickles at the base of your neck, whispering that something isn't quite right and making you sense that something was amiss. 

you pause for a moment, scanning the darkened hallway, but sigh and shake it off. it’s late, after all; perhaps everyone is tucked away, hibernating in their cozy nests.

you pressed the button for the elevator, the ding echoing through the stillness. as it ascended, an unsettling sense of unease crept in. you can’t even hear the faint sounds of other apartments—the muffled TV shows, the soft laughter, and the rhythmic background of city life. even the elevator seemed to hold its breath, devoid of the usual creaks and groans. you wondered if everyone around you had decided to vanish, leaving you as the sole inhabitant of this quiet realm.

the ascent felt slower than usual, the stillness heightened by the lack of familiar sounds. the soft whir of the machinery felt almost alien in this quiet atmosphere. just when you start to feel anxious, the elevator dings, announcing your arrival at your floor, but you feel unnerved, looking forward to the ordinary chaos of your apartment.

stepping out onto your floor, you adjusted your scarf and made your way down the hallway. rummaging through your bag for your keys, your thoughts wandered to what you’d studied at ryujin’s place earlier. it had been a late session, fueled by coffee and late-night snacks, and a part of you regretted not sending a text to let Minjeong know.

just as you were about to lose yourself in that thought, you felt a sudden grip on your wrist. startled, your heart raced as the hallway light flickered on, illuminating the figure of minjeong standing there, her expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“where have you been?” minjeong’s voice pierced the silence, echoing off the walls. her expression was layered with concern and something deeper—something that sent a shiver down your spine. in an instant, the hallway light flickered on, casting a warm glow that seemed almost foreign amidst the encroaching shadows.

you turned, wide-eyed, the knot in your stomach tightening. “minjeong? what are you doing here? it’s late.”

she narrowed her eyes, and the tension in the air thickened. “i could ask you the same thing. why were you out so late?”

you took a breath, felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through you. “i told you i would use this weekend to prepare for my exam, remember? ryujin offered to help me study.” you explained, exasperated. “i forgot to tell you that i was going to her house to study, i’m sorry. but we had a big exam coming up.” you could feel the frustration bubbling beneath your skin, but you tried to keep your voice calm.

minjeong’s frown deepened, her arms crossing over her chest. you could see the gears of her mind shifting, grappling with what you’d just said. yes, she knew you were with ryujin, but verbalizing it seemed to ignite something within her, bringing out the demon of jealousy.

“just studying?” she pressed, her tone laced with skepticism. “how late were you planning on staying?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished. “you could’ve at least texted me, you know. i was worried!”

you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to keep your voice even. “i’m really sorry; i lost track of time. but you know ryujin is just a friend. we were going over notes, that’s all!”

her voice trailed off, eyes narrowing as jealousy crept into her words. “you’re always with her.”

“it’s just study stuff, minjeong!” you insisted, somewhat defensively. “you know you’re the one i care about.”

her fingers dug into your wrist as she leaned closer, her face betraying a tempest of emotions. “i can’t help it! i just— i don’t like this feeling!”

“feeling what?” you replied, bewildered. the tension crackling between you was palpable, each word finding its mark like arrows in a target as you both circled each other like wary opponents. “i’ll always choose you, minjeong. i just really needed to study.”

huffily, she crosses her arms, her fingers pressing her coat into her skin as if it were a shield. “it’s not about studying! it’s about you being inconsiderate. you could’ve called,” she huffs dramatically.

you feel a wave of frustration surge through you, but you brace yourself against it. “minjeong, you didn’t have to worry. i’m safe, and besides, i didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” your attempt at reason is met with a silence that hangs heavy in the air, tension crackling between you like static.

“safe?” she scoffs incredulously, her eyes narrowing. “you’re out with some girl at her place! i don’t want to sound controlling, but why would you put yourself in that situation without telling me? you could at least consider my feelings.”

“minjeong…” you feel the energy drain from your voice. the conversation is taking an unexpected turn. she knows you well enough to trust you, doesn’t she? you reach out to touch her arm, but she flinches away, retreating into her own anxieties.

“just let me into the apartment,” you plead, desperate to talk this out in private. something inside you hopes that they won’t spiral further into an explosive confession of jealousy and insecurities.

yet she shakes her head resolutely. “not until you explain why i should trust you when you’re out with another girl,” she insists, the fight in her voice wavering but ultimately holding firm.

after much hesitation, you manage to soothe the atmosphere. “i have no feelings for ryujin. our relationship is just a friendship. you're the one i love.”

eventually, after tired back-and-forth, she mutters, “... fine. i’m sorry for overreacting, but i just can’t help worrying… it’s not like anyone really talks to me about these things.” her voice softens, and you recognize that vulnerability; she’s slipping into her victim role again.

you try holding her gaze, searching for the truth behind her words. “it’s okay; i get it. just try to trust me a little more, alright?”

ninjeong smiles hesitantly, but the shadows of her doubts linger in her eyes like a storm cloud threatening to break. you unlock the door and let her into your apartment, unsure of what the night will unfold. the warmth of the living space is inviting, but the tension of the moment casts a longer shadow than you anticipated.

