#no one fucking cares about people's faces being properly lit up all the fucking time

[spacedinosauruses]

i hate film class sometimes

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot. 

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan. 

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him. 

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope. 

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time. 

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name. 

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours. 

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you. 

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero. 

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow. 

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat. 

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life. 

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being. 

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed. 

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable. 

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.  

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts. 

His heart especially, and now it aches. 

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless. 

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds. 

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. 

���Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years. 

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes. 

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it. 

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member. 

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something. 

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void. 

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly. 

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost. 

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier. 

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it. 

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle. 

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him. 

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness. 

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.” 

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline. 

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground. 

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further. 

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much. 

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable. 

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look. 

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!” 

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead. 

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too. 

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves. 

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks. 

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless. 

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea. 

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air. 

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it. 

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea. 

He does anyway. 

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size. 

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands. 

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his. 

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile. 

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt. 

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine. 

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough. 

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be. 

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate. 

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going. 

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture. 

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest. 

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that. 

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door. 

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking. 

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm. 

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his. 

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it. 

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear. 

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze. 

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling. 

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system. 

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him. 

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug. 

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh. 

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma’,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice. 

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead. 

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with. 

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle. 

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show. 

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one. 

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold. 

“I’d like that,” he manages. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee. 

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again. 

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it. 

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

He sleeps pretty well nowadays. 

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace. 

“Same as usual?” 

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened. 

“Oh!�� you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion. 

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you. 

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week. 

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again. 

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything. 

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise. 

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this. 

You’d show your Logan off to the world. 

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly. 

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile. 

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development. 

He comes around more and more often. 

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten. 

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you. 

It’s a picture of the two of you. 

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out. 

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with. 

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides. 

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well. 

But not any more. 

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about. 

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it. 

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look. 

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment. 

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you. 

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness. 

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him. 

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory. 

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken. 

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same. 

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass. 

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool. 

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh. 

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning. 

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp. 

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe. 

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him. 

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life. 

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt. 

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.  

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily. 

“Old man,” he chuckles. 

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.  

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands. 

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel. 

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…” 

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate. 

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight. 

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss. 

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for. 

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here. 

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods. 

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove. 

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle. 

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him. 

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces. 

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work. 

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you. 

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life. 

“This is a great one,” you declare. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you. 

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again. 

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 21: Lithium

Killer x gn!reader word count: 2k a/n: got another 241 for y'all next

“You really should rest, y/n.” You look up from your clipboard at Wire who was currently in the doorway with a deep frown on his face, clearly worried about you.

You were currently on the ship Momonosuke had provided for you. After the vivre card had burst into flames and you were able to move again, there was a small sliver of paper left in the palm of your hand. You had placed it into a small glass box and used it that way. You couldn’t risk losing the paper, especially knowing that something terrible had happened to your brother.

You were a wreck the whole way there. Countless scenarios racked your brain with the possibilities of what happened. The amount of stress you had was off the charts. You couldn’t eat, you couldn’t sleep. What happened? Your brother was obviously alive but what about everyone else? How much longer would your brother be alive? Just how far was he? Just what happened?

The vivre card didn’t burn anymore, but it was glowing on the edges. That meant he was alive, but he wasn’t doing well. He was hanging on by a thread. You only had his vivre card though, so everyone else, you had no idea how they were. You had no idea who was alive, who was dead - which you hoped to fuck was no one. You were so stressed, you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up with an ulcer or ten. You had no idea what happened, no idea his condition. Just a tiny piece of paper that you hoped wouldn’t burn anymore.

Luckily, it didn’t.

You ended up finding them on some small island. You had laid anchor and went into the jungle-like part of the island. You were basically sprinting through the foliage. Did they get attacked by a wild animal? No, that couldn’t be it. Your brother wouldn’t be overpowered by something as simple as wildlife. 

You had reached a clearing where you saw everyone looking worse for wear. When they saw you, their faces lit up as if they had seen a god. 

Though you were focused on something else. You were focused on the two that were currently looking like they were dead on the ground. Eustass and Killer. The only tell-tale signs that they were still alive was your brother’s vivre card and the unnatural twist of a smile that was on Killer’s face. You had found out when a SMILE fruit user died, their smile finally disappeared. 

You had never been so relieved to see that haunting expression.

You immediately went to work patching the two of them up and stabilizing them before moving on to everyone else. Then, you loaded everyone up on your ship and set sail. It was safer than being sitting ducks on an island. Besides, based on what everyone told you with what happened, the island was close to where the battle was, so feeling the scene was a good idea. People wouldn’t know your ship either, so hopefully people left you alone.

“Y/n?” You were pulled out of your thoughts once more as Wire spoke again. “I’m fine,” you said and he just looked at you, folding his arms.

“We all know you’re pants at lying, just like the captain.” You made a face and sighed. He was right - you hadn’t slept in days, you weren’t eating. You were just so worried. Even before you found them, you hardly ate or slept.

Wire sighed, shaking his head. “It’s like a watchpot. Just cause you’re sitting here watching over them, doesn’t mean they’re gonna heal any faster. You also can’t properly take care of them if you’re not in the right state of mind,” he said. You looked at him, narrowing your eyes and frowning. You folded your arms, pouting a little bit. He was right, but you didn’t want to admit it. Damn, he was starting to sound like you. When did he start getting all wise?

You looked over to where the two were currently resting. It had been a week at this point. They’ve both been out the whole time with no signs of waking up. Their injuries were healing, luckily enough. It took many hours of operating to really make sure they were stable. The amount of broken bones and stitching you had to do - if you never did it again, it’d be too soon. 

“I…I feel like if I stop to catch my breath, I might never breathe again,” you mumbled. You were just scared that if you rested now, you wouldn’t be able to find the motivation to get back up again.

“You’re a good doctor, y/n. They’re stable. It’s not going to hurt if you get some sleep. We’ll take turns keeping an eye on them.” Wire looked at you with a face full of concern. This wasn’t the first time he had tried to get you to sleep and you knew he was going to just keep pestering. 

With a sigh, you stood up, looking at your clipboard once more.

“Just because you look at it again, doesn’t mean it’s going to change, y/n.” You glared at the man across from you. One of the cons of growing up with someone on the crew meant that he could see right through you. “We’ll come and get you if anything changes. Promise.”

You looked at him a moment longer before sighing. “Fucking-” You tossed the clipboard on to the desk and sighed. “Fine!” You threw your hands in the air and marched out of the room. Due to your lack of sleep, you were a bit more irritable even with Wire’s smooth way of speaking. You headed down the hallway and to your room.

You didn’t think you’d get any sleep but the moment your head hit the pillow, it was lights out.

--

When you slowly came to, you noticed you were having a hard time moving. You were also very warm. It took you a moment to wake up and when you did, you realized you weren’t the only one in your bed. In fact, just about everyone was in bed with you or around you.

You blinked in confusion, trying to figure out what was going on. It was dark outside, the moon peeking through the pothole, illuminating the room slightly. You let your eyes adjust before trying to move. You were currently in a mess of limbs. You realized that Dive was curled up into a ball into you as she usually did, but you also had Heat wrapped around you. You also happened to realize your cheeks were damp. Were you crying in your sleep?

You carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake up the two in bed with you. Usually, you were a light sleeper. Were you really so tired that you didn’t notice everyone joined you for bedtime? Everyone else was scattered about the room, various snores and patterns of breathing filling up the room. Sure, the ship wasn’t spacious like the Victoria Punk had been, but there were plenty of other places to sleep.

After some careful footwork, you made it out of the bedroom and back down the hallway. You needed to check on your patients. You paused in the doorway, seeing Wire sitting at the desk stitching up something. He looked up as he saw you. “You’re awake.”

“What are you working on?”

“Eh, just working on something to pass the time.”

“How long was I out?” 

“I’d say about ten hours.”

Your eyes nearly fell out of your skull with how wide your eyes became. Ten hours? You couldn’t remember the last time you slept that long in one sitting! You usually tossed and turned, getting four or five hours at most. But ten? That was insane! 

“It makes sense considering you’ve been running on fumes the last few days. I can only imagine that you also didn’t sleep on the way here either. I’m surprised you didn’t keel over already or out for longer.” 

You felt your face heat up at Wire’s words. Had you really been that bad? “Yes. You were that bad and you looked like a walking corpse.” You just glared at him. Alright, smart ass.

“I just woke up, can you ease up a little?” You ran a hand through your hair and grumbled. Wire just smiled at you, standing up. He walked over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder as he passed. “Well, I’m going to get some shut eye now. Make sure you eat something, okay?”

You yawned and nodded. “I will.” Honestly, you’d probably end up forgetting.

You quickly went to work, checking on the two unconscious men. You needed to take their vitals and run some tests. The vivre card was no longer smoldering and even seemed to regain some of its paper; and that smile was still on Killer’s face. 

This was honestly the fucking worst. Two of the most important people in your life on death’s door and you were the last line of defense. You were up against the grim reaper himself. Things looked promising, but you knew better. You knew that shit could hit the fan at any moment and they could no longer be with you, but you weren’t about to roll over and let it happen either. You’d wrestle with the grim reaper himself if you had to. Hell, you’d probably trade your own life.

“Why did you have to go and pick a fight with Shanks again, dammit,” you mumbled, looking at your brother. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and groaning. 

You heard something come from your brother and every fiber of your being froze. You looked over at him slowly, eyes widened. You noticed his hands twitching slightly as well as his features. In an instant, you were at his side. You moved some of his hair out of his face to get a better look at him.

You watched as his face scrunched up. “Bigs?” he mumbled and you felt your eyes start tearing up. “Tungsten?” Your voice cracked halfway through the word, but you didn’t care. All that mattered right now was the fact that your brother had said something.

All the fear of what happened was hitting you at once. The tears started falling and showed no signs of stopping. You sniffled, wiping your tears away; well, attempting to. You watched as Eustass slowly opened his eyes, they seemed to struggle to adjust for a moment before fully opening. They weren’t particularly focused on anything before they fell on your face.

“Bigs?” he repeated, a bit louder this time. You nodded, smiling through your tears. “I’m here, mo laochain,” you said softly, using the old nickname you had given him a long time ago. The one in your native tongue. A tired smirk spread across his features as he let his eyes close again.

“C‘Mon, Bigs,” he mumbled. “‘M not little.” He let out a single scoff. It was a small noise, but you smiled all the same. That’s what he had told you one day when you used the nickname. Since it had meant ‘my little hero’, he didn’t want to be associated with being little anymore, so he had said those words. That’s when you had started calling him ‘Tungsten’ instead. Only, he’d always be your little brother. No matter how much larger he ended up being than you. He would always be little to you.

You buried your face in his chest and held him as he laid there, placing his hand on your head as he gently soothed you while you cried. Much like you had done for him so long ago.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

@narc69 submitted

hi ok first of all 1) i am so sorry if this is badly written, i started writing and then came to 3 hours later and this was on my page.

2) trigger warnings! intoxication, dubious consent (just to be safe im gonna mark this down as cnc), implied somno, dacryphilia, probably also degradation? just- please take care of yourself and i genuinely sincerely apologize if this is out of line at all. add any other triggers you feel necessary. you can absolutely respond to this privately if you feel more comfortable

3) i don’t speak spanish, google translate is my bitch. mea culpa if the spanish isn’t properly written

—

HI HI HI THANKS SO FUCKING MUCH FOR THIS I LOVE YOU THIS IS AMAZING IVE BEEN ROTATING THIS IN MY MIND OVER AND OVER AGAIN I WILL KILL AND DIE FOR YOU AT YOUR COMMAND 🥺🖤🥺🖤

you didn’t wanna sound like some 50s suburban white guy, but jesus christ, that was a long fucking day.

your body ached, and all you really wanted to do was get high and go to bed, and you didn’t waste any time getting those things done. 

you changed out of your work clothes and grabbed the joint you’d been keeping in your desk drawer. 

there were also pills you’d been saving in the bathroom cabinet and you decided this was a good a time as any to take them. 

anything so long as it didn’t mean having to think. 

-

it was cathartic how the anxiety and tension in your shoulders melted away. the smoke from the joint smelled like citrus and pine and you held it in your lungs before breathing out eloquently. 

it was quiet; only a few cars drove by your apartment complex. crickets chirped somewhere in the background but your head had already began buzzing and you didn’t pay much attention to it. it was nice, the quiet. so much more manageable that being around people all day, the noises of corporate work echoing in your head, like some sort of fucked up lullaby that refused to be quelled. 

a patio door shoved open.

glancing up, you saw lalo salamanca looking down at you from his third floor balcony. you knew him well enough. well enough to know that he was renting his apartment temporarily after finding himself in albuquerque on a “business trip”, anyways. he was nice too. he let you into the building once when you were too drunk to find your keys, and made good conversation when you ran into him in the halls. 

“hey chico, are you smoking?” he called down. you glanced up, scrunching your nose.

“yeah. what’s it to you?”

“you’re smoking and you don’t invite me?" 

"ok well- no one’s stopping you.” you called back up to him. he stared at you for a second, completely silent, then:

“don’t go anywhere." 

a minute later, the front door of the building opened and lalo came walking out. you were visibly already on another planet and lalo couldn’t help but laugh. 

”oh, cosita ingenua.(oh, you naive little thing.)“ he said. 

"what?” you asked him, not understanding a lick of spanish. 

“don’t worry about it. hey- gimme that,” lalo said, taking to joint from your fingers and taking a long drag. you watched him through a haze of brain fog and fatigue. 

“i didn’t know you smoked,” he said. you took the joint back and took your own turn. 

“right back atcha,” you mumbled. lalo watched you, his eyes flickering across your face and hands. for a very brief second, you wondered what he was thinking, but it was almost immediately overshadowed by the buzz still going strong in your head. you zoned out, staring at the ground, head completely empty. 

the joint fell from your hand and landed unceremoniously on the ground.

