#listen i need this two to be deeply unwell about each other in every single aspect of their lives <3 including this <3333

[lloydfrontera]

expanding on this when damian kisses rakiel he is so gentle about it. he almost always lets rakiel take the lead, rarely initiating anything himself even when he aches for it. and when he does it's little more than the flutter of lips on rakiel's skin, sometimes on his cheek, rarely on his lips and only in very special occasions on his neck right where he can feel his pulse strong and steady. but more often that not he will take rakiel's hand and kiss it, letting himself enjoy the way it lets him look at the effect it has on rakiel whenever he does it. and oh does it have an effect on rakiel.

on the other side of the equation rakiel kisses damian like he wants to eat him. he presses himself against him like he wants to crawl under his skin and make his home there. he explores every inch of him and maps him out until he has his favorites spots memorized. sometimes he doesn't so much kiss as much as he chews on damian, leaving a trail of bite marks and bruises all over his body. he loves finding just the right places to touch and kiss that make him light up inside. he's remarkably professional during working hours for someone who is five seconds away from climbing his lover at all times.

[ppersonna]

love like this - pjm | m

never used to get excited to sit here in the silence. holdin' on to something the way im holding you.  didn't used to know how fast time walks and runs and flies by. i never thought i’d feel so deeply, but damn, i do - love like this, ben rector

↳ summary- Jimin wants to make sure this birthday is your favorite one yet.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ genre- smut, fluff, good god this is so fluffy because i am going through it right now.  

↳ warnings- shower sex, oral sex (f receiving), praising, fluffy dirty talk, jimin being best boy, cute sex, light breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up babes!), jimin internally waxing poetic about oral sex lolol

↳ a/n - hi babies! i am in my feels right now and whipped this out because 1- its jimin and he’s my actual baby and 2- i lowkey dreamed abt this sort of scenario and im....... emotionally unwell llllloooooollll. i really hope you like this! i super recommend listening to the song in the title/summary because fuck its CUTE and sums up alot of this relationship!  pls feel free to comment, message, talk to me in any way! i love you lots!

“Wake up, my love.”

Jimin’s whispers in your ear is like hearing the harps of heaven.  The way it vibrates and rolls down your spine feels like silk.  It doesn't startle you awake like it should, it simply awakens your consciousness.

Your eyes flutter open and the blinking red light of your alarm clock is the first thing you see.  

11:54 pm.

You must have fallen asleep waiting for your boyfriend to return home from work, like you said you would. You had plans.  Tomorrow is your birthday and Jimin wanted to spend the night beforehand with you.  It was some sort of tradition, dedicating the night before a birthday to each other.   It started out friendly, back when you both denied yourself the feelings you were both falling in.   It lasted through the years, and through the relationship changes.

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” you mutter through a half-awake yawn.  

He smiles at you from where he stands above.  His hair falls in his face slightly, and he reaches his hand out to cup your cheek.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I’m late.  Hobi kept us at practice until we had the dance down.  You know how that goes…” he sighs.  

You roll to sit up in bed and nod at the boy in front of you.  

“I’m going to go shower, okay princess?” He states as he lowers himself to sit on the bed for a moment. “I’ll be back once I’m not drenched in sweat.”

You wrinkle your nose playfully at the thought, and he touches the tip of it lightly.  There’s no need to exchange any more words.  Jimin leans forward and captures your lips in for a kiss.

It’s sweet, so sweet it makes you nearly slide back down into bed into a puddle.  He tastes like chapstick and sweat.  He holds you there, kissing you like you’re the only person on earth he cares to be around, before he pulls away and smiles.

“Go back to sleep, baby.  I’ll wake you up when I’m back.”

He stands and enters the en-suite bathroom, yellow light from the bathroom flooding into the darkened bedroom.  He closes the door, but not all the way, so you can hear the way the water falls and his humming echoing against the tile walls.

You’re awake now—you stretch and yawn for a moment in bed before you decide to join in the shower with Jimin.

His back is turned to you when you pad into the bathroom and peer through the glass shower door.  He’s humming his own song—it’s probably stuck in his head from practicing through the choreo all day.

He notices your presence by the chill of the air wafting through the open door.

“My baby,” he murmurs as he spots your sleepy smile.  “Come join me.”

The door to the shower swings wide open and he stands in the spray as he watches you undress.