unbeknownst to you, this moment was just the beginning of something that had rooted itself deep in your relationship with minjeong—a well-meaning storm, brewed from jealousy and care, that would spiral and churn in ways neither of you could predict. as she brushes past you into the living room, you reluctantly realize what lies ahead may be more challenging than you’d hoped for.

the argument felt small at first, a mere bump in the road of your otherwise blissful relationship with minjeong. but as the days wore on, it became apparent that the little fight had unlocked something within her, something dark and volatile. the initial infraction—her jealousy over a casual conversation you had with a mutual friend—had spiraled into an endless cycle of blame and resentment.

you still recall the way her eyes had narrowed as she listened, her lips pressed into a tight line. that soft laugh you loved so much had been replaced by a chilling silence. what used to be playfully teasing turned into a gaze that bore down on you, probing, analyzing, judging; it felt like the weight of her disappointment was crushing your chest. once sweet and affectionate, she transformed into someone you hardly recognized—her demeanor twisted, like a pretty piece of art slowly warping into a grotesque figure and you wondered if you even recognized the girl you had fallen in love with.

you found it hard to breathe the first time she turned that silence on you after the argument. sitting across from each other at a cafe, the usual warmth in her gaze had vanished, replaced by an unsettling intensity. you looked everywhere but into her eyes, tracing patterns in the wooden table with your fingers. you could feel her stare, piercing and relentless.

“do you think she likes you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with an edge that made your stomach churn.

“who?” you notice that minjeong's gaze is no longer meeting yours, but is directed elsewhere across the room. you follow her gaze, and you understand what she means; a few tables away is your friend yizhuo, having breakfast and chatting with a friend of hers.

you exhaled slowly, hoping calm would drown the anxiety rising in your chest.

“don’t play coy,” she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. “you know exactly who i’m talking about. is it really that hard to be honest with me?”

the argument blossomed, each word a petal of bitterness, eventually curling into a thorny reality. you didn’t understand where all this jealousy came from, nor did you grasp why her feelings conveyed so much potency. minjeong used to be the gentle spirit, the one who found beauty in everything—even in the world of people. now, she was the tempest, and you were ensnared within it.

but that wasn’t the end; it was merely the first act in an ongoing tragedy. the discussions didn’t stop. they became a staple of your daily life, an unwanted rhythm that resonated through your days. one friday night, a group of friends decided to gather at a local bar. laughter echoed through the walls, familiar warmth wrapped around you like an old blanket, but not for minjeong.

"are you even listening to me?" she snapped one evening during the dinner with her friends, her voice slicing through the laughter surrounding you like a knife. you had been chatting and catching up with your friends, oblivious to the thundercloud brewing in her mind.

"of course, i am," you replied earnestly, but the damage was done. the disapproval etched across her face was enough to ruin the mood. moments later, she dragged you outside under the pretense of needing air, her grip on your arm like steel.

"what's wrong with you? you've been ignoring me ever since we got here.” she demanded, her voice low but frigid.

you sighed, your heart racing. "it was just a conversation. i didn't mean to upset you."

"you should know better," she hissed, her eyes flashing. “you and your friends always do this. you want to hurt me, don't you?”

the phrase was confusing; what in the world made her think you would ever want to hurt her? yet every rational thought fell away, and you found yourself backpedaling, desperate to soothe the storm brewing within her.

“minjeong, please. i value you and our time together. you know that,” you pleaded.

she just gives you one last look, walking back into the bar, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

you should have known she wouldn’t be willing to play nice. midway through the first round of drinks, you saw it—the familiar grimace twisting her features as she watched you engage in conversation with jimin, a longtime friend. you felt minjeong’s eyes digging into you like daggers, even as a lighthearted joke made jimin laugh. the sweet sound cut you off—no more jokes, no more laughter. as the night progressed and the alcohol flowed, minjeong's attitude simmered, eventually boiling over.

“can we leave?” she demanded, standing abruptly. Ignoring the pile of half-finished drinks and clinking glasses, she grabbed your wrist, her grip hard enough to bruise. you glanced around, trying to gauge the group's reactions, but most were busy enjoying the night. you caught jimin's concerned look—a silent plea for you to stay, but minjeong wouldn’t hear it.

“minjeong, can we just relax for a moment?” you attempted to reason with her, but the storm was too loud, and the chaos was all-consuming.

“no!” she yelled, the intensity of it drawing eyes toward your table. your heart sank; a familiar humiliation washed over you. together, you walked out into the harsh night, the cool air doing little to calm your rising anxiety.

“what the hell was that about?” you asked, your voice strained.

“why were you flirting with her? you were practically hanging off her every word!” minjeong's dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with an unhinged fury. it terrified you. ot wasn't the minjeong you fell in love with, but rather a version twisted by insecurities you couldn’t massage away.

“i wasn’t flirting!” you insisted. “you’re being unreasonable. everybody was just having fun!”