“awe man…” you pouted, picking it up. it had gone out and you fumbled with your lighter, struggling to light it again. 

lalo hadn’t moved this entire time, and was still watching you failing to light the joint. 

“jesus christ, chico, come here,” he said, taking the joint from you and lighting it himself. “mouth. open. now.” he told you once it was lit properly again. lalo took a lung-full breath of smoke and before you had any say in the matter, he was cupping your face and shotgunning the smoke into your mouth. 

he was so close you could smell him, and he smelled painfully good. like palo santo, and cooking spices, and teakwood. you were almost upset when he pulled back again. 

“woah.” was all that came out of you as a reply.

“you liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, and all you could do was nod. he stepped closer, almost staring you down. “you want me to do it again?" 

without thinking, you nodded.

just like the first time, he took a long drag and blew the smoke into your mouth. only this time, he didn’t cup your face. he laced it through your hair and pulled just gently enough for you to let out the most innocent little whine. 

lalo laughed, having elicited the exact response he was hoping for. he pulled you in for a hug, enveloping you in darkness. his hand was on the back of your head, and it was cold. his fingers trailed along your neck, rubbing up and down and made you feel funny. 

"i think you’ve had enough,” he whispered into your ear, apparently making all the decisions for you now. lalo carefully put out the joint and put it back in the plastic bag you’d been keeping it in, and he slipped it back into your pocket. “how about i walk you back to your apartment.”

-

there was a confused frown etched into your brow and you subconsciously had one hand on the side of the wall to steady yourself. thoughts were blending into one another, and the world had become an incoherent haze. but you felt good. this is what you’d been hoping for- what the whole week had been building up to. 

“maldito, chiquito, how low is your tolerance?” he snickered, walking beside you towards the elevator. 

“not super low. took some pills too.” you told him, pushing the button that summoned the elevator. there wasn’t a braincell coherent enough in your mind to figure out why that was so funny to lalo. lalo was too busy laughing at how easy this was going for him.

“and you didn’t think to share those either?" 

"i didn’t know you were as fucked up as me." 

the elevator doors closed and lalo turned to you. he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged again, a little harder this time, but still receiving the same little whine as last time. he didn’t let go, keeping his hands where they were. 

"you really like that, don’t you?” he asked, staring at you again. his eyes had a sort of weird glint in them, and it made you nervous, but curious at the same time. you wanted more and no part of your brain was awake enough to think about it rationally for more than half a second. 

“yeah.” you whimpered. 

you stopped on the third floor. 

“hey, i live on the-”

“-fifth floor, i know, chico, we’re gonna stop at my place for a second.” lalo said. you sighed, tiredly, your mind already a million miles past the hair pulling. still, physically you felt different. not more awake, god no, but…warm? was that right? warmer? 

you blinked and looked up when you felt someone take your hand off the wall and hold it in his own. lalo was still next to you, holding you close. 

“i’m gonna take good care of you tonight.”

-

his apartment wasn’t nearly as dressed up as yours was. simple furniture, a rug, a tv, but nothing hanging off the walls, no books, nothing special. 

“sorry it’s so dull chiquito, you should see my house down in Mexico, it’s way nicer than this shitty place.”

“you live in mexico?” you asked, high out of your mind.

“si. correcto, coñejito. so smart.” he said, tapping your cheek. somewhere in the depths of your consciousness you knew he was being condescending, but it translated to something very different when it finally rung through your brain. laughter bubbled up from your chest and you pressed your head into lalo’s chest again. 

lalo didn’t waste any time and took his chance when it stared him right in the face. his hands held your head so he could control which direction he wanted your face to point. gripping your hair he moved your head so that your jaw was pointing out to him and he kissed down your neck like a fictional vampire going in for the kill. giggling, you wrapped your arms around his back. 

“vamos a llevarte a la cama, huh? let’s get you to bed baby boy.” he whispered into your ears, guiding you to the bedroom. 

his bed was the most comfortable thing you’d ever lain on, certainly more than your own.

“i thought you didn’t sleep?” you mumbled. he’d said that one. you remembered. he did. you swore…

“yeah but…” lalo replied, shutting the door behind him, “you can use a bed for more than just sleeping." 

finally- finally something clicked in your brain.

"let’s get these off. you don’t wanna sleep in jeans now, do you?” he said, climbing on top of you, virtually pinning you down, undoing your belt buckle. 

he felt heavy on top of you, but it felt good. you made a noise- something else incoherent, and let yourself sink into the mattress. 

“that’s it, just relax. just relax, coñejito. i’ll take care of you.” lalo said, his fingers slipping under the band of your underwear. his thumb brushed along your pelvic bone and you whined. 

clumsily, you reached out to grab lalo’s wrist.

“wait…” you mumbled, the embers of some sort of fear sparked in your chest. your boxers were already halfway down. “wait, seriously-”

“yes, chiquito?” he asked, still inching your underwear off. 

“ ’m trans- i- bro i don’t have a dick.” you told him, the most coherent thing to come out of your mouth in the last hour.

lalo slid your boxers off and threw them on the ground. he spread your legs, looming over you. he laughed at your statement, and you still couldn’t figure out why it was so funny to him. 

you felt something cold part your lips and his thumb, barely touching you, teasing you, rubbed circles into you. you groaned, pushing your head back into the pillows.

“this looks like a dick to me.” he said, pressing harder onto it. you couldn’t help but moan louder, reveling in how good it felt. his fingers found their way into your hole and you gasped, instinctively closing your knees. lalo shoved them open and you felt a harsh slap across your face.

“hey! you keep your legs open for me. understand?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious. 

“okay.” you whimpered.

“next time i won’t just hit you across the face, chiquito. you listen to me.” lalo said, working his fingers back into you. “i see you’re already nice and soaked for me. i guess you’re capable of doing that at least." 

he kept touching and feeling you, pushing his fingers inside of you until you couldn’t hold on anymore. you came all over his hand and liquid dripped off his wrist and…lalo looked furious. 

"im sorry.” you whined, shaking, “i’m sorry i just…" 

"keep your legs open.” lalo said, his voice dangerously soft. you obeyed,  and yelped when he did exactly as he warned early. a wet smack landed hard against your dick. it was swollen and hard and so, so sensitive and you cried out again, and again as he slapped you until he’d decided you’d learned your lesson. 

“you’re mine, and you do as i say. you cum when i tell you to. not before, not after, understand?” he repeated, 

“yes- yes lalo.” you nodded. 

“good.” he smiled, undoing his own belt buckle. “you can be as loud as you want- let the neighbours know how much of a whore you are, just as long as you do as i say." 

his pants dropped to the ground, and wrapping one hand around your throat, he remained punctual and wasted no time pressing himself into you. your back arched and your hands rushed to grab his shoulders once more. you gasped and moaned, not a thought in your head.

"bet that weed’s really getting to you now, isn’t it, baby boy? or those pills you kept talking about? i bet they’re really making their rounds now. get yourself all loosened up, let some random guy two floors down from you blow smoke into your mouth, let him lead you into his apartment, and you call me fucked up? hm? is that how it is?” he asked, fucking himself into you with no hesitation or plans to slow down. 

“lalo…” you groaned, gripping the sheets. you couldn’t even process what he was saying, just that whatever he was doing felt good and you didn’t want it to stop. your high only amplified everything. 

“yeah baby boy? what is it cariño. does it feel good to be fucked by a guy you barely know?" 

"yes, god yes.” you moaned. your dick pulsed between your legs and lalo took his free hand to it, rubbing his thumb up and down it, using your own cum as lube. “get comfortable baby, we’re gonna be here for a while.”

-

you lost track of time far too easily. everything swirled in your head like one big cloudy haze. you fell asleep at one point, and woke up a little while later covered in spit and cum, with lalo sucking you off, swirling his tongue around your cock. 

you think it’s somewhere around three in the morning when lalo finally gives you permission to cum again. everything felt heightened and hot, and your pulsing hole was sore and wet and still full of lalo’s dick. 

“you can let go for me, cariño, i know you have to, you can let go.” he said, and fresh tears came into your eyes at hearing him tell you to cum. 

“please- it’s- lalo-” you slurred. you’d essentially become his fuck puppy for the night. brain completely empty, lalo tearing orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you were nothing but a shaking wet puddle. you didn’t even remember your shirt coming off, but there you were, abdomen covered in lalo’s cum. 

“oh perrito, is it too much? are you gonna start to cry again? are you gonna cry like the whore you are?” he asked with mock sympathy. he slapped you across the face again and kept thrusting into you, or rather- gripping you by your hips and moving you up and down on his cock like some fuck toy you’d buy at a sex store. “i said cum, so you’d better fucking cum.”

his hand was on your dick once more, rapidly rubbing it back and forth. all you could do was scream. 

“there you go, slut, be loud. be as loud as you fucking can.” lalo growled, unrelenting.

“please, please, please,” you moaned, sobbing, though the words meant nothing. “oh fuck- fuck." 

"there you, come for me. come for me now.”

your body obeyed and you clenched the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. your moan was the prettiest sound that had ever echoed through lalo salamanca’s bedroom. 

“good boy! bien hecho. oh my sweet baby- fuck-” lalo praised, unable to hold it in himself any longer either. he pulled out, shooting onto your face and into your open mouth. “dios mio, nene. that was the best fuck i’ve had in a while.” he groaned, letting the last little bit dribble onto your lips, and like the good little boy you were you reached your head up and sucked off his tip. 

he got off the bed and left the room, leaving you in your own mess. there was a small, wet puddle by your hole, where all the cum had leaked out. you twitched through the last of the aftershocks, and sobbed, feeling so exhausted- so tired. 

lalo came back a few minutes later with a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. carefully, he picked you up and held you close.

“shhh-shhh. it’s okay. it’s over now. you did so good baby boy. let me look at you?” he asked, his voice gentle again. you looked over like he asked and found him caressing your cheek, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“oh baby, you’re still high, aren’t you? are you okay?” he asked, grinning and laughing a little. you smiled through your tears and nodded. 

“come here, let’s clean this mess off you.” lalo said, gently washing your face with the cloth, laying you down on the bed one more time, cleaning up your chest and your thighs. 

“such a good boy.” he hummed, picking you back up. “lets get you some clean underwear, and we’ll worry about the rest tomorrow. ok cariño?”

“okay.” you mumbled quietly, your throat sore from screaming all night. lalo pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“my good boy." 

[cha-melodius]

If there are still slots open for the Christmas prompts, may I ask for 6. “Is that present for me?” with Lokius? (or 3. “Your lips are cold.” as a backup number). Thank you and I hope you'll reach the 1 000 000 words (also, just saying, that's very impressive!!).

(Ok, so I might have cheated a liiiiiiittle by combining two prompts into one, which was inspired by the fact that @okilokiwithpurpose had prompt #3 as a backup. But hopefully the fact that this fic is 4x as long as most of the others in this challenge makes up for it! I had written a tiny bit of this AU, but never shared, and somehow as I was looking at it again these prompts just slotted into place. So here you go, an actor AU, which I can't believe no one had written for these two before, with some fake dating thrown in for fun. I hope you all enjoy! Also: @an-asgardian I wasn't sure if your AO3 name was different, but let me know and I can gift it to you there if you like!)

True Hollywood Romance

Read it on AO3 (M, 8.1k)

Toronto International Film Festival, early September

“You cannot tell me you’re intending to wear that,” Loki blurts, in lieu of a greeting, the moment he opens the door and sees Mobius standing on the other side of it.

Mobius glances down at his outfit: a grey suit that, yes, he has worn to more than a few previous events. Not that anyone would notice. No one ever asks who Mobius is wearing, he’s never appeared on any fashion lists (best or worst), and that’s the way he likes it. He knows he’ll be comfortable, and he doesn’t have to worry about hurridly-sewn seams failing or a jacket being mistakenly cut too tight across his shoulders. He hasn’t so much cultivated his look as actively not cared about it, and he’s gotten to a point in his career where people were inclined to let him do as he wished.

Until now, it seems. Loki is still staring at him in something akin to horror, which is a bit much. It elicits a knee-jerk reaction to get defensive and dig in his heels, but Mobius shoves it down and forces a tight smile onto his face. This is to be their first official public appearance, and it wouldn’t do to start things off on the wrong foot.

“You have a better idea?” he challenges, raising his eyebrows.

“Go back in time and get a suit that’s properly tailored,” Loki opines, before he sighs, gesturing Mobius into the hotel room. “You can’t wear that shirt.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Loki gives him a withering look of disdain that is definitely pushing it. “It’s boring, Mobius. Take it off, I have one that will work.”

Mobius sighs out heavily through his nose, trying not to grind his teeth together, and reminds himself that he agreed to this. God knows why. Your career is stagnating. No one’s talking about you, Ravonna had said. You need to shake it up, and this is the perfect opportunity. Then his agent had delivered the final blow: If you want that movie green-lit, you’ll do it.

Fucking Hollywood. Odin Borson had one of the biggest production companies on the block and a troublesome, wild-child son who needed an image rehabilitation. Who better to play the moderating influence than someone who’s never been a front page headline in the tabloids in his life? The TV actor who’d been beloved in the same role he’d played for over a decade, but boring in every other respect? Even when he’d come out several years ago, the news had barely made a ripple. He’s been trying to get this movie made for years, though, so a few months of pretending to date the producer’s kid had seemed like a small price to pay.

He’s not so sure about that anymore, though.

He follows Loki through the palatial suite to an entire walk-in closet of clothes—how on Earth could he have so many, they’re only here for a few days—and waits as the other man roots around a collection of shirts. Loki pulls several out and frowns at them before tossing them away, heedless of where they land. Sequins, ruffles, lace, one that seems to be hot pink— Christ, Mobius needs a drink. 

“I really doubt any of your stuff is going to fit me,” he tries in a last-ditch effort.

“It’ll be close enough,” Loki says, waving him off dismissively. “Keep your jacket buttoned on the red carpet and no one will notice.”