His eyes follow your hands as they tug at the t-shirt covering your frame.  It’s old—from back in your college days, but Jimin finds it more alluring than any lingerie.  It’s so classically you it makes his heart beat fast in his chest.  He’ll forever associate the baggy shirt with the way you look in the mornings, messy hair and wrapped in his blankets in his bed.  It’s domestic and sweet.  

The shirt comes off and Jimin swears his breath hitches in his throat at the sight of your body.  It’s been years now that you’ve been together, and yet it still feels like the first time all the time.  You’re undeniably attractive, of course you are, but it’s more than just that.  It’s the freckles that dot your shoulders, the scar on your stomach from your appendix surgery, the color of your skin tickled gold from the sun.  It all culminates to be more than a seductive body with luscious curves.  It’s you.

The shorts come next.  Jimin is sure they’re an old pair of his boxers and the sentiment of you in his clothing pounds hard in his chest.  He’s hypnotised by your long legs, soft hips, thighs that meet in the middle so softly and gently. He loves your body, every inch and curve and delicate sway.  He watched as you struggled as a teenager to love and accept your body in its state.  You hated the way it seemed too much, not like the others in school.  Jimin thinks your body is the perfect mold. He loves the way his hands fit in the hourglass curve of your waist.  He loves the plushness of your hips and solid strong thighs that hold you up with confidence. 

Jimin loves every single inch of you and hasn’t stopped telling you that since the day he confessed his feelings to you.

“Come to me,” he whispers.  His eyes drag up and down your body, before they settle at your own eyes.  “I need you.”

You’re loathe to deny any request from the man, especially one that sounds so sweet.

The tile floor is heated from the temperature of the water.  Jimin’s always liked the showers to nearly roast the skin off him.  His hair is slicked back and his tanned and toned arms open for you—your favorite spot to slip into is the spot he designates between his arms for you, only you.

Your body presses against his and he’s warm, so warm that you audibly moan and press further into him.  He feels like bliss.  His arms encircle you and pull you tight around the middle while yours circle his neck.  Any stress or discomfort in your body floats away with the steam of the shower as you rest your head on his damp collarbones. Jimin’s comforting grasp, and the way he presses his wet lips into your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, is the balm for all your wounds.

“I think it’s midnight,” he whispers as his hands smooth up and down your back.  “It’s your birthday, baby.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you bury your blushing cheeks into his chest.

“I’m ollllddd,” you whine playfully and he pokes your sides with a laugh.

“Oh shush,” he chides.  “You’re not that old… you’re just older than me.”

“Jimin!”  You lift your head and gasp and Jimin throws his head back in laughter.  You can’t help but join in, but your hands tickle at his sides, regardless.

“Okay, okay! I give!” He chokes through his laughter. “Mercy, please.”

You grant his plea and soon the laughter dies down and you hold each other tight, allowing the water to cascade down your joined bodies.

“I love you,” he whispers as he presses his lips to your neck and shell of your ear.  “I’m so lucky to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday, every year.”

A lump in your throat forms and your eyes mist over.  Jimin’s always been the one.  He would wait up with you all night long every year of your birthday.  He’d sleep over at your house in high school, stay on the phone with you during his idol training days, facetime with you while on tour across the country.  Jimin’s been the one.

“I love you, Jimin.”

Finally, your lips meet where they’re magnetized to most.  His plushy pink lips are turning red from the heat of the shower and they feel like warm pillows against your own.  His hands wrap around you possessively, and he holds you like he doesn’t want to break you and like he can’t get enough all in one grip.

As he kisses you, he guides you down to the granite bench of the shower.  It was an addition Jimin insisted on when building the house.  Initially, you resisted and thought the idea too gaudy and expensive, but now that you’re here, being pressed into the warm rock surface, you’re thankful Jimin didn’t let up.

“Let me give you your first gift,” he whispers as he finally pulls his lips away from yours.

You’re breathless.  You press your back against the wall of the shower and nod dumbly at the man above you.  He adjusts the spray of the shower so it continues to bathe the two of you in warmth—he refuses to make you uncomfortable for even just a second.

Jimin stands before you, and you’re reaching to grasp at his hardened length to take what you think he intends to give you, but he bats your hands away.

“No, my love,” he coos as he lowers himself to his knees. “Today is all about you.”