“fun for you, maybe,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “i suppose it’s fun to watch you toy with someone else’s feelings.”

each syllable that slipped from her lips cut deeper than the last, practically shredding at your shared history. you tried to calm her down, stammering words of reassurance, but her only response was a silence so deafening it echoed.

from that point on, things escalated to new heights, a spiraling mess of fights that felt more reminiscent of a battle than the love you had once shared. just a few days later, at a small diner down the street, the situation hit a new low. as the waitress placed the tray on the table, you turned just in time to see her chuckling at something, probably because she thought it was adorable how you misread the name of your coffee when ordering earlier—a routine occurrence that had never bothered minjeong before. perhaps it was the way you returned the smile, or the lingering moment that stretched too long, but something snapped inside her.

the laughter was innocent; the exchange friendly. yet, to minjeong, it was tantamount to treachery.

“let’s go,” she said suddenly, her voice flat.

“what? but we just sat down!” you exclaimed, confusion mixing with exasperation. you detected the faintest tremble in her lips, a prelude to a full-blown tantrum.

“... did you say "but"? seriously?” she questioned, fury painting her voice. you barely had a chance to register the words before minjeong swept her arm across the table, sending the coffee cup crashing to the floor, splattering the waitress and staining the ground with bitterness.

“i’m so sorry!” you blurted, mortification flooding through you as you scrambled to your feet. the waitress stood stunned, and in that moment, your heart shattered into pieces. you apologized repeatedly while trying to help clean the mess, feeling Minjeong’s simmering rage heat the air around you.

“let’s just go,” she demanded, her eyes burning with fury as if challenging you to argue. but deep down, you were terrified of what she might do next. 

she stormed out, leaving you behind to pay for a meal that hadn’t touched your lips but felt heavier than any weight you had ever lifted. you left a generous tip, hoping to at least make amends for minjeong’s volatile behavior, but shame mixed with the taste of your muffled indignation as you left the café.

as you stepped out into the chilly evening air, the weight of it all crashed down on you. you briefly glanced back into the diner to catch a glimpse of minjeong. she stood there, a silhouette against the light, arms crossed, focused on something entirely beyond you. the realization crashed into you like a swift wave—you were lost in a relationship that had morphed into something toxic, a cycle of blame, punishment, and endless misunderstanding.

days of fighting would follow, each one leaving you increasingly drained. you learned to navigate carefully around her feelings, tiptoeing through conversations, wrestling with the fear of provoking another outburst. apologizing became a daily ritual, but it was a fool’s game, as though you were playing chess with a master who already knew all your moves.

nothing you did seemed to satisfy her, and every time you tried to stand your ground, she would employ that give-and-take tactic, leaving you scrambling to retrieve whatever ounce of affection you could salvage.

"you never understand what i need from you!" she'd cry, casting you a withering glare designed to pierce your heart.

you started dreading the moments you once cherished: evenings spent binge-watching shows, the casual strolls in the park, the intimate whispers shared in candle-lit corners of your favorite café. they all became tainted by her increasing paranoia and fury. in those moments, you didn’t catch a glimpse of the girl you fell for; instead, you stared back at a stranger who seemed to lose herself deeper in a well of insecurity with each fight.

what could you say to her to bridge the widening chasm? you wondered quietly if calling her out would work. but it always ended the same.

even in the stillness of your home, you could feel the shadows of her disappointment lurking. sometimes, as you lay in bed, you swore you could hear their whispers, taunting you to spur another confrontation. a ghost of the life you’d built together haunted your dreams, resurfacing in disorienting fragments where laughter hid behind walls built from distrust and rage.

to think, this all started with a simple argument. you sometimes daydreamed of how different your life could be without this turmoil, wondering nervously what life would look like if you weren't continuously tiptoeing around the storm that now defined your relationship with minjeong.

but in the end, naive hope lingered, refusing to extinguish despite the tempest that raged around you. you wanted to believe that one day, she would look at you with warmth restored, rather than that silent judgment that twisted her from within. you held on—because even through the tumult and the strife, there were threads of love that still remained, fragile and uncertain as they wove your lives together, if just for the moment.

the engine hums softly, a white noise glazed over with tension, as you sit in the passenger seat of minjeong’s car. the world outside the window is an endless parade of trees, stretching far enough to feel infinite, but you can’t look away from the gnawing uncertainty that festers in your chest. the conversation that should have been had weeks ago hovers between you, palpable and toxic. as the cityscape fades into desolation, the weight of your relationship stretches thin, hanging by a thread.

you take a deep breath, your chest constricting as you prepare yourself for what you know must be said. conversations about love and loss echo in your mind, gnawing at your resolve. when minjeong’s hand rests on your thigh, a gesture once sweet and comforting, it now feels nearly suffocating. the warmth dissipates under the coolness of your apprehension.

“minjeong, can we talk?” you finally utter, your voice catching slightly in your throat, sounding smaller than you intended.

“what’s up?” she replies, her gaze fixed on the road ahead, though her grip tightens around the wheel.

you hesitate, glancing out the side window at the rushing landscape, the deep green blurring past. “it’s just… i don’t feel that spark anymore,” you say, the words feeling like stones tumbling down a cliff. instantly, the air thickens with disbelief, and you can’t bear to meet her eyes, now glinting with uncertainty in the rearview mirror.