Mobius sighs, again. He has a distinct feeling that his life will be easier if he just lets Loki do what he wants. Within reason. “I’m gonna have a drink. You want anything?”

Loki’s mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. “Not allowed to drink before these things anymore,” he says stiffly, still focusing on the shirts in front of him.

“Oh. Noted.”

Possibly they should have actually talked more before this, but Mobius had counted on film festival red carpets being relatively low pressure when it comes to interviews. Loki has a small part in one of the movies from Odin’s production company, hence the appearance, but he’s not a lead, so no one expects the press to want to talk to them that much. They’ve been provided a few essentially scripted lines about their relationship to use when someone inevitably asks: they met on a ski slope in Vail, hit it off over coffee, etc, etc. Never mind that Mobius has never been to Vail. He doesn’t even ski, unless you count a jet ski.

Mobius briefly wonders if he should also abstain out of courtesy, but he figures Loki would say something if it was going to be a problem. Hopefully it won’t, because there’s no way Mobius is gonna get through tonight without at least one Scotch. He’s pouring a healthy portion into a crystal tumbler from the room’s wet bar when Loki appears at his side again.

“Here. This one,” he says, thrusting the garment into Mobius’s hands. It’s a rich, cerulean blue, and when Mobius holds it out he sees it seems to be a mock turtleneck and also…

“Is this… sparkly?”

“It’s a subtle shimmer,” Loki corrects superciliously. He hesitates for a second and looks away, avoiding Mobius’s gaze, and when he continues his voice is oddly tight. “It will bring out the blue of your eyes.”

Mobius swallows. Loki’s not actually dressed yet, still wearing a bathrobe, the fronts of which have by now slipped open down to where it’s belted at his waist, revealing a tantalizing swath of smooth, sculpted chest and abs that Mobius has to force himself not to stare at. Look, he’s not a monk, and Loki is a very attractive man. That fact may or may not have swayed his decision to go along with this circus. Still, this is all fake. Loki is way out of his league, and he’d do well to remember that.

Of course, he hadn’t banked on having to deal with Loki’s chest all night. It turns out he’s not wearing a shirt at all, only the trousers and jacket of a deep green tux with tails so long and elaborate they’re reminiscent of a skirt. He looks, to put it simply, stunning, and Mobius can’t help but feel a bit dull beside him. Even in a shimmery turtleneck, which, ok, did look better under his suit than what he was planning on wearing.

The appearance goes off without a hitch. They walk the red carpet, talk to a few reporters, smile like they’re enjoying themselves. Loki sleeps through the screening of his own movie, but Mobius is enthralled. He’d never really seen much of what Loki had been in before—mostly a number of prosaic runs as villains in genre flicks and their sequels—but in this he’s utterly arresting. He steals every scene he’s in, few though they might be. It makes Mobius wonder what happened, how he got so off track in his career, because clearly he deserves a lot more.

Halfway through the movie, Loki’s head tips onto his shoulder, and he doesn’t have the heart to move him. Loki jerks awake at the audience’s applause when the credits roll, going red as he realizes that he’d been using Mobius as a pillow. His eyeliner is slightly smudged and his hair is mussed, and the whole picture is far too soft and endearing. Even though they’re surrounded by a couple hundred other people it feels remarkably intimate, and something twists in Mobius’s gut.

This might be harder than he previously expected.

~~~~~

Hollywood, California, late September

“Is that a present for me?” Loki says, a teasing note in his voice and a grin on his face as he slips into the seat opposite Mobius.

They’re sitting outside at a cafe in Hollywood, in full view of the paparazzi that lurk unsubtly across the street. Odin’s people called them, of course. Another of their scheduled appearances, this time a casual lunch. Mobius tries to smile like he doesn’t care that his every move is being documented. He’s never elicited this kind of attention during his entire career, and he’s not at all disappointed about that.

“The very one provided by your manager,” Mobius answers dryly. It had been delivered to his apartment with a note explaining that he was supposed to give it to Loki at the arranged time. “I take it you purchased this for yourself?”

“Mm,” Loki hums as he eagerly tears the top off the box and pulls a luxurious green silk scarf out of it, winding it around his neck. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. This a thoughtful gift from my dear beau.”

Mobius feels his face go hot at the fake pet names and blames the sun. “How can you wear that right now? It’s scorching out here today.”

“I’m always cold,” Loki tells him. “So. Honey. Dearest. Beloved,” he says, grinning over the menu at Mobius’s huff as he gets more flustered by the second. Turns out bearing the full brunt of Loki’s charm is a lot. “What looks good?”

Once they get settled in things get easier, though. They actually talk, really talk, for the first time since this whole thing started, and Mobius finds out that Loki’s not only insanely good looking but also sharp and engaging, talking excitedly about this or that project, going off on long tangents about random topics that interest him. It’s so unlike the haughty, stand-offish demeanor that he’s known for that Mobius is thrown off for a second, but he ends up enjoying himself too much to think about it too hard.

“The worst place I’ve ever had to film was definitely actual Siberia,” Loki is saying. They’re now undergoing the actor’s rite of passage in getting to know one another: sharing filming horror stories.

“Oh, that was The Void, right? The post-apocalyptic one,” Mobius says without thinking.

Loki blinks at him. “I thought you hadn’t seen any of my films.”

Mobius’s chewing slows to a halt as he realizes what he’s just admitted. “I mean. I’d seen a couple.” And if, since TIFF, he’d watched all of them, that was his business and nobody else’s.

“No one’s voluntarily seen The Void, Mobius,” Loki teases, a slow grin spreading on his face. “It’s not even on any streaming services.”

That is true. Mobius had had to buy the damned thing, and even finding a copy had been trying. Which was actually a shame, because yes, the movie had been terrible—abysmal writing, with a hackneyed love story forced in at the end—but Loki’s performance was exceptional. He’d played several different versions of the same character, each twisted a little differently, and it had been a bit of revelation.

“Musta caught it when it came out,” Mobius mumbles as he shrugs, avoiding Loki’s too-mirthful gaze. “Anyway, it’s gotta be more fun than always filming on a soundstage. Fifteen years of it gets real old, let me tell you.”

“All those places you traveled to? Pompeii? Those couldn’t have all been sets,” Loki says, which surprises Mobius enough to pull his eyes off his plate again.

“Now who’s been watching old TV series?” Mobius shoots back. “You can’t expect me to believe you saw Murders in the Multiverse when it aired.”

Loki sniffs, trying his best to look as if he hadn’t just been caught out. “Those are all on Paramount Plus,” he says dismissively. “I just put them on in the background for research. Barely paid attention.”

“Right. Research,” Mobius huffs, amused. “Well, they were all sets. Even Pompeii.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad, though,” Loki says, tipping his head slightly. “You stayed for a lot of seasons. Even through that miserable amnesia arc.”

Mobius snorts. “Never overestimate the pull of a steady paycheck. I still get decent residuals from that show. But after a while they didn’t want to pay me what I deserved, and I got bored playing a time cop. Wanted to do something new and different. Get out of my comfort zone.”

“Which is why you’re here,” Loki says, a flat, difficult-to-read expression on his face. If Mobius didn’t know better he’d almost say Loki looked upset, which doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Mobius allows. He picks at his food as they fall into an awkward silence, until finally he decides to just say it. “It’s been nice getting to know you, though.”

Loki looks up at that, slightly surprised, before a careful smile spreads across his face. “Yes. It has.”

~~~~~

New York Film Festival, October

“This is inhumane,” Loki whines the moment they step out of the limo and onto the red carpet.

“You’re the one who insisted on wearing a backless outfit,” Mobius reminds him. “I warned you.”

Not far away from where they stand, the fans lining the barricades are bundled up against the frigid wind of the unseasonable cold snap that had hit New York a day before the festival. Even Mobius is uncomfortably cold, and he’s wearing a wool suit. A new bespoke Italian wool suit that Loki had insisted upon for the festival. He almost wore a scarf, too, before Loki objected. Even though it was a nice scarf. Mobius had thought the outfit was pretty sharp, actually.

Clearly, Loki has somewhat warped views on what is appropriate for the weather, because he’s wearing some kind of shiny something that Mobius doesn’t even know how to describe—like a pair of trousers with a backless waistcoat attached on top, and nothing else. Christ, this man is dead set on ruining him. Especially because he huddles close for warmth, and Mobius has really no choice but to wrap his arms around him as hundreds of camera flashes go off from the press corps area nearby.

They’ve never been this close. Mobius has pressed a hand to his lower back, and Loki has draped himself off Mobius’s elbow, casual signs of affection that are easy, but this is quite beyond that. His hands splay over Loki’s bare skin as Loki tucks himself against his chest, and suddenly their faces are bare inches apart.

“You should kiss me,” Loki murmurs.

Mobius’s brain experiences a full shutdown, and it takes several moments to reboot. “What?” he manages, his voice strangled.

“We haven’t kissed for the cameras yet.”

Mobius does not remind him that they have not kissed at all, because they’re not actually dating. They don’t have to kiss. Lots of celebrity couples keep those things more private. Certainly plenty of them have never locked lips on the red carpet. Of course, Mobius knows as well as Loki that there have been rumors—blind items, chatter in the tabloids—that their relationship is just for PR. Which is true, but that’s not what they want people to think. A kiss would help sell it. That’s all this is.

No more than a few seconds can have passed, but it feels like an eternity before he manages to give a small nod. Loki is taller than him, so he has to stretch up on his toes a little as Loki dips his head to meet him. It doesn’t need to be more than a chaste press, but Loki’s lips, slightly tacky from the gloss he’s wearing, move softly against his and linger with the barest tug on Mobius’s lower lip as they part. It very effectively punches all the air from his lungs and leaves him reeling, which is kind of suboptimal because they’re still standing on the red carpet. Then there’s the fact that Loki just stares at him after they part, his eyes slightly wide like he hadn’t really meant to do that.

“Your lips are cold,” Mobius blurts, somewhat nonsensically, because he has no idea what else to say.

It turns out to be the right thing, though, because Loki laughs softly. “Can’t imagine why,” he drawls. He pulls away slightly, and Mobius tries not to feel disappointed about that. “Can we go inside now?”

“Just a few more minutes, sweetheart.” The endearment slips out, and he can feel Loki staring at him, but he doesn’t look over.

Instead, he does his job. Slide to the side so Loki’s outfit is visible. Lace their fingers together when Loki grabs his hand. Smile for the cameras.