Shivers erupt down your spine and your nipples prickle at the sensation.  Jimin smiles as he watches the buds wrinkle and harden on your skin and he leans forward to pull one into his mouth.   It feels hot, hotter than the water pouring onto your skin, and soft mewling noises escape you.

Jimin’s always known your hot spots.  He spent the first 6 months of your dating life nearly writing a thesis on what spots you loved most, where you reacted the best when he focused his attention.  He’s learned that worshipping your body with slow and languid kisses and licks has your internal temperature heating to its boiling point.

He sucks gently, nibbles the buds in his mouth as he palms the other with his hand.  He loves the way you feel in his grasp, the weight of your pretty breasts filling his palms. He’s obsessed with every curve that makes the shape of you.  He can’t get enough.  He thinks he’s memorized your body in his sleep.

You gasp his name and arch your back to allow him more room, more access to your chest.  He laves his tongue around the nipple he sucked on, before he switches to the other.  He never lets them remain untouched for long—his tongue works on one while his fingers grasp the other.  

Your legs spread open unconsciously, core dripping with heat comparable to the steamy shower above you.  

“Please, Jimin,” you gasp out as he nibbles a bit and pops a bud out of his mouth.  

His face shows no sign of teasing, no intent on making you beg or earn.  Jimin is dominant with you, through and through, but tonight he has no intention of making you kneel before him or beg for his cock.  He wants to worship you, wants to pour his love out with his tongue against your clit.  And he intends to make it known how deep that love goes.

“Yes, my baby,” he whispers as his lips trail up your collar and neck to kiss at your lips.  

His baby.  You shiver at the sound of the possessiveness in his voice.   It never fails to make you weak, to have you eating out of the palm of his hands.  You’ve always been his, even before you truly knew it.

He doesn’t linger long on your lips.  He cups a cheek and rubs at the gentle skin beneath your eyes as he gazes into you.  Tonight, Jimin’s eyes say more than just raw or carnal desire.  The color and look in Jimin’s eyes could write sonnets that rival the great Shakespeare himself.  He looks as if he could compose symphonies devoted to you and the way you make him feel.  The thought rolls around your head and makes your heart swell so big it feels as if it cuts off the air to your lungs.

Jimin trails his lips down your body, kisses at your reddened nipples one last time.  His lips against your stomach and hips and thighs feel like his exaltation to you, as if he’s praying to you, a goddess, and offering his supplication for what you have given him.  

He presses your legs open wider and stares with heat and desire at your center.  It’s slicked up with arousal and colored a pretty pink that makes him dizzy with love.  Jimin thinks his favorite color is the shade of fuschia of your clit.  

You’re whimpering as he spreads your folds apart with his fingers.  You can feel the heat of the shower, the solid breath escaping his plush lips that you’re desperate to have on you.  Your legs tremble and Jimin smiles as he watches your big eyes plead for him to give you something—anything.

“My beautiful, perfect baby,” he invokes like a prayer.  “So pretty and laid out for me.  I love you.  I love this sweet little pussy and how wet you get for me.”

Another desperate whimper leaves your lips and he can feel the desire rolling off you in waves.  

“Let me hear you, baby.  Let me hear those pretty little sighs as I drink you up.”

He leaves you no chance to agree to his gentle command and instead buries himself into the apex of your thighs.  You gasp as his tongue makes contact with your clit and begins a languid vertical motion from your dripping hole back to the nub of nerves.

You whine out his name graciously, desperately, as his tongue dives into you and laps at the juices coming out of you.  He drinks it like its wine, the finest and most expensive vintage.  The way your body tightens and trembles at his touch makes him groan against your pussy.  He feels so powerful with you, so loved and adored.  He finds it incredible that even amid him pleasuring you, your response to his ministrations pleasures him as much as your mouth would.

His tongue and lips against your nub feel like stinging, delicious fire.  It feels like the shower heats to a simmer by his actions alone, and it leaves scorching marks on your skin that make you gasp.  His fingers grip at the thickness of your thighs and leave prints where they hold you tight.  He likes the way the plush skin feels beneath him—the way his fingers leave bruises on your delicate skin.

“Jimin,” you cry.  “Please, more.” You’re desperate for more but you’re quickly losing the ability to coherently ask for it.  

Jimin normally would make you verbalize it, make you tell him exactly what you want him to do. But he feels merciful tonight.  Maybe it’s the sweet gasps and moans you make that go straight to his cock and to his heart.  He’ll give in tonight, make you feel in control of the events tonight.