“what do you mean you don’t feel the spark?” she questions with an edge of panic, her tone shifting from casual to razor-sharp, slicing through the tension thickening in the car.

the argument spirals from there, each of you grappling for the upper hand, your voices rising dangerously. you can barely process the words spilling from your mouth as you try to articulate your truth. her eyes flicker with hurt and rage, and you can almost feel the hair on your arms standing on end, bristling under the weight of her indignation.

“there’s something fundamentally broken between us, minjeong! i don’t know who we are anymore!” you’re shouting now, and a rush of adrenaline floods your body.

“i can’t believe you think this is all my fault!” she fires back, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly, and you dig your heels into the ground, a jolt of panic coursing through you as the pavement blurs into a double line.

“just focus on driving!” you shout, but it’s too late. you hear her breath hitch, the silence that follows layered thick with unshed tears and suppressed rage. “minjeong, please—”

suddenly, without warning, she jerks the wheel to the side, bringing the car to a sudden stop on the desolate roadside. dust swirls around in the golden glow of late afternoon, the world stilled around you, as if holding its breath along with you.

“what did you just say?” she repeats, her voice trembling with disbelief. her expression morphs, the initial hurt twisting into something darker, and even more frightening.

the air thickens, and you realize you’ve stepped too far. you don’t even recognize the fury in her eyes as she unbuckles her seatbelt and throws the door open, storming out into the open air. your heart races as her figure becomes small against the vastness of the road.

“minjeong, wait!” you call after her, moving to open your own door, only to find you’re locked inside. panic sets in as the automatic locks click ominously, sealing you in with your spiraling thoughts. you pound your fists against the window, frustration clawing at you.

“minjeong!” you shout, trying to wrangle her attention, your voice quaking. she stumbles into your peripheral vision, her back toward you, shoulders taut. then, in an instant, she disappears. heart pounding, you swivel around, confusion spilling into fear.

that’s when you see it. the unmistakable sheen of liquid splattering against the windshield, an eerie reflection of your horror mirrored in the glass. the smell is pungent, and your heart drops as you grasp what is happening.

“minjeong, don’t!” you scream, desperation clawing at your throat, but she doesn't seem to hear you. she is lost to whatever abyss has consumed her; the girl you once knew has vanished.

the gasoline coats the car, pooling in strange little rivulets that trace the car’s contours as minjeong stands in front of you, lost in a trance. a match flickers in her fingers, its flame dancing dangerously close to your cloud of panic. she holds it delicately, her expression unreadable—caught between rage and an eerie calm.

“watch,” she whispers, her voice almost saccharine, but there’s an undertone that sends chills racing through you. “this will bring the spark back, i promise.”

in one quick motion, she tosses the match into the pool of gasoline. time slows; the world compresses into a singular moment of fate sealing itself. 

your heart pounds against your ribs as the flames erupt, turning the world outside into a hellish kaleidoscope of oranges and reds. minjeong’s eyes glimmer with a wildness, a furious passion that you had long thought was reserved for love. it was intoxicating, but now it feels more like poison. the air around you thickens with fumes, panic rising in your throat as you grasp the reality of your situation. she’s gone off the deep end, and you’re trapped inside her fiery cage.

you slam on the windows with both fists, the sound muffled and desperate. “minjeong! open the door!” your voice is panicked, twisting into a shout that echoes through the confines of the vehicle. at first, she appears unfazed, a haunting smirk dancing on her lips. the atmosphere is electric—dangerous and exhilarating—yet your thoughts betray you, reminding you of the dull ache that has settled between you like an invisible rift.

your heart races as the flames erupt, engulfing the car and devouring the serenity that had once swirled between you and minjeong. the acrid scent of smoke fills the small space, mingling with the gasoline that blankets every surface. you pound on the glass, your fists an echo of disbelief and desperation, but minjeong just stares at you, a wild light in her eyes—a far cry from the sweet girl you once held in your arms.

as the flames lick at the trunk and crawl toward the driver’s seat, the heat creeps in, threatening to suffocate you. but more than the heat, it is the sight of her, standing there like a goddess of vengeance, that haunts your mind. where did the girl you love go? the girl who would curl up on the couch with you, giggling at inside jokes, the one who held your hand tightly on late nights?

“minjeong! stop!” your voice is hoarse, but the urgency rings clear. fear gnaws at you, and instinct pushes you to escape. you claw at the doors, your fingers dancing over the locks, but they don't budge. locked. the word loops in your mind, almost too much to bear.

she takes a step back, hitting the pause button on the chaos she has ignited. with trembling hands, you watch her, searching for a glimmer of recognition in her features, something that would remind you of the girl who laughed at your silly jokes and filled your weekends with warmth. Instead, you see a stranger, one who stands poised at the edge of insanity, her smile a grotesque mask on her face.

“did you really think you could just push me aside so easily?” she sneers, the smile twisting into something ugly. “you think you can just extinguish what we had—what i feel?”

you open your mouth to respond, but your breath catches as the fire flickers and dances, threatening to reach through the windshield. the world outside is muted now, as though the encroaching flames siphon away all sound. “minjeong, i care about you! i didn’t mean it like that!” you lean forward, the moisture in your eyes blurring the edges of her silhouette.