Ignore the massive, hard knot settling into his gut.

~~~~~

Paris, France, November

“Yeah, I got it,” Mobius says over the phone as he wrestles his suitcase through the narrow hallway. “I’ll read it soon. It does look interesting.”

“The director specifically inquired about your schedule,” Ravonna tells him. “This is a very good sign, Mobius. You’re on people’s minds.”

“I know,” he sighs, because he’s tacitly admitting that she was right.

Even if this movie isn’t what he’s after, the fact that people are actually interested in him for the first time in… well, he can’t remember—it’s definitely good. And a little surprising. It’s not that he didn’t think the plan would work, but— ok, he didn’t really think this plan would work. Apparently he was wrong about that.

The numbers on the door to the hotel suite that’s been booked for them are ornately wrought in gold leaf, and he blinks at them for a moment before fumbling with the key. To say he doesn’t stay in places like this would be vastly understating things. The concierge had looked almost offended when he said he could handle is own bags. He’s a simple guy, not built for a life like this. Ravonna is rambling in his ear as he finally manages to get the door open, but when he steps into the suite he interrupts her without a thought.

“Ravonna, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

It’s huge, of course, and outfitted in Rococo fashion, with a large sitting area, what looks to be an office-slash-library, another sitting room, a bathroom larger than his first apartment, and a bedroom with a massive four-poster bed. One bed. He’s still staring at it when Loki pops up from where he’d been reclining on one of the couches and walks over to him.

“Where’s the bellboy?” he asks, peeking around Mobius’s back as if one might be hiding there. “I was going to send for champagne.”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Mobius protests, only half paying attention.

“Mimosas, Mobius. Catch up.”

“Sorry, is that the only bed in here?”

Loki pauses in his route to the room’s telephone and looks back at him, confused. “Of course. Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“One of those blind items about us was definitely leaked by a hotel staff member. The one about separate rooms? We can’t afford those kinds of rumors. Hence.” Loki waves his arm at the bed, then blithely continues on to the phone.

It makes sense of course, they would be sharing a room and a bed if they were really dating, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Mobius to deal with. “I guess there are a lot of couches,” he allows. None of them look like they’ll be great for his back, but it’s only a couple of days.

Loki frowns at him. “You can’t honestly be planning to sleep on a couch, Mobius,” he scoffs. “The bed is plenty big enough for the two of us. Plus, the cleaning staff might notice.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mobius says, biting down on an exasperated sigh. He’s jet lagged, and exhausted, and being reminded of how much of an act this whole thing is frays his last nerve. “It never ends,” he groans.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this,” Loki counters. “It’s not that big of a big deal.”

“Heaven forbid we actually get some moments where we don’t have to be performing, even when we’re alone!”

Loki goes stiff, his mouth narrowing in to a hard line, and Mobius knows he’s made a mistake. “Well. I’m sorry that this is so difficult for you,” he says, his voice cold and calm in the very worst way.

“Now wait a second, it’s not about—” Mobius tries, but Loki cuts him off.

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” he says, then turns swiftly on his heel and marches into it, slamming the door behind him.

Mobius winces. Christ, he mucked this one up good. They’d been getting along so well that it’d been easy to sell that they enjoyed each other’s company, but this certainly isn’t going to help things. This trip was supposed to be a ‘romantic Parisian getaway’ for the two of them. Now it seems like they’ll be testing the limits of their acting ability. Bitterly, he thinks that Loki’s clearly a good enough actor that he shouldn’t have any trouble.

The bathroom door stays firmly shut for a long time, so Mobius the only thing he really he can. He unpacks the clothes that will wrinkle and puts them out to be pressed, pokes around the library for any interesting books—which he discovers must be mostly treated for show, given that they clearly haven’t been opened in quite a long time, and anyway are all in French—he even orders a bottle of champagne sent up, along with some fresh squeezed orange juice for good measure. After a while, when Loki still hasn’t emerged, Mobius hesitantly approaches and knocks softly.

“Loki? You ok?”

At first it doesn’t seem like there will be an answer, but there’s a soft curse, then the door flings open and Loki stares at him blankly. He’s wearing a bathrobe, and his hair is wet.

“Were you showering?” Mobius asks without thinking. It’s not really any of his business.

“I was in the bath,” Loki answers, his voice even. His face his carefully arranged, neither upset nor relaxed, but still, Mobius can’t help but feel like they took three steps backwards. “Did you want the shower?”

“Actually, yeah, if it’s not too much trouble. Planes, you know,” Mobius tries, offering a tentative smile.

“Right, of course,” Loki says with excessive politeness. “It’s all yours.”

“I ordered that champagne you wanted, by the way,” Mobius offers. “Orange juice too. Dunno if there was any other fancy stuff you wanted.”

That seems to take Loki by surprise. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” Mobius says in a rush, wanting to get it out before Loki can interrupt him again. “I was just— well, tired from all the travel, and I reacted poorly. You’re right, the bed is huge. And for what it’s worth, this isn’t difficult for me. I mean, spending time with you. I enjoy it.”

Those words have the curious property of being simultaneously entirely too honest and a massive lie, because this has in truth become incredibly difficult for him. Difficult not to give himself away. Difficult to reconcile what they do in public with their actual relationship. Difficult to keep from falling further and further in love with Loki every moment they spend together.

Loki’s expression softens, stuck somewhere between disbelief and relief before one corner of his mouth finally tugs upward. “That’s— well, that’s nice of you to say.”

“It’s the truth, Loki. You’re a great person.”

“That’s not a common opinion, I’m afraid,” Loki says dryly, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Well, they’re wrong,” Mobius insists. “They don’t really know you.”

“And you do?”

Mobius nods confidently. “I do now. And I know I’m lucky to be your… friend,” he finishes, just managing to avoid saying something absurd like boyfriend or partner. They’re friends now, that’s not a stretch to say.

For some reason Loki flinches at that, though, so subtly it’s almost invisible. Then he’s smiling quickly to cover it, falling into his usual teasing tone as he says, “You’re right, you are lucky, Mobius. Two days of basking in my glorious presence. How will you survive?” Barely, Mobius thinks, but he chuckles all the same. “Hey, you wanna go out after this? I’m famished, and we could see some sites?”

“Sure you want to?” Loki asks, his expression sobering a touch. “We could just order room service. I mean, if you want some time off from performing…”

Yup, Mobius is gonna regret saying that for a long time. He can’t explain that it’s easy for him to act like he’s Loki’s boyfriend. That he’s not actually pretending when he ends up giving him smitten looks from across a cafe table. (Mobius has seen the paparazzi photos in the tabloids. Photographic proof of how utterly gone he is, which is all fine because that’s what they want the world to see. People don’t realize that Mobius isn’t that good of an actor. Not this time, anyway.)

Instead, he says, too honest once again, “No, I want to. Do you come to Paris a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Then show me your favorite places, ok?”

“All right,” Loki says, slowly smiling again. A genuine smile this time, pleased, like no one’s ever asked him for something like that before. “It’s a date.”

It is a date, so much a date that Mobius has to remind himself frequently that it’s not real. They eat crêpes at a café, their legs tangling together under the table, then Loki drags him off to obscure museums and tiny yet stunning churches. They stroll through the Tuileries hand-in-hand as Loki eats gelato despite the cold, and Loki leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth as they sit by the Seine. (The thrill Mobius gets at that is severely tempered by the fact that he can see the paparazzi photographing them from across the river. It’s just a photo op. It’s always a photo op.)

It’s dark outside by the time Loki leads him to the catacombs, which Mobius is pretty sure are actually closed. Not that that makes much of a difference when you’re as famous and filthy rich as Loki. What it means, though, is that they have the place to themselves, which is actually pretty creepy considering they’re surrounded by row upon row of stacked human bones.

“Of course this would be one of your favorite places,” Mobius laughs.

Loki scoffs in obviously put-upon offense, pressing one elegant hand to his chest. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How often do you come here?”

“Every time I’m in the city,” Loki admits, grinning at him.

He’d walked a bit ahead, but now he comes back to stand by Mobius’s side as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling near where they’d entered. Mobius is so distracted by their surroundings that he doesn’t notice Loki reaching out until a hand slips into his, linking their fingers together. His head snaps to the side in surprise, but Loki is looking resolutely away.

“There’s no one here, you know,” he ventures, because apparently he can’t let himself have nice things.

“I know,” Loki says. He flashes a quick smile Mobius’s way before turning back to their surroundings. His fingers loosen a bit, as if giving Mobius the chance to pull away, which is of course the last thing Mobius wants to do. He tightens his own grip, and thinks he sees Loki’s lips quirk into a smile before he starts tugging him down a corridor.

Loki talks animatedly as they walk, telling stories about the catacombs that may or may not be factual, but Mobius finds that he doesn’t really care. He spends more time looking at Loki, anyway, at the way that the warm light reflects off the walls and illuminates the cut of his cheekbones and the curve of his lips. Maybe parts of this aren’t real. Maybe Loki isn’t really his, not in the way he wants, but Mobius wasn’t lying when he said he was lucky to call him a friend, and he decides then that he’s going to enjoy the time he does get, no matter how much it hurts in the end.

~~~~~

Torino Film Festival, December

Mobius doesn’t walk the red carpet in Torino; his flight is due to get in late, and Loki is busy with a press event for his movie anyway. He’s due to meet Loki later for some exclusive party, but in the mean time he has work to do; his agent managed to score him a dinner meeting with a director he’s always admired but never dreamed he’d get to work with, and who’s got a new, hush-hush movie entering pre-production soon. He refuses to get his hopes up, but the meeting goes really well, even if it does take an unexpected turn near the end.

“I hear you’re involved with Loki Odinson now,” the director says conversationally.

“Yeah,” Mobius confirms, a little uncomfortably. He’s never sure what to say when people start asking about his personal life, and it’s even more awkward now. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, yes. He was supposed to be in one of my movies a couple of years ago.”

“What happened?”

The director gives him an inscrutable look. “The official reason was scheduling,” he says after a moment. “But we couldn’t insure him.”

Shit, Mobius should have known. A ‘couple of years ago’ was when Loki started sliding off the rails: partying endlessly, walking off sets, publicly picking fights with his golden-boy actor brother. Loki generally doesn’t talk about it, so he knows very little but what was in the press, which is probably half bullshit and anyway definitely not the whole story. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say, how much he should know, but in the end he doesn’t really need to say anything.

“You seem good for him,” the director continues. “I always did think he just needed someone to really believe in him. I’m glad he found that.”

“Er, thanks,” Mobius manages, his throat abruptly tight. “I don’t think I have a lot to do with it, though.”

“Come now, Mobius. Don’t you know you’re in the film industry? Never sell yourself short,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

Mobius is still pondering his words while he’s waiting near the entrance to the party for Loki to arrive so they can go in together. He’s running late, of course, so Mobius ends up so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice Loki’s approach until the other man is nearly in front of him. When he does, though, his mouth nearly drops open. Loki is wearing what amounts to little more than minuscule black hot pants with a sheer body suit over them, the gossamer fabric spotted with green crystals and black lace that resolves somewhat into snakes and foliage as he gets closer. Very few people could pull something like that off, but Loki is absolutely one of them.

Now Mobius understands the emerald green jacket and black silk shirt Loki had sent him to wear. They actually look like they belong together, complementary but not too matchy-matchy, though Loki still outshines him by several megawatts. Loki smirks at his no doubt stunned expression, reaching up to unbutton several the shirt almost halfway down his chest, then drags his hands down Mobius’s front and leans in close to his ear.

“It’s a party, Mobius,” he murmurs before Mobius can object. “Live a little.”

They’re extensively photographed standing in front of some kind of wall made of dense shrubbery before finally they can go inside. There, at least, there won’t be any press or paparazzi, though still plenty of eyes on them. It should be relatively low pressure, and it is at first; they chat with the other guests, and though Loki knows more people than him, he does run into someone he did a movie with years ago and who he has a nice time catching up with. But then, as the night gets later, Loki insists on dragging him onto the dance floor. Mobius doesn’t dance. It’s just not in his makeup, but there’s no saying no to Loki. That’s what he tells himself, instead of admitting that he’s a complete pushover where this man is concerned.

Mobius does his best to try to move to the beat, which makes Loki laugh at him and grab his hips in an attempt to get him to swing them, or something. It’s definitely not going to work. What’s worse, though, is when Loki gives up and just starts grinding against him. Christ, Mobius doesn’t know where to put his hands, and he knows this isn’t supposed to be a big deal but it’s a lot to have Loki pressed against him like this, and if he keeps it up things are going to get really uncomfortable really fast—

“Need some air,” Mobius gasps, wrenching himself away and stumbling off the dance floor.

He has no idea where he’s going, but he finds an exit into some kind of enclosed courtyard. There are a few people scattered around, mostly smoking, but they pay him no attention as he hurries past them and finds a relatively secluded alcove behind a bush to collapse into. It’s quiet outside and no one disturbs him, which is why he jumps a mile when a hand lands on his shoulder a short time later.

“Mobius?” Loki asks, staring at him in concern. “Are you ok?”

“Oh yeah, fine and dandy,” he lies with an admittedly weak smile. “Just got a little tight in there, is all.”

“We can leave, if you want.”

“Only if you’re ready. I don’t want to cut your night short.”

Loki sighs, and leans against the wall next to him. “These things are never quite as fun when you’re sober.” He shivers almost violently in the winter chill, crossing his arms over his front, which does precisely nothing when you’re wearing as little as he is.

Mobius doesn’t really think, just says, “c’mere,” and pulls him into his arms, wrapping him up against the cold, and Loki tucks himself against him. It’s like New York all over again, except there aren’t a hundred cameras and screaming fans around them. Just them. Just Loki’s face, so close to his. Without planning to, he reaches up and presses a thumb to the side of Loki’s lower lip, and it still feels warm against his finger but he wonders if it would be cold against his mouth.

“Mobius,” Loki whispers.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, or maybe they both move at once, but those lips are on his again, and it’s nothing like the brief, press-approved pecks that they’ve shared before. Loki tips his head and slots their mouths firmly together, parting his lips, licking past his teeth almost tentatively at first and then with more confidence when their tongues tangle together. They kiss and they kiss until Mobius’s lungs are burning, but he doesn’t dare pull away, doesn’t dare to break the spell. Then Loki shifts in his arms, and the press of their bodies together draws a low groan from his throat that finally makes Loki withdraw. Mobius is prepared for regret, or excuses, or an attempt to laugh it off—anything but how dark his eyes are when they meet Mobius’s.

“We should go,” Loki says, and the low, rough tone of his voice reaches all the way into Mobius’s gut and tugs.

It’s a miracle that they make it back to the right limo, and no sooner has Mobius settled into the back than Loki is climbing directly into his lap. There’s a broad, mischievous grin on his face before he ducks down to kiss a path along the edge of Mobius’s jaw and onward to work a spot below his ear in a way that Mobius is almost certain is going to leave a mark. Christ, it doesn’t matter, though, because it’s so damned good. His hands slide up Loki’s thighs over the lace bodysuit until his thumbs hit the crease of his hips, and when he digs his fingers into the sides of his ass Loki moans and his hips grind forward against the rapidly tightening region of Mobius’s pants.

“You want me,” Loki murmurs near his ear, punctuating it with a little nip to the taut muscle of his neck before he sits back with a teasing smile.

“Of course I do, you absolute demon,” Mobius groans. “Look at you.” He plucks at the lace. “This isn’t clothes. I swear you’ve been trying to drive me insane.”

“Is it working?” Loki asks, bending down close to the side of his face again.

“What do you think?” Mobius growls, then captures his mouth in another bruising kiss.

Getting up to the hotel room is a fucking trial, mostly because Loki refuses to detach himself from Mobius. Thank god there’s a discreet, private entrance to the hotel and an elevator that takes them nearly directly up to their suite. Somehow Loki manages to shed the bodysuit almost instantly—Mobius doesn’t even understand how it was fastened—leaving him in just the skin-tight booty shorts, and Mobius short-circuits briefly at the sight of all that bare skin. Then there’s the way his half-hard cock is straining against the fabric, which sends a jolt of white-hot desire surging deep into Mobius’s gut. Loki turns and walks toward the bedroom, swinging his hips in a way that should be illegal, and by the time Mobius manages to scramble after him he finds Loki perched on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his hands.

“Come here,” he says, his voice nearly a purr, and Mobius’s feet obey before he even registers the request.

He stands between Loki’s spread legs as the other man looks up at him through long eyelashes thick with mascara, and feels like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he murmurs, letting his fingers trail lightly across Loki’s cheek. It seems impossible, but there’s no mistaking the hungry look Loki is giving him.

“Why not?” Loki asks, one perfect eyebrow arcing upward. “You want me. I want you. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Right. It doesn’t have to mean anything, he might have well said. Which is true. It doesn’t have to. It can just be two people finding pleasure in each other’s company. Friends with benefits are a thing. Not a thing that Mobius has ever done, but a thing nonetheless. Loki is offering everything he wanted (not everything), everything he never thought he’d get (not even close).

Why not, indeed?

After all, it’s simple enough to lean down to kiss him in answer, to let Loki’s nimble fingers efficiently divest him of his shirt and trousers. It’s simple to lose himself in the eager slide of hands and the slick heat of Loki’s mouth; so very simple to push him backward into the bed and take him apart with mouth and fingers until he’s begging, to press inside him and surrender to the pleasure that floods through his body and overwhelms all of his senses.