“You want my fingers, baby?” He asks sweetly while his tongue spells his name out on your clit.  He wants your body to recognize just who gets you going, who works your body to the brink every single time.  You’re his, and he wants every atom, every strand of DNA inside you to know that.

You’re nodding quickly, hands trembling as you try to grip at something and come short.  The slippery granite does nothing more for you than add to the desperation you feel and you’re nearly keening for him.

“Yes, my love,” he agrees.  

Jimin slowly inserts his middle and pointer finger into your core.  It’s a stretch for now, but he’ll slowly work you open until you can take every inch of his thick cock later.  He wants to take you all night, have your body pressed up against his as he makes love to you on every surface of your shared bedroom and adjoining bathroom.  He wants to give you a birthday present of filling you up as much as you want and can take it.  

Once you feel his fingers breach you, your moans turn from breathy and needy to loud and wanton.  It feels incredible to feel him inside you, filling an emptiness that lingers anytime he’s not within you.  Once Jimin first slid into you so long ago, you knew he was the missing piece to your body and your soul.

“Fuck!” You shout as he flicks his tongue against your clit and sets a pace with his fingers.  

He smirks against your cunt as you shout, knowing he’s got you now wrapped around his fingers.  He coaxes more out of you by curling his fingers, pressing against the spongy spot within you that stops your breathing for a moment and makes your legs jerk.  He coos his revelry into you and increases the speed.  He wants to see your undoing, wants to watch the way your body lets go around his fingers and against his tongue.

Jimin’s tongue continues its barrage on your clit and you’re winding higher and higher and you can feel the way your stomach tightens to prepare for your end.  He can feel your channel tightening and it eggs him on to continue, to pump faster and slip in a third finger while he suckles at your sensitive clit. You’re gasping out his name, pleading and begging and warning him as the end comes closer and closer.

In an instant, you snap and your cunt convulses around his fingers.  He can feel it pulsating around him and your clit throbs against his tongue.  He smiles, closes his eyes as he listens to you cry out your bliss and tug at his wet hair.  He wishes he could record the way you scream his name at your end, always unable to hold back whimpering and whining his full name instead of whatever honorific he makes you call him the rest of the time.

He loves that you know it’s always him, always Jimin, making you reach your high.

Jimin’s tongue laps at the wetness escaping you as you settle down.  Your breathing remains harsh but you’re able to inhale deeper and open your eyes.  You peer down at him as he pulls his fingers from within you.  Your gaze melts his soul.  It speaks more than your words ever could.  It tells him just how in love with him you are, just how devoted you are to him for the rest of your life.

Jimin doesn’t give you time to speak.  He pulls your weak legs to standing and guides you out of the shower.  He rubs you with soft, warm towels and dries your entire body before drying himself.  He dries your hair with a smile as you peek at him through the white towel, before you lean forward and kiss him.  He holds the kiss, moves his lips against yours deeply and passionately as he lifts you and walks you towards the king-sized bed.  The blankets are messy from where you slept, but neither of you care to fix it.  He tucks you into the sheets and follows suit.

His fingers trail hot on your skin as he kisses at your face, your chin, your neck.

There’s no speaking as he hovers over you, lines his thick length with your aching core and slides into you.

“Jimin,” you whisper as he sheathes himself fully.

The way you say his name sounds like a grateful prayer, a thankful benediction to him.  It sends him reeling.

He starts the pace slowly, watches the way your eyes bore into his as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room.  It feels like white, hot bliss to be buried inside you.  The slickness of your first orgasm coats him and he slides in and out of you easily.  

Jimin never felt what home was until the first time he slipped between you. He never understood that home wasn’t a place, a brick and mortar building with belongings.  Home is buried within you, taking two beings and joining them as one.   He thinks wherever he goes, home will always be the way you cling to him, whisper your adoration to him as he makes love to you.

He can’t help himself from kissing your face, pressing his lips against your eyelids and your cheeks as he ruts into you.  Your hips are matching his speed and time, egging him on and desperate for his own end.  You want to treat him as well as he treated you.  

It’s not just your body that feels deliciously stretched and full of Jimin—it’s your entire soul and being that feels as if you’ve finally found a piece of you that wasn’t quite complete.  Jimin fits himself into that slot so easily, without fail.