“care about me?” she echoes mockingly, the words dripping like venom. “it’s too late for that!” Her laughter rings hollow, shrill against the ominous crackling of fire.

and suddenly, she lunges forward, banging on the glass with the same frantic fervor that fills your chest. “you don’t see it, do you? this is the spark! you killed it! you have no idea what you’ve lost!”

hot tears mingle with the smoke that begins to creep in. panic swells; you lean back against the seat, the metal frame hot against your skin. “please, minjeong! we can talk about this! We can fix it!”

but the light in her eyes dims further, replaced by an overlay of anguish. “fix it?” she whispers, so soft it barely pierces the roar of the flames. “you think you can put a band-aid on this? you’ve already broken what we had. you’ve turned your back on me.”

in that moment, it’s clear that every moment together, every late night and laughter shared, has unraveled into nothingness. you remember the smiles, the moments of tenderness, the nights spent plotting futures together. but now, those echoes fade into oblivion, shattered by this haunting betrayal you never intended.

as the flames crack and wax, throwing shadows across her glassy visage, you strain against the seatbelt, desperate, panicking at the thought of losing her—losing everything you once held dear. “im sorry!” an apology that feels paltry escapes your lips, barely serving to bridge the chasm that has formed between you.

and with a strength you couldn’t comprehend, she tears down the remainder of the emotional barriers between sanity and chaos. as you edge closer, weighed down by the fear that wraps around your throat like a vice, she crumbles. the match she holds wavers, and you catch a glimpse of your minjeong again—a fleeting shadow, a flashing whisper of the girl who loved you fiercely.

you can’t let her go back to this. “listen to me, please! i never wanted to hurt you! i—”

you try to think of ways to escape, but the navy blue interior surrounds you like the jaws of a beast, each lock holding you in place as if the car itself is complicit in this tragedy. “stop this, please!” you scream, voice breaking on the last word. “i didn’t mean it like that! we can talk!”

her gaze flickers, a brief moment of uncertainty flashing in her eyes. it almost seems she is weighing her options, wondering if the anger she feels is worth the girl standing inside the car. you find yourself holding your breath. 

but it’s too late. the flame dances gracefully from her fingertips, and she lets it go, a careless act that sends shockwaves of fear through you. time slows as you watch it fall, the world narrowing to the small, flickering flame that lands on the gasoline-soaked surface of the car. it ignites with an eager roar, consuming the air around you in an instant.

you recoil, bracing yourself against the back of the seat as the fire spreads, heat prickling your skin. the stench of burning gasoline fills your lungs, and the choking smoke twists and turns, curling toward you like a dark hand that wants to pull you into its depths.

“why?” you gasp, your voice a thin wisp of disbelief. is this truly the person you once adored, the one you held under the glow of a streetlight and whispered your dreams to? as the flames grow taller, licking hungrily at the roof, you realize just how far you have drifted from the joyous heights of your early love.

“why?” she mimics, voice eerily calm amidst the chaos of the roaring flames. “because you wanted the spark? you’ve taken everything! sweet moments, tender touches—they were all because of your idea of love! this is what it looks like when you strip away the façade!”

y ou take a deep breath and lean forward, desperate to connect with her again, to reach through the haze of madness and remind her of all that was good between you. “minjeong, please! this isn’t you! let’s just talk—”

your words hang suspended in the air, but she remains unmoved. you can see the resolve etched into her features, a tragic conviction that seems to make her larger than life even in the midst of this crisis. you brace for the worst, your heart thundering in your chest. her face, once the definition of warmth, is now a tempest of rage, pain, and heartbreak.

the very essence of your relationship burns behind her eyes, and there, in that harrowing moment, you fear you’re witnessing the end of everything you’d built together. “you wanted the spark, didn't you?” she shouts, voice cracking under pressure, blending anger and sorrow. “you think you’re just going to walk away from this? no more empty promises!”

you feel it then—the crushing weight of reality crashing down on you. you are two people who have lost sight of why you fell in love in the first place. you have become strangers anchored by memories, and it hurts just as much to acknowledge it as it does to see the fire grow around you.

“minjeong, please!” your eyes burn from the smoke, but there’s a flicker of something within you—an ember of hope. “we can fix this! i didn’t mean to hurt you! i still care about you, i—”

but all she hears is betrayal wrapped in weakness. “you care?” she laughs bitterly, wiping away a tear that trails down her cheek, mingling with the sweat of her panic. “is this what caring looks like?”

moments stretch on as you process her anguish; the flames haven’t just engulfed the vehicle, but they’re consuming the last bits of clarity in the conversation. she takes a step back from the car, eyes wide, the wildness giving way to uncertainty.

desperation drives you as you shout, “minjeong! open the door! we can talk!” you slam your palm against the windows, creating a rhythmic pattern of thuds, shouts blending into chaos.

she watches you through the flames now, the mad gleam returning to her eyes. “talk? do you really think we can talk? this is us now! this is what we were!” the flames illuminate her, making her look almost otherworldly, distorting the very features you once adored.