What’s not simple is how he feels afterward, when Loki sprawls sleepily across his chest and tangles their legs together under the covers. When they spend all night like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms. When, the next morning, Loki acts like absolutely nothing has changed, like he hasn’t just completely upended Mobius’s life.

Mobius lays in the bed for a while, just watching as Loki blithely prattles on about their schedule for the day while he rifles through his wardrobe, and then he knows: it’s going to be fucking complicated.

~~~~~

Hollywood, California, New Year’s Eve

Mobius doesn’t know what he was expecting after Loki texts him and tells him to come over early before the party, that he should bring his suit and get ready at his place, but it wasn’t for Loki to drag him inside by the collar and press him against the wall by the door. Certainly he wasn’t expecting to be kissed breathless, or for Loki to lean in close and whisper, “Will you fuck me before we go tonight?”

They’ve slept with each other a few times since Italy. Usually after one of their scheduled appearances—which Loki now fills with suggestive innuendos and hidden, risqué touches because apparently his new goal in life is to make Mobius’s life as difficult as possible—but once Loki showed up at his house in L.A. in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a silk robe and a wicked grin. Sex with Loki is frequently playful and teasing, sometimes tender (Mobius tries not to think to hard about those moments), always mind-blowing, but it’s never been like this. Desperate. He doesn’t know what to do with that, but he also doesn’t know how to say no to Loki, so he nods and lets himself be dragged off toward the bedroom.

For someone who’s main goal seemed to be sex, Loki is surprisingly fully dressed in black slacks and a plain white button-down, as if his unexpected request was a last minute decision. He allows Mobius the handful of seconds it takes him to hang up his suit for tonight on an empty hook in the closet before he pounces, pulling him into another bruising kiss as his hands drop to Mobius’s belt. It’s overwhelming, frankly, but not so overwhelming that he doesn’t feel Loki’s hands tremble as they fumble with the buckle, and that yanks him firmly out of the hazy, lust-fueled fantasy.

“Hey, hold on a second,” Mobius says as he traps Loki’s hands with his own. “What’s going on with you?”

Loki actually whines in frustration, trying ineffectually to tug out of Mobius’s grip before fixing him with a scathing glare. “Nothing. I’m fine,” he growls. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Actually, no. Not if you don’t tell me what’s gotten into you,” Mobius tells him flatly, punctuating it with an unimpressed look that makes him turn his face away. “This isn’t like you, Loki.”

“How would you know what’s like me?” Loki snaps, finally yanking his hands out of Mobius’s grasp and storming across the room. “A few months and you’re an expert now?”

“I think I know you pretty well, yeah,” Mobius counters, “and I know when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Loki hisses in a way that does nothing to sell that assertion. “I’m just tense about tonight and need something to take the edge off. If you’re not interested, I’m sure I can find someone else.”

Mobius can’t quite suppress a wince, but he summons what mettle he can and stares defiantly back at Loki. “Sorry, not buying it.”

The look Loki gives him is pure ice. “You think I can’t? That I couldn’t call up any number of people and have them here at a snap of my fingers?”

“Oh no, I believe that part,” Mobius says with a humorless chuckle and an utterly mirthless smile. He makes himself stroll casually over to where Loki stands, getting into his space again. “I’m sure you could get just about anyone. I don’t think you will, though, because you won’t violate the agreement.”

The agreement—worked out between Loki’s people and Mobius’s people, and which they had precisely no say over—specified that neither of them would sleep with other people for the duration, no matter how discreet they thought they could be, because the potential for a leak was just too great. For Mobius, it certainly wasn’t going to be a problem. He didn’t fool himself that it would be the same for Loki. After Torino he’d written the sex off as a fluke, a moment of madness on Loki’s part perhaps, but when it kept happening he figured that the only reason Loki was sleeping with him now was because he couldn’t have anyone else. It made more sense than the alternative, that Loki actually wants him, of all people.

Loki stares at him for a long moment, his eyes dipping to Mobius’s lips in a way that seems almost involuntarily before he drags them back up again. When he speaks again his voice is so low it’s nearly a murmur. “How do you know I haven’t already?”

“Because I know you, Loki,” Mobius answers, just as quietly. “Maybe you are tense about tonight, but that’s not all of it. So I’m gonna ask again: what’s going on?”

Another beat. Loki looks off across the room, biting his lower lip so fiercely Mobius thinks he’s going to draw blood, and when he finally turns back he looks… shattered. “Tonight’s your final obligation,” he says, his voice unsteady. “Must be a relief.”

“…What?”

He swallows and sniffs, tipping his chin up in a weak pantomime of indifference. “No more performing. You won’t have to pretend any longer.”

Mobius can’t help it: he laughs. He doesn’t mean to, especially since Loki’s clearly upset about this in some way that he can’t quite figure out, but the whole thing is just absurd.

Predictably, Loki looks taken aback at this response. “What’s so funny?”

“Loki, I haven’t been pretending for months,” Mobius sighs. At this point, it seems silly to hold anything back. He might as well know. “I’m in love with you. So if you think tonight is going to be a relief, well. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

In all the ways he might have pictured Loki reacting to such news, he never expected him to look utterly baffled. “But…” Loki trails off, searching Mobius’s face; for what, Mobius doesn’t know. “You can’t be.”

“Oh, I assure you, I can,” Mobius says, smiling a little miserably. Loki’s just staring with his mouth hanging open, so he forges on. “Look, I know you didn’t want things to be complicated, and this is the exact opposite. I never wanted to put you in this position—”

The rest of whatever he was going to say is cut off when Loki kisses him again, and there’s some desperation in it, sure, but not in the same way. Not even close. Loki’s hands are holding either side of his face, long fingers digging into his hair, his kisses slow, deep, and utterly all-encompassing. Mobius has never been kissed like this, with such focus and care, with such pure emotion poured into it and leaking out with every gasped breath. Even when Loki finally breaks the kiss he presses their foreheads together, like he can’t bear any further space between them.

“Please, complicate it,” he breathes into the narrow gap, shifting his head slightly so their noses brush together.

“Does that mean…?” Mobius trails off, because it kinda feels like a stupid question, but still. He’d like to be sure.

Loki pulls back so he can look him in the eye as he says, “I’m in love with you, Mobius. I just never thought…” He glances down and gives his head a little shake. “You’re one of the few genuinely good people in this business, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey, no. None of that,” Mobius says, cupping a hand around Loki’s cheek and urging his face upward again. “I won’t have you talking badly about the person I love,” he teases gently.

“Mobius,” Loki groans as he rolls his eyes.

“You are good, Loki,” Mobius insists, his expression sobering. “You are.”

He honestly expects more arguing, but Loki just looks off across the room, the corners of his eyebrows thoughtfully quirking upward in the middle. “I wanted it to be real,” he says quietly. “But the further things went, the more I convinced myself it never could be. That you’d never… never really feel that way about me. Even now, I feel as if this is some kind of fever dream. I’m going to wake up tomorrow and you’ll be gone.”

“I won’t be,” Mobius promises, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Loki’s ear. “Is that what this was all about? One last hurrah before the end?”

“Something like that,” Loki admits wryly. Perfect white teeth dig into his lower lip as he slowly drags it through them. “I wanted it to be hard and rough. I wanted to feel you for days afterward.”

“Jesus Loki,” Mobius huffs, gaping at him in disbelief. He swallows hard, unsure of how to respond to that. “And now? What do you want?”

Loki lifts a hand to Mobius’s face, dragging a finger lightly along his hairline and down to the crest of his cheekbone. “Just you,” he murmurs. “In whatever way you’ll have me.”

How about that? It turns out that it is simple, after all.

[darkwants]

ezra liked his job most of the time, but he didn't know if it was possible to like paperwork in any occupation. maybe for some people, but not for him, even though ezra knew it was a necessary evil. after the incident earlier in the week, he'd wanted to make sure that everything was sorted out and taken care of properly, and in no short order, which meant some late nights and some unpleasant phone calls, and even a hospital visit or two mixed in there. he had real reasons for being busy, but that didn't mean he didn't also feel guilty for the fact he hadn't found time for billie lately. he remembered fighting with her about her jealousy, remembered her saying that she missed him, and ezra hoped to reward her patience with something nice. maybe another trip out of town, at least a day date if he couldn't find some way to distract her dad and keep her for an entire weekend so he could make it up to her.

when his phone rang and baby girl showed up on the display, a smile instantly took to his face as he reached over to answer it, prepared to cheerfully tell billie that he'd just been thinking about her. instead he never got the chance, the smile slipping off his face as he found out that billie hadn't been patient with his absence at all. it felt like part of his rib cage came loose to rest heavily in the pit of his stomach and ezra sighed even as he responded to the tone of billie's voice, pushing his chair back and standing.

"where are you? i'm going to come get you." snatching up his jacket and his keys, ezra left everything on his desk as it was, trusting it wouldn't be bothered while he went off and dealt with billie. lights were clicked off as he went, but that was the only effort he put into properly shutting down, not even stopping to check the alarm before going out the door. if someone happened to take advantage of his sloppiness, oh well, it wasn't like he didn't have the paperwork to do anyway, this would just be a different kind. besides, ezra knew his priorities, and right now his priority, his heart, was gasping across a phone line, saying she needed him.

"billie, i want you to listen to me. find somewhere well lit with people and just stay there, okay? find a store or something." if she was dressed up all fancy for a date, she didn't need to be walking the streets at this time of night, someone was likely to stop buy and offer her more than one kind of ride and ezra's temper didn't need that. he didn't even need to be thinking about it, what the fuck was she doing, going out on a date? if he sped out of the parking lot a little faster than reasonable, at least no one was around to call him on it.

status: closed

pairing: billie & ezra

with: @darkwants

it wasn't the first time a customer asked her out or hit on her. in fact it was usually a daily occurrence. yet that night the bar had been jam packed with people. the same idiot frat boy named tony had been there with his friends. her dad was also there but sadly ezra wasn't. tony had opted to ask her out on a date very loudly and in front of everyone. of course thanks to everyone being drunk, they cheered him on and the pressure was impossible to ignore. all she had been hoping was that ezra would show up to make the attention turn away from her. yet she knew something had gone on at the garage and he mentioned something about an incident report. everyone just kept pushing and pestering till she felt like she had no other choice.

billie certainly hadn't thought that tony would remember. yet there he was, at her front door that next friday night. she had the night off so she didn't see how she could get out of it. that was why she even got dressed and found herself out with him. at first it seemed okay but he kept finding reasons to touch her. his hand brushing against her arm or scooting closer. he kept making remarks about how her dad said she would be easy. something that she hadn't seen coming to say at the least. what kind of father would say such things about his own daughter? maybe she shouldn't have been surprised but she was.

what she hadn't been expecting was for him to be waiting for her when she stepped out of the bathroom. he tried to corner her and his hand was smoothing down her hair. instantly she brought her knee up to his groin only for him to go down like a sack of potatoes. in an instant he was calling her every name in the book but she tore off running. she didn't even bother returning to the table since she had her purse with her. instead she ran outside, ignoring the server calling out to her.

she managed to get a few blocks before she felt the need to catch her breath. after taking a few seconds she reached to pull out her phone and hit ezra's number. she put it up to her ear only to hear it ring twice before he picked up. billie was half hunched over, gasping still but she managed to speak," dad-daddy i know i made a mistake, i got pushed-into-into this date and i wanted to say no but i couldn't-and he tr-tried to corner me, i got away but i need-i need you please!"

[sinner-as-saint]

we can’t stop, we’re enemies.

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader AU

Run-through: After the events of the last battle against Thanos, you teamed up with Sam and Bucky to carry on your superhero duties. You got along with Sam just fine, he was a really good friend to you. Bucky however, was not. From constant banters, to unnecessary hand-to-hand combat, to purposely getting each other in trouble during risky missions, to being the main cause of Sam’s migraines; it was safe to say that you and Bucky considered yourselves to be each other’s nemesis. Although that soon changes when, courtesy of your silly banters, a certain mission goes slightly wrong - one which involves strong chemicals which, unbeknownst to you, were designed to mess with the brain and hormones, thus encouraging the need to breed and procreate amongst all those who inhale it...

Themes: enemies-to-lovers, smut, sex pollen trope, dirty talk, swear words, fluff

“How is it going up there Sam, talk to me.” 

You spoke, waiting to hear from Sam through the ear piece. 

The three of you were on a mission on unfamiliar lands. Rumor had it that some shady organization was conducting illegal experiments. The whole location was spooky, and you needed to be thorough and quick. So Sam decided to get an aerial view along with Red Wing, and see if there are any threats coming your way while you and Bucky decided to check out the underground laboratories. 

The whole place was shadowy and old, it almost seemed like no one had been here in a long time. But still, these people were criminals so you had to gather every evidence you could which would lead you their way. 

And so far, after exploring the place for the past half an hour, you found nothing major. Just weird laboratory glassware filled with liquids and what not. 

“Sam?” you called out again into the ear piece, keeping your gun at the ready. “Say something damn it.” 

His reply came. “There’s something sketchy about the building at the back, I’m gonna go check it out. But you have to promise me you won’t kill each other by the time I get back.” 

You and Bucky sent death glares at each other in disgust. He was on the other side of the lab, flipping through files and papers, while you were searching the cabinets and drawers. The two of you were separated by a steel workstation. Dark leather jacket, metal arm exposed; you’d find him handsome if he wasn’t so annoying. 

“Sure, whatever.” Bucky mumbled, being his grumpy self. 

You frowned at him, “Dude, drop your fucking attitude.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at you, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sam roared through the ear piece, “Enough! Focus, you two are in the labs and we don’t know what’s in there. Just, maybe look out for each other. Okay? I’m going in.”

“Be careful, Sam.” You spoke, sending another dirty look at Bucky. 

“Yeah y-,” 

Sam got cut off. All you could hear was some static noises and then complete silence. 

“Sam? Can you hear us?” Bucky tried reaching out but neither of you could hear him. “This isn’t good.” 

“Damn it!” You cursed. “Maybe he flew out of range. Or maybe we’re too deep under.” 

For once in his life he nodded, agreeing with you. “Let’s just hurry up and see what we can find. We need to get out of here as fast as we can and get to the Jet.” He said, flipping through more and more files and papers, his metal arm glistening in the poorly lit room. 