“I love you,” he groans into your ear as he licks and kisses it gently. “I love you, so much.”

His words make you whimper, make your pussy tighten impossibly around his thickness and it makes him moan.

“Want to fill you,” he whispers as he sucks a mark into your neck.  “Want to give us a baby.”

It makes your heart burst.  You’re desperate for a family, want a child with the idol above you so badly you dream of it nightly.   Jimin wants it too, wants to see you swollen with his baby, wants to start and raise a family with you, you, only you.

“Please!”  

It’s all you're capable of asking, only capable of begging for what he offers you.  Your heart rate speeds incredibly at the thought of finally establishing more than just you and him and bringing a life that is proof of your devotion and love.

He keeps at it, moving his hips faster and faster.  He lifts his head up to throw it back at how good you feel, how close he is. You can tell he’s close to the edge by how desperate his breathy moans and sweet words come out.  He drops a hand to circle at your clit—he wants to come with you, wants to make this moment about both of you, about the culmination of you.

The added pressure along with the look on his face that reads as if he’s memorizing every moment of this love-making sends you over your edge unexpectedly.  The turbulent waves crash over you and send you soaring high, higher than you think you’ve ever been before.  The passion in the love-making makes your end so much more overwhelming—it’s the physical manifestation of how much he loves you, and you love him.

Your walls contracts around him and Jimin whimpers a ‘fuck!’ as he feels himself unravel and pump his seed into you, as deep as he can make it go.  The feeing is unparalleled, the highest point of bliss you think you’ve ever felt.  You’re gasping out as it feels your entire body is sucking him in, milking him and wanting to keep him buried inside you for as long as you can.  Jimin doesn’t think he’d ever leave if he had the choice.

The come-down from the high is just as blissful as the orgasm itself.  Jimin is sure he’s never met someone who makes post-coital cuddling as intense and orgasmic as the sex itself.  You hold him so sweetly, whisper your praise into his ear, tell him how much you love him and how you hope to be his forever and ever.  You tell him you can’t wait to have his baby, to start a family with him.

Jimin holds you close, pulls the blankets tight around your still damp bodies.

As your breathing slows and evens out and he whispers a soft ‘happy birthday’ to your ears, Jimin knows he’s never felt a love quite like this.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[imaginedisish]

Uncontrollable Urge (Colin Ritman x Stefan Butler) Part 1

A/N: Hey guyssss!! I loved writing this. It’s based on an anon request I received a day or two ago asking if I would write an imagine about what would happen if Colin was able to comfort and calm down Stefan before he kills his father. I fell in love with it and felt like I needed to write it ASAP! (hehe title is a DEVO reference btws:)  P.S…this one is kinda short…but it’s because ITS A TWO PARTER AAYYYEE! So, here it is...

Thanks for all the love <3 xxxxx Send me some more requests and I’ll write them up :) (I’m writing Donnie Darko and happy Colin fluff next :) one or the other should be up tomorrow) xxxxx

Summary: What would happen if Colin was able to stop Stefan from killing his father? Well guess what…he can. (Part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Language (lots), angst, references to murder and drugs, semi-panic attack??? (it’s kinda implied), FLUFF!!!!!!!

Word Count: 1195

“D-dad, s-stop,” Stefan pleads, his hand rubbing anxiously at the glass ashtray on the kitchen counter. Another day, another fight with his father. 

“Stefan talk to me, please. Tell me what’s wrong,” Mr. Butler demands in a commanding voice. Stefan simply shakes his head, and turns away from him, growing in anger at his father’s constant worry. 

“Please, jesus christ. Leave me alone!” Stefan complains angrily. 

“No. Let me help you!” Mr. Butler cries out. “We need to go to Dr. Hayes. We will leave this instant, do you understand?”

“She isn’t going to do anything. She never does!” Stefan screams. 

“Well something has to be done, Stefan. You’re unwell.” 

The constant questioning, checking in, and overall lack of understanding that Mr. Butler portrayed each and every day had been pushing Stefan to the brink for quite some time. 

But today...today felt different to Stefan. He knew it would be his breaking point. This time, he had felt the urge to act upon his well hidden anger. 

Stefan strengthens his grip on the glass ashtray. Deep down inside, he wanted to fight the urge. He didn’t know if he really wanted to do this, and if he did, he feared he’d regret it. 