she watches you, and for a flicker of eternity, it feels like she might relent. the fire licks at the edges of the foam seats, and you can see the panic setting in her eyes, too, now. “you think it’s over?” minjeong asks, her voice barely rising above the roar of the heat. “it’s just beginning!”

she gives you one last look, then turns on her heel, walking away from the car, away from you, running away from the chaos she started.

and in that heartbeat, the flicker from her gaze changes—it morphs into a realization. the spark of love flares within her eyes, a tiny flame that could either save you or plunge you into darkness. what will it be, you wonder?

but will it reach you before the flames burn everything to ash? time is slipping, and you’re left battling a love you once cherished, now clawing at it with words that barely feel like enough.

as the heat intensifies and the situation ticks dangerously close to a breaking point, you wonder if love, once passionate, can be rekindled, or if it is destined to blaze out in a storm of fury and flames. would it matter if you escape if the love is lost in the inferno?

[moralesluvr]

okay but, miguel and his wife/spouse with 2/3 kids together, yet he always finds time to make sure the relationship has it's spark (dates, sexy time, quiet time etc)

aw this this is so cute!! | nsfw included.

miguel is the type of husband where the love he has for you doesn’t wane. after all the years you’ve been together, the spark in your relationship is still alive, despite how busy you are with the kids— your lovely three babies— or work. add on their recitals and sports, plus family outings and trips, it almost seems like the two of you shouldn’t be this close due to circumstance. but you are.

miguel will physically go insane if he doesn’t have a date with you once every two weeks at the minimum. he loves seeing his wife get all dolled up for him, flowers in his hand as he escorts you to a nice restaurant. your kids are in the comfort and watching of your mother, and it always makes him happy when the kids beg to stay a couple more nights with their lovely grandparents, because it means he’s got more time with you.

if you’re not on a date, you’re snuggled on the couch together reading a good novel or watching TV. sometimes you’ll have a warm bath with each other and put on comfort pajamas, cuddling and drinking a little wine. miguel likes being close to you like that, and you both usually end up falling asleep, but he doesn’t care as long as he’s with you.

and one thing miguel believes in is that sex is good. sex is great! and he likes doing it with his wife. and although sometimes it seems like you’ll have no time— or the kids are up and rowdy on those friday nights that you want to share, he makes sure you guys share those beautiful moments with each other at least a couple times a week.

you were sitting in your bedroom as your husband peeked out the cracked door, trying to see if your kids were around. the three of them were too engrossed in the TV to possibly move, so your husband tiptoed back into your room and quietly shut the door, a grin on his face as he danced over to you with open arms, “they’re watching TV!”

“oh thank the heavens.” you’d smile as miguel gave you a passionate kiss, a hungry one at that, hands already finding the bottom of your skirt and pulling them down. the glacial air that hits you makes you shiver underneath your husband’s touch, his hands too busy removing all of your clothing with a quiet groan, one only loud enough for you to hear. his movements are swift and you both know that you don’t have enough time to really bask in this moment, so you slide his shorts and boxers down and lay on your back, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“need you, mama.” he would tell you, a strain in his voice like it pained him to not be inside you. and you assume that statement is true by the way he pushes into your slick, head thrown back like it was the first time all over again. he would hold you close and kiss your neck, nipping at the rhythm of his thrusts as your jaw fell slack, trying not to disturb your kids and lead them to curiosity.

although you try, you can’t help the way a moan passes through your lips, and miguel’s demeanor flipped like a light switch. he instantly brought a hand to your mouth, dick rutting into you as your eyes squeezed shut, “shut up, slut. do you want our kids to come in here and see their mama like this? i don’t think so…mm— cariño, you know better.”

you haven’t heard those words in so long, their dirty connotation sending warm tingles down your spine, and you want to moan to express how good he’s making you feel, but his mouth clamped over yours restricts that. his rough thrusts don’t cease— he’s slamming into you over and over again so hard that the bed squeaks underneath the both of your weight.

miguel kisses his teeth, head thrown back as he lets out the prettiest grunt you’ve ever heard in your life. his noise fuels your orgasm, cunt fluttering around his thick cock as you cum, hard. it’s only a matter of seconds before his orgasm follows yours, his hips stuttering, thick ropes of cum filling you to the brim. your mouth opens to say something until you hear a knock,

“mommy! papi! i want to show you something so i’m coming in!”

“NO!”

[nerdy-novelist017]

omg i love ur writing sm✨🩷💋

do u think u could write sumthin like benny coming home to finding u snuggled up on the couch in one of his huge shirts?????

Thank you for this super sweet request, Anon! Sorry I've been taking forever to get around to the requests, but I'm trying to get back into the routine of working on them a little bit every day. Hope you enjoy!

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 1.1k+

T-Shirts (Benny Cross x Shy! Reader)

Benny cursed under his breath as he stumbled over the threshold of the front door. He’d been out with the Vandals, not an actual meeting, just a night out with a few of the main members. He’d invited you as he always did, but you declined. You had told him that you wanted to have some alone time after a long day at work. He understood – girls needed their ‘me time’ to pamper themselves or whatever, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to miss you. You were sometimes all consuming to him, his thoughts almost always ran back to you. Johnny and the boys could see it, anyone that really knew Benny (few as they were) knew he was completely infatuated with you. He was drunk off your touch, your voice, your smile. How could he be separated from you for long? So as the night progressed and he accepted more whiskeys being slid in his direction, his thoughts of you became more hazy, more melancholic and finally Johnny took pity on him and told him to go home. 