You sassed in the same tone he used before, “Don’t tell me what to do.” And you earned yourself another glare from him. 

Fifteen minutes later and you two still had nothing to work with. 

“This is useless. There’s nothing here, this is just bullshit.” Bucky complained, slamming down a file on the workstation so hard that it made you jump. 

You were annoyed. You slammed a cabinet shut and turned to face him. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is work getting too tiring? Do you need a break? Hmm?” 

“Shut up, you’re the one who keeps whining all the time.” He wasn’t wrong. 

You stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the cold workstation. “Well maybe if you’d quit complaining and actually do your part of the job, then I wouldn’t have to whine about always doing everything on my own and you taking credit for it in front of Sam.” 

He leaned forward, his metal arm already denting his side of the edge of the workstation. “Maybe if you’d stop bitching about everything and everyone all the time then maybe we’d get along and actually get shit done.” 

You leaned in too. “Or maybe if just me and Sam teamed up, we’d work better. I still don’t know why he keeps you around. Take your metal arm away, what are you? Exactly, just a hundred year old, confused man.” 

He smirked. “And what are you? Just a spoilt, whiny brat who knows how to use a gun?” He knew just what to say to get the reaction he wanted out of you. 

In less than a few seconds you had your loaded gun out in front of you, aiming it at his forehead. “And guess what, she never misses a target.” You spat at him. 

You had done this before; aiming guns at each other until Sam comes to break the tension. But Sam wasn’t here this time. 

Bucky knew you would never pull the trigger on him so he gave you a handsome, arrogant smirk which only pissed you off even more. “Come on, shoot.” He provoked you. 

“Stop pissing me off.” You warned. 

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me for calling you a whiny, spoilt brat? See, that’s exactly what brats do.” 

“James, stop.” Oh he was getting on your nerves. You were agitated. 

He just smirked and went on. “I actually believe that that might be your superpower, destroying people by annoying them to death with how much of a brat you can actually be.” 

You glared at him, unmoving, furious. You placed your forefinger on the trigger. “Say brat one more time and I will blow your fucking head off and when Sam asks, I’ll make it seem like an accident.” 

He leaned closer, aligning his forehead to the barrel of your gun. He stared at you with his stormy, ocean blue eyes; inciting you to just pull the damn trigger. He watched you with mischief in his eyes. “Brat.” He mouthed, smirking right after and waiting for your reaction. 

You clenched your jaw and shifted your aim just a little so that the bullet misses him but still shoots right by his ear. You pulled the trigger without hesitation, shooting at the shelf filled with dark red and brown liquids behind Bucky. 

Bucky maintained his calm and composure despite the loud sound of the shattering glass falling on the tiles right behind him. “Brat.” He said again, out loud this time. 

“I hate you.” You lowered your gun but then noticed something behind Bucky. Smoke, or some sort of vapor oozing out of the broken flasks and test tubes. You froze for a second. “Bucky, look.” You walked around the workstation and joined him on the other side. 

The vapor quickly filled the room like thick fog, reducing visibility and making your throat burn a little. You coughed; once, twice. You looked beside you and Bucky was standing there with a look of horror on his face. 

The moment his supersoldier sense got a whiff of the vapor, something in him ignited. No… 

“We have to get out of here. Now.” You heard his voice, then felt his cold fingers wrap around your wrists as he tugged you along, making his way out of the lab. He tried to hold his breath but he couldn’t hold it very long. He tried to find the door to exit the room but that was hard too because neither of you could see properly. 

“This stuff,” you spoke in between coughs, “will probably kill us, won’t it?” You held on tightly to his arm. “You need to get us out of here now.” The vapor was reducing your visibility more and more. 

He felt the side of the wall, looking for the metal handle of the door through which you entered the lab. “It won’t kill us.” He growled as he looked beside him. You were standing close to him, so close, holding on to his arm tightly, a thin layer of sweat covered your face. 

It was almost funny how you had your gun aimed at him just a minute ago and now you were relying on him for protection. 

“How can you be so sure? Do you know what this stuff is?” You asked. 

He sighed. He knew. “I have a hunch, but let’s hope I’m wrong.” He felt warm. Deep inside something stirred in him. Animalistic, primal, feral. It was there, pressing and burning. Guess he wasn’t wrong. 

He finally found the door and he pushed it open, letting the two of you out and you took off running at once. You tried to reach Sam. A couple tries later, he finally responded. “I got some names, I think we got what we’re looking for. Where are you guys?” 

“We found…. uh, nothing. We’re on our way to the jet, meet us there.” Bucky responded, running beside you. 

You were confused out of your mind, not to mention you felt feverish. Hot, and you were sweating more than usual in places you’d rather not think about. Something in you was yearning to break free. You felt chained, you needed release. You felt like something had awakened inside of you; a deep hunger. Aroused, you felt aroused. Or was it just the adrenaline rush? 

By the time you tried to figure out what was actually going on with you, you both had made it to the Jet. 

“I feel sick.” you mumbled, stumbling on your way inside the jet. “I think… I think that smoke poisoned me.” You placed your palm against the side of the plane to hold on so you don’t fall. You felt like gravity wasn’t pulling you down anymore. You were a little out of breath. 

Then you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. You grimaced as it only ignited the fire which you just found out had been burning inside you since you left the lab. 

“You’re not poisoned. You’re not sick, you’re gonna be okay. We just have to… we have to get home.” Bucky was worse than you were. His enhanced senses allowed him to feel everything you felt, times ten perhaps. 

His heart raced as he got a whiff of your fading perfume, mixed with the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your natural, raw scent. He could feel your arousal from here, and it pulled him in so easily. All he wanted to do was to tear your suit off, pin you up against the side of the Jet and fuck the living hell out of you, stretch you out and just rail you until you could no longer take it. 

Fuck. 

You looked up at him; heart racing, palms sweating and even your mouth was salivating more than usual. “You know what that thing was, don’t you?” You asked, ignoring the way his cold hand upon your shoulder made you want to lean into his touch even more. “What was it?” 

You saw the look in his hooded eyes. Bucky sighed, pulling his hand away from you and the loss of contact made you whimper ever so quietly. You felt warmer and more and more breathless with each second that passed by. 

“They used to make those substances, long ago back when I was with HYDRA. I didn’t expect to find those here. They were used to… to try and see if they could get super soldiers to procreate naturally.” Bucky explained and waited for your reaction. 

“Sex pollen. Correct?” 

He nodded, “Yes.” 

You were a little shaken, but relieved knowing that at least it wasn’t poison and you wouldn’t be dying a painful death. “That’s… I mean, it could have been poison.” You didn’t know how to react after you pieced it all together. “How long before it wears off?” 

“Twenty-four hours unless...” 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you fuck it out of your system well enough.”

That had you surprised. “Oh. Well that’s just great, isn’t it? Fucking perfect. I’m screwed.” 

Bucky tried his hardest to refrain himself from leaning in and biting that sassy mouth of yours, shoving his tongue past your lips to shut you up, to hear you moan and gasp and cry out his name as he takes you however he wants to… 

“We.” He corrected you. “It’ll get worse every hour.” He replied. 

You sighed and moved away from him, unzipping your combat suit partly and removing the jacket because you couldn’t handle the heat. Bucky cursed as you stripped into just a tank top and tight pants, right in front of him. He felt his cock get harder. 

“Can you not?” He sounded pissed off again; frustrated. “This is all your doing. The least you can do is make this a little bit easier for both of us.” 

His words made you turn around and glare at him. “How is this my doing? I didn’t even know what was in that lab.” 

He stepped forward, instinctively. The sight of your exposed neck and your soft skin was making him think of unspeakable things that he wanted to do to you. As he advanced, you tried not to look down at his cock, straining against his zipper. Your heart raced as you took in the size of his bulge. Enhanced super soldier indeed. 

“Had you not been a spoiled brat who can’t take a joke, you wouldn’t have tried to shoot at me nor would you have shot those flasks!” He argued, feeling more and more warm as he got closer to you. 

You took a step forward as well, fueled by annoyance, lust and anger. “Who was it who provoked me into doing that because they couldn’t keep their fucking mouth shut, huh? That’s right, your annoying ass!” 

Bucky pushed you against the side of the Jet without a second thought. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with his hand while pressing his body into you, his metal arm circling around your waist and pressing you further into him. 

He hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t thought about how your warm breath would feel against his skin, or how warm your body would be under his touch. You felt feverish, having him this close. His tall, large frame and his tight grip made your whimper under him. Your body reacted to him naturally. 

All you felt was warm, his body heat, his scent. The feeling of his cold leather jacket against your flushed skin. You wanted him. Or rather, your body did. 

“Don’t you provoke me now, you fucking whiny brat.” He whispered, menacingly into your ear. 

You tried to ignore the shivers his voice sent down your entire body. But he saw it. And you could feel his erection press against your crotch. Just to mess with him, you discreetly moved your hips against his, making him hiss loudly. 

“What are you gonna do about it, dipshit?” You sassed, knowing that given his intensified senses he must be feeling much worse than you. 

He groaned as you kept grinding against him, your pulsating core rubbing against the bulge in his pants. And that only made it worse for both of you. 

“Fuck…” Bucky swore, before quickly pulling away from you, but not releasing you yet. “You’re such a bitch.” His body was screaming for you, each nerve ending of his was on fire. A fire only you could douse. 

You were just the same, on the edge and wanting to reach out for him; knowing he would satiate your hunger better than anyone could. Your body was throbbing as you stared into his eyes, your gaze lowering down to his dog tags. How you wanted those dangling right above your face… 

You heard someone clear their throat. It wasn’t Bucky. 

“Something you two need to tell me? Or is this just your new way of trying to kill each other?” A deep voice asked from behind Bucky. 

“Sam! Are you okay?” You escaped Bucky’s grip and rushed to Sam. 

He seemed alright to you. He nodded. “Yeah, we just need to get home. I need to notify the team and see what we should do next. What was in those labs?” 

You glared at Bucky. His smug face alone was pissing you off, but God right now you wanted to ride that man until the sun came tomorrow morning. 

“Just a bunch of useless experiments. Nothing major.” He glared at you as he said the last bit to Sam. 

The ride back home was one of the most painful, annoying and frustrating situations you had ever undergone. Each time you felt like someone was watching you, you’d turn your head to the side and find Bucky staring; and his stares would make your body tremble in need. 

Meanwhile he was having a hard time too, in more ways than one. He could feel his blood rush south even at the brief sound of your voice whenever you sighed in annoyance or talked to Sam. Luckily the latter could not pick up on the thick, sexual tension. 

Once at the compound, you each hurried to your own rooms and that’s where you stayed until the evening. Sam found it weird that you both skipped dinner but he didn’t need another headache today so he went to bed, telling himself that he’d deal with you two tomorrow morning. 

Bucky was a mess. Even after an hour under the cold shower his body was still calling out for you. He tried taking care of his business on his own, but that wasn’t working. He was still so hard it was painful. Nothing could make this better, nothing could soothe the pain - nothing but you. He needed you so badly it was driving him insane, like he was an animal in heat being asked to suppress his feral desires towards his mate. Being away from you was painful. He couldn’t help but hate you for no reason at all usually, but he’d do what it takes to be inside you and make you scream his name right now. 

You were equally as troubled at the super soldier. You tried taking a warm bath and tried to think of other things you could focus on, but nothing worked. Your toys didn’t seem appealing tonight, you needed him, all of him. You shivered at the thought of his taut, virile body under yours, or above. His masculine scent, the sound of his moans, would he bite?… fuck. You could feel your arousal leak out of you every now and then, it was insane how aroused you were. You couldn’t look at him for long without getting unnecessarily annoyed, but you would do anything just to have him rearrange your guts right now. 

What made it worse was that neither of you could stand each other at all. Enemies, you called yourselves. But right now you couldn’t help but crave each other in the most salacious way possible. 

Fuck this. You couldn’t take this anymore. You decided to swallow your pride and make your way to his room and ask him if you two could come to an agreement on how to fight this thing because it would be impossible to go another twenty hours feeling like this. You were burning from the inside. This was unbearable. 

Just as you opened your bedroom door, you were slightly surprised to find Bucky standing right outside your door. His metal hand up midair, as though he was to knock on your door and you happened to open the door just in time. You almost drooled at the sight of him; sweatpants and a tight, white t-shirt. You swallowed and cleared your throat. 

“Hey.” You greeted him, not knowing how to deal with this situation. You felt so drawn to him in that moment, so damn restless and needy that it was hard to breathe right while looking at him. 

“I was, uh, about to knock…” He didn’t know how he got here, he didn’t remember. Maybe it was the chemicals messing with his brain and turning him into a hungry beast. He didn’t care that he was knocking on your door in the middle of the night, he wanted you. He was craving you and that’s all he knew. Also the oversized t-shirt, the only you were wearing at the time, was not helping at all. 

“Yeah, um…” you rambled then stopped talking the moment you found him staring into your eyes with a wild look in his eyes. 

That was it. 

You grabbed him by the waistband of his sweats and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. Before Bucky could process anything, you had him pushed against your closed door and your mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily. Your hands slowly slipped under his tight t-shirt and you lazily trailed your hands up and down his toned abs. 

His hands gripped your hips on either side as he kissed you back with just as much ardor as you did. His body ignited the moment he felt your lips and hands on him, yet the heat was weirdly satisfying; it stimulated him but calmed him down at the same time. It felt perfect. This was just what he needed, you. 

Your movements were rapid and passionate, fiery. Hands roaming each other's body, touching and feeling and exploring; making each other moan like you were both touch-starved. 

You let out a soft moan when you felt his tongue slip past your lips, stroking the top of your mouth while his metal hand slipped under your shirt. Your body was tingling wherever he touched you. His touch made you feel way better than you had felt in the past few hours and you were grateful. Your moans sent his mind straight to the gutter and he couldn’t wait to be inside you. 

“I need you…” you whispered against his lips as you pulled away to catch your breath. “I need you to fuck me… right here, right now.” Your demands made him smirk as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes. 

“Oh?” he managed to still find the energy to be an ass to you. “Why don’t you go on and beg for it, then?” 