But the voice in his head persisted nevertheless, cooing, luring him into the trap of his impulses. 

Kill him, kill him now, Stefan thinks. He quickly attempts to shut down these terrible ideas. 

Still, there was something so appealing about them. 

“Stefan? Are you going to say something?” Mr. Butler is relentless in his attempts to help his son. Stefan, more annoyed than ever, slowly and silently lifts the ashtray off the counter. 

If he did the deed now, his father would never expect it. There would be no fight. He would simply come tumbling down. 

There was no more thinking about it. Stefan knew what he had to do. 

Turning around quickly, ashtray in hand, Stefan brings his hand up, preparing to strike. 

But then, the unexpected happens. Stefan stops instantly, realizing that his father was no longer in front of him.  

“What?” Stefan questions. 

He spots his father on the other side of their two story home, opening the front door. 

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” Mr. Butler asks politely. Stefan had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the doorbell ring. 

“Thank god...thought I was too late,” Colin mumbles under his breath. Stefan watches as the top of his platinum blonde hair and the silver, bulky rims of his glasses peek through the doorway. Stefan didn’t need to see his face to know it was Colin. It just was. It had to be.

Mr. Butler looks back at the blonde boy perplexed, unsure as to what he meant.

“Oh, sorry mate,” Colin says, putting one of his personally rolled cigs in between his pale, full lips. “Colin Ritman, I work with Stefan.” He extends a hand out to Mr. Butler. Mr. Butler accepts the gesture, and immediately turns to Stefan. 

“The Colin Ritman, huh?” Mr. Butler smiles widely, and Stefan feels his cheeks grow red. “I’m Stefan’s dad, Mr. Butler. But you can call me Peter!” Colin nods his head in response, and spots Stefan. 

“Sure thing mate,” Colin says to Mr. Butler, and pats the middle aged man harshly on the back as he makes his way closer to Stefan.

Once he can see Stefan, Colin stops in his tracks. He gives Stefan a look that says:

I know what you were about to do. 

Silence quickly falls upon the room, and the two boys simply stare at each other. Stefan takes the image of Colin in. He sports a blue blazer with a New Order shirt underneath. Peace sign and guitar pins adorn the blonde boy’s left blazer pocket. 

“Well, I’ll let you two have the room!” Mr. Butler says, leaving the room and heading upstairs. 

“Thank god I got here in time. You were about to be seriously fucked,” Colin says in a cocky, matter of fact tone. He knows that he saved the day. Even more so, he recognizes that he successfully said a big “fuck you!” to the normal timeline by stopping Stefan before anything could happen. A metaphorical middle finger, if you will.

The ashtray shook in Stefan’s trembling hand. As annoying as his father could be at times, Stefan would never wish for him to be dead. The realness of the situation began to make itself clear in Stefan’s head. 

Suddenly, It begins to feel as though the walls are closing in, and Stefan struggles to breath. He fights back his tears as Colin comes closer to him.  

“Listen,” Colin says quietly, “You can’t let those urges control you, Stefan.” Colin’s crystal clear, blue eyes stare deeply into Stefan’s. 

He slowly guides Stefan’s hand, the one holding the ashtray, onto the kitchen counter. Stefan lets go of the ashtray, and it slams down on the counter. Colin keeps Stefan’s hand in his own, and he leads their hands down by their sides. Colin then proceeds to stick his practically freshly lit cig in the ashtray after only seconds of use. 

Stefan looks down to his hand, and watches as Colin slowly repositions his fingers so that his fingers would intertwine with Stefan’s. Stefan is absolutely dumbfounded by the normally witty and aloof boy’s actions. 

Yet there was something so entrancing about whatever it was that Colin was doing, sucking Stefan in with every second that passed by.

“What are you doing?” Stefan questions harshly, but he doesn’t remove his hand from Colin’s comforting hold. 

“Relax,” Colin whispers to Stefan, who’s now trembling under Colin’s touch.

He was THE Colin Ritman, how could Stefan not listen to him? How could he not completely melt to the slow movement of Colin’s lips, or the intricate and infinite cacophony in the rebellious wit that ever so effortlessly spilled out of Colin’s mouth. 

Maybe it was Colin’s enchanting scent, that overwhelming fusion of weed and cigarettes, just barely masked by notes of vanilla and honey. Maybe that was what made Stefan’s heart jump into his throat every time Colin came around. 