The slight buzz from the beers he had early did not mix well with the lack of lights. Usually, you left on the front porch light for him when you knew he would be out late and you were going to bed early. But it wasn’t the case tonight he realized as all the lights in the main level of your house were turned off. As he tossed his bike keys onto the entryway table and flipped on a light, he wondered briefly in his intoxicated mind if you were upset with him and this was your passive aggressive way of punishing him for staying out late, but that theory quickly diminished when he caught sight of the couch. At first glance, it looked like just a pile of throw blankets, but he was convinced he could spot your familiar form no matter how much light there was in the room. 

He slipped out of his boots and jacket, standing there for a moment longer in appreciation. A lovestruck smile overtook his face at the view of you curled into your side, that yellow blanket with white flowers (one you had begged him to buy when you first moved in together, stating that it was the perfect piece to pull the room together. He honestly couldn’t have cared less about the living room or its decor, but the smile on your face when he put it in the shopping cart made it suddenly the most important detail.) pulled over your body, a forgotten book laying face down on your chest – a clear indication that you had once again fallen asleep while reading. Your mouth slightly agape, your features looked so soft and girlish that it took Benny’s breath away knowing you were his. Even though he saw some incredible sunrises, sunsets and starry nights when he went riding, you were without a doubt the most beautiful sight he got to come home to. 

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he crossed the room, stooping to trace a hand across your face, brushing the tousled hair from your eyes. With his other hand, he looped his fingers through the spine of your novel, making sure to save your page mark as he placed it on the coffee table. His left hand moved beneath your knees and his right supported your back as he effortlessly lifted you into his embrace. That’s when he realized you were wearing one of his shirts, the white material clearly oversized on your small figure. He didn’t know a simple white t-shirt had the ability to be sexy, but clearly he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was because you had the talent to make just about anything look painfully arousing on you. And nothing at all. And to make matters even harder for Benny, he knew it wasn't your intention when you put on his shirt to look sexy, you probably weren’t even aware of the effects of your body in that damn oversized t-shirt and the way it clung to your chest as he lifted you, nor the way it molded around your hips. You were certainly not aware of the sudden twitch in his pants because of the way the garment just seemed to make you look even more of the little bunny that stole his heart. 

“Benny?” your muffled, half asleep voice hit his ears like the sweetest melody as you snuggled into his chest. 

“Stealin’ my clothes, Bunny?” he teased and you sunk further into his embrace, not quite awake enough to catch his playfulness. He carried you up to your bedroom, using his foot to kick the door shut behind him. He placed you gently on your side of the bed and almost laughed as you tugged him back down to you for a messy kiss. 

“I like the way it smells like you,” you admitted as you rubbed your eyes, the action pulling on Benny’s heartstrings. 

“You may have to keep it. Looks better on you,” he smiled as he stepped back to change into something more comfortable. 

“Whatever you say, Cross.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your words slurring together. “I tried waitin’ up for you. Did ‘ya have a good time?”

“Go back to sleep, Bunny,” he coaxed gently, smiling as your blinks were growing longer by the second. That was always something you wanted to do: you liked to lay in bed and talk about your days if they happened to be spent apart. You encouraged him to talk more than he’s ever talked in his life. Sometimes he felt as though your chattiness was rubbing off on him, but you never interrupted nor discouraged him from expressing his thoughts. He loved you more for that. “There’s plenty of time to talk about it tomorrow.”

“M’kay, come lay with me?” you asked and Benny scoffed because was that even a request you needed to make? He was drawn to you like a moth to flame, he couldn’t resist having a hand on you while he slept. It was like some instinctual urge projecting him to keep you near, to keep you safe, even while he was floating in the realm of sleep. 

He shook his head as you muttered a final incoherent sentence into the side of your pillow, eyes falling shut again. He crawled into bed behind you, slipping his hand around your waist and pulling you flush against his body as he pulled the blankets over the two of you. A soft, content sigh escaped you, and Benny looped his hand into yours, pulling it up to his lips in a soft kiss as he whispered “I love you, Bunny.”

-Tag List-

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[slowcatsisland]

Trafalgar D. Water Law; Ideal Type Deep Dive

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The first thing that comes to my mind is that audio - “ I need to find my darling husband!” “What do you see in that guy?” “He makes me laugh.”

Law absolutely needs to be with someone who can make him laugh.

Throughout the post time skip arcs, it has been shown that Law -

Has a fear surrounding accepting and giving love

Believes that there must be a reason for earning love/giving love to someone

Law’s character had the most development in Dressrosa and Wano that could propel him towards healing with the defeat of Doflamingo, the revenge of Corazon’s death, and the closure statement that Sengoku says to him: “Don’t try to find a reason for someone’s love.”

Law has to heal first, or have a partner that will help him heal. To me, Law wouldn’t even think of committing to a relationship until the end of Dressrosa/Wano.