You scoffed, leaning in to lick his lips while you hand dipped into his pants. You grabbed his erected cock and gave it a little, gentle squeeze. He moaned like he hadn’t been touched in forever. Like he was desperate for one thing and one thing only; you. You whispered, “You need me too, Bucky. I’m not gonna beg you, I’m doing you a favor here.” You slid your closed fist up and down his length and made him moan some more before you let go and watched him groan and clench his jaw in annoyance. 

He looked down at you, panting in need just as you were. His hand slid into your hair and he gripped it, tugging on it just enough to make you gasp in pleasure and pain. “Still a fucking brat with that annoying attitude I see?” He leaned in to bite your exposed neck, making your cry out in pain before he licked the spot, soothing it. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you.” 

He let go of your hair but tightened his grip around your waist as he placed his mouth back on yours. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow; biting your lip and bruising your already swollen mouth. He was wild, and you needed it and more. 

He pushed you down on your bed, and stood back to watch you for a moment. How did he never realize that you were so naturally beautiful? He looked down at you like a predator looking at his meal; fiercely, ready to ruin you and make you scream and beg and satiate his hunger. As well as yours. 

“Well, if you’re done staring…” you knelt on your bed and reached out for him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him closer. “I want you in me. Now.” Your demanding tone riled him up. 

Bucky grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back again. “If you wanna get fucked, you’re gonna ask nicely. Understood?” 

You glared at him, shooting death glares right at him while your hand palmed him through his sweatpants. “I fucking hate you.” You spat at him, whimpering as he pushed you back down on the bed, quickly climbing on top of you this time. 

“I hate you too.” He knelt on your bed, straddling your waist as he tore your oversized shirt in half and off your body, throwing the pieces of fabric somewhere on your bedroom floor. You laid beneath him in just your underwear and he growled. 

“That was my favorite shirt, you fucking idiot.” You whispered, breathless, shivers dancing down your spine as he traced your mouth with his two fingers, slipping them past your lips once, then twice then trailing his now wet fingers down your neck, till your belly button. 

“You think I care?” he leaned down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, kneading the other with his metal hand. The contrast of his warm mouth around one and his cold hand around the other was driving you crazy. He bit, and tugged and licked; making your back arch off the bed as you purred in pleasure. 

Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his erection again to try and alleviate the pain. You were desperate. Bucky pinched and rolled one of your nipples while he lightly grazed the other with his teeth, and you let out a loud moan. 

“Please… please, I need you. Please…” You muttered under your breath, knowing he could hear you. Bucky smirked as he pulled away from your chest, ignoring the way his cock throbbed. “What’s so fucking funny?” You grabbed him by the throat, pulling his face closer to yours. 

His metal arm reached down in between your legs and he ripped your underwear off. The fabric hurt just a little when it tore against your skin. “Just that it's the first time I heard you asking for something so politely. It’s not so hard after all, is it?” 

Now he was pissing you off. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and flipped the two of you around. You got on top of him and straddled his waist, trapping him under you like he had you before. You had better control like this. 

You grabbed him by the jaw and leaned in to kiss his lips, fiercely. “Stop fucking playing, Barnes.” You whispered against his lips, grinding against his hard cock again. He closed his eyes and hissed in pleasure as you kissed down to his neck, nibbling on his skin along his throat. 

He moaned, hands gripping your hips and guiding you as you rubbed your bare core against his clothed erection. “No? I thought brats liked games?” He mumbled. 

You pulled away from his neck and looked down at his smug face. “You are so fucking annoying.” You reached down in between your bodies and lowered his sweatpants all the way down until he kicked them off. You grabbed his cock and stroked him gently, agonizingly slow. He moaned shamelessly, and eventually caught on that you were just teasing him even more. 

“Don’t tease me…” he sounded just as breathless as you were. 

“Why? Not so fond of games anymore?” you sassed, rubbing your throbbing core against his thigh while you stroked him so gently that he felt like he was losing his mind. 

He growled as he grabbed you by the waist and flipped the two of you around, him being on top again. “Enough,” he growled in your ear, “Spread those legs for me.” He ordered, settling in between them as you spread your legs to accommodate him. He grabbed your thighs and parted your legs even more as he aligned the tip of his cock to your opening. “Now stay still, don’t move.” 

You braced yourself for him, but nothing could have prepared you for that. His length stretched you open until he was seated deep inside you, filling you up entirely to a point where you couldn’t even think of anything else other than him being balls deep inside you. 

You moaned as he removed himself entirely and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear, “Fuck….” you heard him moan; panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you. 

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. He kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you over and over again, making your eyes tear up. The burning need subsided a little bit as his cock brushed against all the right spots inside you. “Buck… faster, please,” You whimpered. 

He chuckled into your ear, “Needy little brat…” he mumbled as he sped up into you, making you lose your ability to focus on anything else other than him and his body. He pulled away from your face to look down at you, his metal hand coming up to wrap itself around your throat. “This is what you wanted since we left that lab, huh? For me to fuck your greedy little cunt? Hmm?” He taunted as he stretched you out completely. You lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist; allowing him to thrust deeper into you. 

You felt tears escaping your eyes as he pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours fucking deeper into you. He was relentless; each moan which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough. 

You felt a pressure form in between your hips, your body begging for release. “Bucky… please.” You moaned, begging. For something, anything. You’d take anything at this point. But right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he pulled out. 

“Please what?” He surprised himself with how he was able to tease you in this situation when all he wanted was to make both of you cum over and over again. 

“I need to cum, Bucky please,” you cried, with tears in your eyes. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss your swollen lips, not minding the tears. “Do you deserve it?” He asked, and you nodded immediately, your body shaking with how bad you needed to cum. “Oh you do, do you?” 

You nodded again. “Please…please...” 

“Well since you asked nicely…” Bucky flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his muscular body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again. 

He rocked into you from behind. His hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm against your lower abdomen. He liked how he could feel himself deep inside you with each thrust. And he liked how that drove you insane, he could by the way your walls gripped his cock. 

“Feel that, little brat? That’s all you’re good for… to take my cock like a good little slut.” He whispered. 

You groaned at the sound of his raspy voice, his words making you milk him even harder. “You wish, you dipshit.” You moaned as he sped up when you least expected it. You whimpered, and he chuckled now that he had you at his mercy. 

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he choked you gently as he bent down to whisper in your ear, “I can assure you that no one is ever gonna fuck you this good,” he boasted as he very gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “Fuck… please....” you cried. 

You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. “Cum for me. Now.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice. You came undone, hard and fast; moaning his name as you did. Bucky came right after you. 

You collapsed onto your bed, sprawled unevenly and not even caring. Your eyes were shut in fatigue, your heart racing and you could feel Bucky’s body heat right next to you. He was catching his breath too, mumbling something under his breath which you couldn’t catch. 

For the first time in hours, you felt at ease. Your body wasn’t yearning anymore, but the hunger was still there. So when Bucky got up to leave, you grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into bed with you. 

He smirked as he fell helplessly onto your bed again, right next to you. “You want more, you greedy little brat?” 

You punched his arm before getting up and getting on top of him again, sliding your body down his cock. He hissed as you did. 

“Just another round.” You whispered, loving the sight of him under you. His tan skin against your white sheets, him moaning as you slowly lifted up and sank back down on his cock. Oh fuck… 

You placed your hands on his muscular chest to hold yourself up as you sped up, riding him like you’ve been dreaming of this whole time. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you up and down his cock until you both found a pleasurable pace. 

You weren’t going to last too long, but you just needed to have him buried deep inside you again. His thick, girthy cock stretched you open as you took him as best you could, moaning and whimpering desperately as he groaned and gasped under you. 

Your walls gripping him and milking him like they had earlier, not even a few minutes ago. You felt the pressure forming nicely in between your hips again. You let out a loud moan as you felt his cock reach places it hadn’t before, turning you into a mess. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he brought you down on his cock with force each time and thrusting upwards to fuck you deeper. “Cum for me.” He threw his head back, growling. “Cum for me again…” 

Your hand grabbed him by the jaw and you leaned in to press your lips against his, claiming his open mouth and muffling his animalistic growls as you came undone around him again. Your orgasm then triggered his. 

You fell limp on top of him right after and he instinctively cradled your head. “You okay?” 

You nodded, your sweaty bodies pressed against each other but neither of you minding it. “Yeah.” 

Bucky gently rolled to his side, letting you down on your side of the bed. You tried your best to calm your racing heart. Not to mention you felt much, much better than earlier. 

Bucky got up to leave again, and you grabbed his hand before he got completely out of your bed. He turned to face you with a smirk then groaned dramatically, “Woman please, I’m not a machine. The pain will subside now, I believe we’ve done pretty good at fucking it out of our systems. I can’t go all night, seriously.” 

You were in a haze so his words made you giggle. “You’re really leaving?” 

He looked down at you, sprawled on your bed. Your face was glowing, you looked ethereal. “You want me to stay?” He asked, wondering where the sassy brat in you went. 

You nodded. 

He smirked, getting back into bed next to you, “What, now you're obsessed with me?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up. I’m just saying since I might need you again in the morning, you might as well just sleep here.”  

He pretended to be hurt. “Wow.” He didn’t mind that at all. He got under the covers with you, “So… is it just the chemicals or are we…?” 

You snuggled closer to his side, he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head under his chin. “Shh, I still hate you.” Your tired, soft voice reminded him of a sleepy kitten. 

He held you closer. “Of course.” He looked down at you and saw that you had already fallen asleep on his chest. He cracked a soft smile, whispering under his breath, “Brat.” 

[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

tom was having a really nice day until the metropolitan police decided to crash his date.            or, when the law finally catches up to london’s most notorious mobster, tom learns that nothing is fair in love and war.

word count ↠ 15k. warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, alcohol, a car chase, extensive depictions of prison, violence (very minor injury detail), tattooing, pregnancy, bad language, smut! there are extended nsfw warnings below the cut but this is 18+ so minors please do not interact.  a/n ↠ this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken 100% seriously! similarly to every other fic I’ve written about mob!tom, I don’t condone any of the actions shown in this story and all depictions of the mob and prison are entirely fictional. please do not date members of the mafia even if they are tom holland !!!!! + this fic was conceptualised before the release of cherry, and there are no purposeful links to the content of that film! the image from esquire that I’ve used is what led me down this path lmfao...esquire I love/hate you. ++ the biggest thank you ever to the wonderful @uglypastels​ for helping me with the initial brainstorm on this one, and for just generally being so supportive as I’ve struggled with writers block :’) I wouldn’t have ever been able to think this up let alone have the motivation to write this without you, so thank you and ily z <3  +++ there is a pov change halfway through this fic! it is intentional and you should be able to see it pretty easily but I’m just flagging it so you don’t think I lost it halfway through ahahha. enjoy!

nsfw warnings ↠ car sex, soft!dom!tom ft minor sir kink, oral and fingering (fem-receiving), multiple orgasms with brief refs to overstimulation, minor pregnancy kink, unprotected sex ft cumshot. 

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

There’s something wrong with you, and Tom can’t quite put his finger on it.

He wonders if it’s the wine. He’d spent hours debating the type of grape and ideal bitterness, scouring his memory in search of the perfect blend to share with you on your date. Eventually, he’d settled on the same deep red that he’d shared with you the first time he’d visited your flat, back when your love was just a small spark. Three years have passed since then, the nerves of early romance melted away and replaced by knowing and love, but the wine has recurred each time one of you has decided to treat the other, so what better blend to bring along to the picnic that Tom had so meticulously planned?

You haven’t touched your glass, and Tom—for all his confidence and charm—is deeply unsettled by this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for what feels like the tenth time, with brows furrowed so tightly his forehead aches. Tom reaches across the gingham blanket to join your fingers together, surprised to feel the clamminess of your skin as you gently squeeze his hand.

You hum. “I’m fine,” you say, voice devoid of any intense emotion. You sigh softly before bringing your eyes to meet Tom’s, and the man feels his heart constrict in his chest. You’re perfect, even with your hair messy from the light spring wind and the nerves that sit across your face. When you squeeze his hand again, and Tom glances down to see the engagement ring on your fourth finger, the ache in his heart sharpens.

He never knew love could be this fulfilling, nor so easy. Breathing is harder than it is to love you.

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you want to go home?”

You’ve been so quiet for the entire date, which is strange because usually, you match his energy effortlessly. Tom has been away for a few weeks doing business in Liverpool, and this date by the river is the first time you’ve been properly alone since he returned. He’d really expected you to enjoy the date—or, on a very basic level, at least look like you want to be here. With your quiet answers, avoidance, and nervous stares, he can’t confidently say that you do.

You shake your head. “No, no.” You fiddle with some of his rings before pulling your hand away from his. As you sit up a little straighter, you turn away from Tom to stare instead at the River Thames.

The river behind you is lit by the mid-afternoon sun and flooded with boats. It’s such a lovely day that Tom almost doesn’t notice the horrible brown tinge to the water. Lining the bank are small groups of people—families, friends, couples, tourists. They all stay clear of the two of you, undoubtedly wary of the security guards lingering near their boss. He rarely goes out so obviously like this, but you’ve always loved London, and he’d wanted to treat you. He’d wanted this to be a nice day.

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?” he checks, voice catching slightly.