Colin realizes the pain in Stefan’s eyes, and pulls Stefan into a tight embrace.

Slowly, but surely, Stefan feels his murderous urges become a mistake of the past. A sense of ease fills his stomach. Colin pulls apart from Stefan, holding the boy by his shoulders.

Stefan blinks his emerald eyes, and a single, unexpected tear trickles down his right cheek, over his light brown freckles, stopping at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Colin’s voice was warm and inviting. He reaches a hand to Stefan’s face, brushing away at the spot where the tear had stopped. 

“I think I am now,” Stefan answers. Colin moves closer to Stefan again. Stefan stares up at the tall, confident blonde boy.

Colin puts his hands on the nape of Stefan’s neck, and kisses the crown of Stefan’s head lightly. 

“Let’s fix things, alright love?” Colin proposes in a hushed tone, his lips not moving from where he had kissed Stefan. 

Stefan nods.

“What do we do first?”

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. Ahhh, this was so much fun! 😂

Words: 1553 Warnings: fluff

Being a private nurse in the Avengers compound was hardly an easy, let alone eventless task. The many injuries you had seen within two months of working for Tony Stark already were nothing like what you had been prepared for at medical school or your internship in a private hospital.

Even with no missions keeping the superheroes busy, you treated at least one of them every single day. Their tough training made them bold and reckless and not just once had they accidentally hurt themselves while kicking each other’s arses for fun.

It had only gotten more intense when Thor returned from Asgard, bringing along his new-won lightning-superpowers and his mistrustful brother Loki. He was the only one you barely ever saw in your office and treatment room, excluding that one time Clint had thrown a glass bottle at him after a fight. Just like Steve and Thor’s, the wound had healed pretty quickly but oddly, you didn’t quite understand how everyone was so annoyed by the God of Mischief.

He was… nice. Calm. Polite. Charming. In fact, he had barely talked at all upon first meeting you, let alone the times after. The only reason you knew he was still present in the compound was that you often met each other in the hallway, given the room Tony had provided him with was right next to your office. But even then, apart from a friendly “Hello” and the occasional smile, nothing ever happened.

It was strange, really. Especially, since you were oddly fond of the Trickster God. He was attractive—way more than you’d like to admit, which made him seemingly avoiding you at any cost all the sadder.

Thor’s smile was creepy—utterly eerie and uneasy. Loki frowned, irritated, as he watched you re-organising the medical books on a shelf right above your desk.

“What? What is it?” He spat, frowning suspiciously as he leaned back to eye his brother.

He had been sitting there for a while, across the hallway on a comfortable couch with a book. It was a pretence, really, for actually, he had been secretly watching you for a full hour already.

It had taken him a while to realise he was, how Thor would put it, crushing on you. Ever since he had first met you in your office for you to take a look at the bleeding wound on his forehead caused by that ridiculous glass bottle, you were on his mind. Constantly. Nonstop. Twenty-four-seven.

He ought to thank Clint for injuring him and pat Thor’s shoulder for insisting on having you check on him but of course, he did neither of those things. Instead, he chose to figure out his unusual feelings in solitude and silence. It was what he was best at.

“I know what you’re doing,” Thor began, his smile widening even more. The God of Mischief raised his eyebrows, acting innocent as he shut his book and turned around.

“And what might that be, brother? I am not planning another alien invasion, if that is your concern.”

Thor chuckled. “No, you’re not. Seems like someone invaded your heart this time, brother.”

Instantly, Loki’s head spun around, his blue eyes narrowing at the Thunderer. “I beg your pardon?”

“(Y/N). You fancy her, brother. I know you do. That’s great.”

“No. No it’s not great, Thor.”

“So you admit you are into her?”

Loki pressed his lips together to a thin line, lifting a finger as if to scold his older brother. He was not often speechless but when he was, there was a valid reason for it. It was short of a miracle. Thor usually never comprehended his feelings, let alone his behaviour. Was he really this obvious? Did love make him blind?

He grumbled something in Old Norse instead of replying with words and apparently, it was proof enough for Thor he was right. Unfortunately, he really was. He was not ashamed of crushing on you, of course. Every one—or in this case, hopefully—his brother knowing, however, would develop into daily tortures. He’d had enough of those during his childhood.