Law surrounds himself with goofy people, so it makes sense for him to fall for a goofy person.

This person would probably be on his crew as his trust issues wouldn’t allow for him falling for someone that has other loyalties that could easily be prioritized over him and end up betraying him.

Law is strict about subordinate dynamics, which is why you being on his crew may also hinder him from wanting to pursue something with you because he’s supposed to be your boss essentially.

Law would want someone that is smart, textbook smart like he is, but I also see this not being important if he truly runs into the ‘one’ that brings him the most peace.

I mean by that if you can’t hold and add to a conversation about idk the anatomy of the human body and the effects of a certain ailment, you’re not totally disqualified from his radar.

Someone who could hold emotional conversations with him is good. Even if he probably wouldn’t want the conversation. He’s kinda icky with feelings. Someone that could tell him how he feels, how they feel, and how that changes the context of whatever situation they are in. He needs someone like that.

I used to be opposed to the thought, but I believe Law needs someone truly soft. That means you could still fight if needed, but would rather not yk. It’s okay if you’re not out here swinging a machete trying to bloody the streets with your foes. That aspect of humanity that you have is something Law needs more prevalently in his life.

I remember reading an analysis of Law’s type and the creator said something similar to “Law needs someone who wouldn’t pull the trigger, just like Corazon didn’t.” I don’t know how much I agree with it but I think it’s worth mentioning.

Someone patient, but stubborn. Someone who is willing to wait for him to be ready to accept his feelings and won’t leave him when he makes a mistake (trust me he will make many mistakes in a relationship). Someone who also won’t be an idle figure in situations, you have an opinion and will voice it even if it doesn’t agree with Law’s perspective. You think the crew should help him on something rather than wait on the submarine and him go off alone? Tell him and make him listen, even if he shuts you down.

Law needs someone positive that can look at things with a glass half full mindset. Someone who looks at the rain and thinks about how the plants are getting water, someone who watches the snow fall but are commenting about how Penguin and Sachi are making snow angles and Bepo is really comfortable in the temperature. You even out his pessimism and bring light.

You’d have to get along with the other crew mates, especially Bepo too. Bepo is so important to Law, and if Bepo didn’t like you it already taints Law’s image of you.

After reading some of the Law Novel, preferably someone with a goal in life. It doesn’t have to be a huge driving factor that you live day by day by. It could be something small that fluctuates daily or weekly or wtv. Someone that can strive towards a goal they set for themselves and gets a glint of determination in their eye. But it’s also okay if you’re not like this because this won’t deter him fully if you aren’t a driven person.

You were always kind to him. Even before he invited you onto his crew, he identified your nature and could make a note about how you’re different from the majority of people he’s met.

Preferably, you’d be goofy, but not too loud. I feel like Law gets uncomfortable around those that are crazy extroverted- kinda like Luffy. Sometimes it reminds him too much of the Donquixote Pirates with all their flamboyance. That doesn’t mean if you have this quality you’d be off the list, he would just need it in smaller chunks or around the crew to be acclimated to it.

Grr, someone that ends up reminding him of Rosinante. Someone that Law knows is just a good person, regardless of their past.

If he asked you “why do you love me?” And you couldn’t give him an answer, you’re perfect.

He needs someone to be his safe space. Someone that could sit in his office while he works, content in the shared silence. Someone that he could ramble about his coin collection to without the worry of being judged. Someone that he could let touch his chest and have them run their fingers through his hair without worry that he’ll be harmed. Someone that will soothe him after he has a nightmare or read out loud to him until he falls asleep.

Someone that cares for him- this loops back to the stubbornness. Someone that tries to make him go to sleep, to make him eat, to make him take breaks from working. To make him live happily, something that he’s starved himself of truly ever since he was 10. He prolly won’t act like it, but you showing you care for him makes his heart bleed suffocatingly.

Someone that can show him how to love again and what it feels like to love again omg. The destruction of Flevance and the manipulation of the Donquixote Pirates so cruelly changed his perception of love.

Law wouldn’t want you to be a big shot in canon. If your bounty was rather substantial compared to his crew and him, or you had a crazy ability- it would make him worry awfully. He’d probably try to keep you out of harms way even more than he does with the rest of his crew.

Someone he can tell everything to and trust that they’ll keep it a secret.

Someone that likes the cold, likes the ocean. Living on a submarine as a pirate kinda requires this lol.

Omg imagine you’re from the North Blue too. He picks you up around the same time he does Penguin, Sachi, and Bepo. You’re one of the original members. The connection I feel like he would have with you would make him more willing to fall for you…

I feel like Law would like someone with longer hair. If he could watch them brush it, curl it around his finger, watch them create a hairstyle for the day. Small acts of domesticity in life.

Someone with large, doe eyes. He can see so much emotion through them, they hold so much weight. It reminds him of Bepo. (lol)

Someone aware of their own emotions and are in tune with their wants and needs.

I feel like he would fluster really easily if you had a gummy smile. Yk those big, pure smiles where the gums showed. When your eyes crinkly and your teeth are bared so naturally and without malice. It’s so beautiful to see.

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He’s so broken

Mwah 😽