Thor sat down next to him curiously, encouraged to help his brother to win your heart. “So have you talked to her?”

“No.”

“Will you?”

“No.” He repeated more sharply.

“Why not? You can’t expect her to fall for you if you don’t make an effort, brother. Mortal women are no different from Asgardian women, they want to be courted, they want to be beguiled!”

“I did not ask for your help, Thor.” Rolling his eyes, he sighed.

The Thunderer’s face lit up. “Loki, that’s it!”

“What’s ‘it’?”

“Help! We’re doing ‘Get help’!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not, you love it! It works every time.”

“I hate it and you know it.”

Their bickering got so loud you eventually looked up from your piles of books and listened closely, slightly giggling at their conversation. You had no idea what it was about without any supernatural hearing but with your door open, their amusing arguing was clearly audible.

Seconds later, however, you flinched. It got quiet for a moment and then, without any forewarning, Thor stormed into your office, one of Loki’s hands around his shoulders. The God of Mischief himself was limping, his stunning blue eyes almost closed and his thin lips slightly parted.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), help us, please, Loki is feeling unwell! Get help, please, help him!”

Turning on your heel, you almost dropped the book you were holding.

“What?! What happened?” You responded almost hysterically.

“Loki, tell her!” Thor bellowed as he put him down on the bed and then stormed away. Your gaze turned to him.

“I, uh…” Speechless. Again. Loki silently cursed himself.

“I need to go and… ask Tony for… a glass of water, I’ll be right back!”

“There is tab here too, I—“ But with that, Thor disappeared, leaving you behind utterly confused and almost overwhelmed by the absurd situation.

“I have some water here if you need some. What happened, I heard you fighting, did Thor do something?”

“Oh yes, he did.” Loki murmured, avoiding looking you directly in the eye.

“O-okay…” Why were you so nervous? Finally, after so much time, you had him all to yourself. He was in your office, alone and apparently, in need of your help. Unfortunately, shy was your middle name.

“So… um… are you feeling dizzy? Are you sick? Are you hot, cold? Tell me what’s wrong.” Concerned, you cupped his face and studied him.

The God of Mischief sighed.

“Nothing is, (Y/N).” His cheeks, however, had turned bright red. Maybe he had a fever after all. Or was he… was he… was he blushing?!

“What do you mean? What is this all about? You know, if this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not funny, I am genuinely worried for you… a-and for the other Avengers.” You added quickly.

Finally, Loki lifted his glance. Electricity rippled through your entire body as your eyes locked. There was no way you could be angry with him for too long.

“It was… it was Thor’s idea. He was looking for an excuse for me to visit you in your office.”

“W-why?”

“Because he found out that I have taken an interest in you.” Oh, hey! This wasn’t so hard after all. His charm was returning! Perhaps he could still make this good. Perhaps he could get out of this embarrassing situation without completely humiliating himself in the process.

Your heart skipped a beat. He… had taken an interest in you?

“B-but… you’ve been avoiding me ever since we first met. I feared you might hate me.” Was this a dream? It had to be. The most wonderful dream ever!

Loki inhaled deeply in surprise. “Why would you think that? Have I ever treated you wrongly?”

“No… no, you didn’t, I just… it kind of felt like you were avoiding me.”

“I was avoiding you. I am not exactly experienced when it comes to women.” And how would he be? He had never had to enchant one before taking her to his room. Some of the young maidens back on Asgard did appreciate the company of a prince, after all, even if he was only second in the line of succession.

“However, I assume that if you are willing to forget any this…“ He lifted his arm for an extensive hand movement. “…ever happened, then I would love to take you out for dinner sometime.”

Your lips parted in awe. Loki was asking you out. He was asking you out! He was asking you out!!! Trying not to panic because of all the excessive joy tumbling through your body with a start, you swallowed thickly.

“I know this tiny Italian restaurant not too far from here. There is a bookshop right next to it.” You replied, smiling coyly at him.

Loki smirked. “Sounds like a plan.”

“About time, brother!” You suddenly heard Thor’s voice behind you. He was standing in the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face.

So this was what they had been talking about. Loki only rolled his eyes in an annoyed manner as you giggled at the gods. You would buy Thor tons of poptarts to thank him for making him do “Get help”.

A/N: If you liked this story, would you care to support me a little by buying me a cuppa for 3€? It would mean so much! ♥ ko-fi.com/sserpente