Your eyes snap up to his quickly. “Tom,” you say, voice wrapped endearingly around his name. Moving easily, you slip closer to him, carefully shifting around the food and the glasses until you’re close enough to reach out and touch his cheek. “I love you.”

Tom’s teeth graze his lower lip as he feels you pad your thumb across his jaw. “I know,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze. “I love you too.” He pauses for a few moments, savouring the closeness and the scent of your rosy spritz. He’d missed you so much that it almost hurts to have you so close again. “I know you have something on your mind, darling… Can you tell me what it is? I want to help you.”

“I…” A breathy exhalation follows. You bring your hand away from his cheek and rest it on the red silk material covering his shoulder. He’s in a loose designer shirt, the top two buttons unbuttoned and showing off the silver-linked chain he has hanging from his neck. “Tom, I just…”

“What?”

A small smile twitches at your lips. “Not here,” you seem to decide, voice a little stronger. “I have something I need to show you.”

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

Tom feels the weight rolls from his shoulders. It’s fine—everything is fine. You want to let him in, want to trust him with the cause of your anxieties. You still want him.

“Let’s go, then,” he decides, knowing he’s far too impatient to spend another hour laying by the river. Tom offers you a hand, and you take it. He tugs you away from the picnic setup with ease. He doesn’t need to bother with putting the things away—someone else will do it. Just one of the perks of his job.

“I missed you,” you say, smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand as you walk together towards the car. “It gets lonely without you in the house. Our bed is ridiculously huge without two people in it.”

Tom chuckles. “Good job I’m back now then, eh?”

The noise you release is stacked full of so much relief it makes Tom feel guilty for ever leaving to begin with. As he watches the bright, genuine smile flow across your face when you meet his eyes, he resolves to never leave for business again. Never. Not without you.

“A very good job,” you clarify. When you reach the car together, Tom holds the door open for you, ushering you in dramatically until you’re laughing and making fun of him for fussing. The only way he can stop you from your jovial whines is by leaning across the dashboard and pressing his lips to yours, so really he can’t complain. “This car is stupid, too,” you decide.

“Oh, that’s too fucking far,” Tom murmurs, glancing in the rear mirror as he peels away from the pavement. He’s glad the air between you has lightened. You seem happier now you’ve decided to spill your secrets. He rests his hand on the back of your headrest as he twists in his seat, eyes on the road as he reverses. “This car is a beauty.”

“This car is confusing,” you say, and Tom feels you staring at the flex of his bicep. “I tried driving it when you were gone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm. Couldn’t even get it up the drive.”

“Well, not to be rude, darling, but it’s hardly fair to blame my beautiful car for the fact that you’re an atrocious driver.”

If looks could kill, Tom knows he’d be six feet under.

“Fuck you, Tom,” you seethe, but your voice is charged with laughter. “I take it back. I didn’t miss you at all. Go back to Liverpool, see if I care.”

Tom cackles. “Maybe I will,” he teases, “just to see how long it takes you to start begging for me to come back again.”

You grumble something incoherent at that, then the words between you lull into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, you shift your palm to rest on his thigh, your hand gentle, warm. Your fingertips trace tiny love hearts over his slacks.

“Don’t,” you say eventually, voice quieter. “Stay this time.”

Tom risks a quick glance to you, growing breathless in the depths of your eyes. “Of course,” he says, voice thick. Tom returns his gaze to the road, his chest feeling tight. “I’m never leaving you again.”

“I mean, you can leave sometimes if you want—”

“No. Never.” Tom’s cheeks ache. “I’m never leaving your side.”

“Alright, Tom.” You sigh lightly, feigning exasperation. “I guess there are worse things than being stuck with you.”

“I’m charmed, darling. So relieved you like spending time with your fiancé.”

You shift in your seat at that, and Tom doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re flustered. You’re always shyer around him when he mentions the fact that your futures are intertwined, almost unbelieving that he’d slipped that ring onto your finger. It doesn’t matter how many times Tom tells you that he cherishes you—you never quite make peace with the fact that he wants to chase the moon with you. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop telling you, though. You hang the stars in his sky.

“I love spending time with you, Tom,” you mumble. “And I hope that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t change how you feel about me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Wait— what?” Tom scrunches the tip of his nose up as he squints in your direction. “Y/N, what—” He pauses, concentrating on keeping his voice level. “Angel, nothing you could ever do would change the way I feel about you. Nothing.”

You smile quietly. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add, almost sensing his unease. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Perfect.” Tom sits a little straighter in his seat. “Then there’s nothing to worry about—”

Sirens cut into his words. Tom startles, glancing in the mirror to see a police car with a whirring blue siren perched atop the grimy vehicle.

“Tom,” you say slowly, voice filling with dread. Your tone sends shivers down his spine. “Did you do something?”

Tom bites his lip.

He’s been trying his best to stay above the law recently, but… Liverpool had been messy. Very messy. He hadn’t intended on things going quite as terribly as they had, but one thing had led to another, and he’d had to fuck a few things up. The crime is nothing as intense as he’s been booked for in the past, but he’d had to write a few irregularities into his taxes and business agreements to smooth over the waters. It’s not as bad as murder, but it’s tax fraud nonetheless.

Tom had thought he’d been fine. Apparently not. He’s been a hot target for the Metropolitan Police for years, and they’ve consistently unearthed every tiny discrepancy he’s tried to get away with. He should’ve been more fucking careful.

“Shit,” Tom mutters. As he brings his eyes back to the road in front of him, he realises the police car behind you has been joined by another two, closing in from side streets and boxing him in amongst the traffic. He swallows thickly. “I messed up.”

You curse. “Idiot,” you mutter. You sit forwards in the seat and start to point to a gap in the traffic, right across the square. “Go there,” you say, voice pitching higher. “If you go fast, you’ll make it.”

He could book it. Tom’s run away before, in situations of peril where the alternative had been the law and escaping would give him the chance to alter some books and clear his name. It would be easy to slam his foot on the accelerator and dive down side streets, dodging the thick London traffic.

“Tom!” you say again, voice stressed with desperation. “Tom, go!”

The gap in the traffic is narrowly closing, the window of time Tom has to zoom through and get to safety shrinking before his very eyes. If he was alone, he’d do it without a second thought, but you’re here.

You’re here, and that means he can’t be selfish. Tom couldn’t ever risk you, not with such a treacherous manoeuvre like the one that you’re suggesting, nor with the repercussions you’d face if he books it. You’d either have to come on the run with him, or you’d end up captured and grilled by the Met, and neither of those options is the types of things he’d ever bring willingly upon you. You would never deserve that, and he refuses to make it a possibility.

Tom slows down the car.

“Tom,” you say, shock filling your voice. “What are you doing? They’ll get you.”

He nods. “I want you to listen to me, very carefully,” he says quickly.

“But—”

“—Darling, please. Please.” Tom stops the car abruptly. He calculates he has mere seconds before the officers ditch their vehicles and start storming across the traffic to haul him from his seat. “Don’t say anything to them. They want me, not you.” He turns off the engine and grabs your hands, holding them close as he stares into your eyes. “Call Harrison. Whatever shit they’re bringing me in for won’t hold up for long. They’ve— they’ve done this before. They never win. We have backup plans for this crap.”

“Tom,” you whisper, eyes welling with tears, “but they—”

“I know. I know, baby. I know.” He presses quick kisses to your knuckles, clinging so tightly to your fingers it’s like he’ll drift away without your touch. “I’m sorry. I am so bloody sorry. I love you so much.”

His throat hurts. The sight of the pain in your eyes makes him hate himself for ever bringing you into this faithless way of life. He doesn’t give a fuck that he’s destined for a cell—Tom cares that he’s hurt you.

“I love you too,” you say. You lean closer, undoing your seatbelt and popping his too as you reach up to cup Tom’s cheeks in your shaky hands. “It’ll be okay,” you stress. “I’ll get you out of there, baby.”

You lean in closer to kiss him, and Tom aches. The scent of your perfume is overwhelming, and he feels fragile beneath the hold you have on his face. The kindness in your eyes makes it hurt even more. It’d be easier if you’d let fury consume you and spend these last sacred moments denouncing him instead of loving him, but of course, you’re not like that.

The car door opens, and Tom is hauled from the car the moment his lips touch yours. Before he can process it, he’s being pushed up against his car, stiff arms keeping him pinned in place. He closes his eyes, firming up his face and shoving down his feelings as he forces himself to dry up, become stoic. He won’t show weakness now he’s outside.

Tom hears you exit the vehicle a few moments later, the crash of the door coupled with a few scuffles. He drowns out the words of the officers whilst they reel off a list of fabricated crimes, smugness evident in their voices. Good for fucking them.

When they eventually release him, he’s cuffed and weaponless, his spirit bent in two. The metal of his car had hurt his face, but nothing breaks Tom’s heart more than the sight of you being held back by two officers, tears streaming down your face. You bring your hands into the shaky outline of a heart, and it’s the last thing he sees before he’s pushed into the back of a van.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

It’s clear that everyone at the station has been waiting for him to fuck up. He’s met with sly smiles and teasing comments as he’s reacquainted with some of his most despised wardens and guards. He’s held in a temporary cell for almost a day and quizzed on the shreds of ‘evidence’ they’d procured from his house during a raid, and though Tom declines to answer every single question they throw at him, their smugness never fades.

He walks into the trial already knowing he’s going to be locked up, and not even the sight of you beside Harrison and Harry on the benches soothes him.

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

Now, Tom isn’t worried. He knows he won’t actually be held in a cell for that long. He’s already had correspondence with Harrison, who’s assured him that he’s working on it, and there’s really nothing much to worry about. Tom has been in this situation twice before, and on both occasions, he’d been released in less than a month. The connections he’s built from his years heading up the mob are reliant and unwavering, and he knows he won’t have to serve even a fifth of his sentence.

The only difference between the times before and now is you, and Tom can only fucking pray that you don’t despise him for dirtying your name with his crimes. You’d been normal before him—a waitress, aspiring painter, an innocent. Despite your insistence that you love him with all strings attached, his guilt weighs him down. He doesn’t give a fuck about the law and whatever twisted loopholes the jury had bought, but he does care about you and what you think of him. That’s the hardest part.

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

Prison isn’t that bad for Tom. He’s pretty fucking lucky, all things considered. He has friends here—blokes he’d met around town, most of whom are willing to welcome him in. A few of his old guys are locked behind bars with him, unwavering in their loyalty and more than happy to absorb him as members of their group. Those who don’t know Tom know of him. His reputation as a murderous, cold-hearted killer follows him inside, regardless of its falsity. Tom hasn’t taken a life in three years, but these men don’t need to know that.

“Holland! Get the fuck up. You’re in the gym.”

Tom glances up. He’s lying on top of his bed, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding open a book. He isn’t an avid reader like you, but you’d sent him a copy of your favourite book with scribbled annotations in the margins, and he’s been spending every hour since its arrival clinging to the pages.

He sighs as he puts the book down and stands from the lower bunk. He’s in with a young lad, Ollie, booked on a minor drugs charge. Why they’d paired someone on such a minimal sentence with a member of the mob, Tom will never understand, but the fear in the lad’s eyes every time he looks at him is enough to keep his wavering ego bobbing just above the waterline.

“Step away from the door.”

Tom does as instructed. A moment later, there’s a loud buzzer followed by the swinging of the heavy metal door.

In walks Luther, Tom’s archnemesis. If the inmates fear him, the guards despise him, and to be fair, Tom understands why. He’s a bit of a dick when he’s behind bars. Usually, when he’s free, he operates with a level of poise and charm that comes with his position as leader. He speaks to his men with a firm but kind hand, respects everyone he deems his equal and commands supreme authority without becoming a tyrant. However, when he has his freedom stripped away, and he has to bend to fit the system’s will, his attitude becomes… problematic.

“Holland,” Luther barks. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, coughing loudly, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. He snarls at Tom, his voice like jagged glass. “Come on.”

“You alright, mate?” Tom asks. “You sound fucking terrible.” He looks it, too, with a dripping nose and red-rimmed eyes. He looks ill.

Luther’s features sharpen. “Get over here now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom swaggers to the door and dodges a little as Luther cuffs him, the man digging the metal into his skin with extra ferocity. They start to march down the long, grey corridor towards the fitness suite, Luther prodding Tom forward with a hand digging into his back.

“How’s your wife?” Tom tries, tired of the echoing footsteps.

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

The guard tuts. “Does she like having a criminal for a husband?”

“Does yours like being married to such a wanker— hey!”

Luther pushes him down the corridor with haste. “Quiet, Holland,” he mutters. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, then it’s too bad you’re stuck with me,” Tom replies. “Did you know that if me being here annoys you so much, you could always let me go? That would sort out your problem.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah? Let London’s most wanted convict escape?”

Tom raises a brow. “London’s most wanted?” he echoes. “Wow.” Pride seeps into his voice. “That’s an accomplishment.”

“Not a positive one. Self-absorbed bastard.”

It’s easy to laugh. Letting the comments bounce off his back is easier than admitting the jibe about you has irked him. Do you like having a criminal for a partner? Even Tom, for all the world has jaded him, knows no sane person would rest well with the knowledge that their significant other has lied, stolen, and killed. It doesn’t lie well with him, and he was born into this.

They reach the gym.

Tom sticks to the same workout regime he has at home. He does his cardio for twenty minutes on the wobbling treadmill, then sits around on the bench press and does curls with a few of the guys. He keeps quiet, his mind loud, only adding a few comments when necessary. His sullenness adds to his image, and he’s busy with thoughts of you. By the time he’s finished, he feels arguably worse than before. The endorphins from his workout are overshadowed by the guilt Tom feels, clawing at his heart, heavy and persistent in its certainty that he’s a lousy partner.

He can handle being a bad guy, but a bad man? A bad brother, bad friend, or bad lover? The opinions of the guards mean nothing to him, and neither does the law, but when it comes to the people he cares about, their opinions mean everything. Tom has let Luther get into his head, and whilst he knows that was the guard’s intention, the seed of doubt has been planted. As he pumps iron, he feels it grow, taking root, blooming taller.

“Holland. Time to go.”

He grunts as he stands. Sweaty and sore, Tom hobbles to the doorway, feeling considerably smaller than he had when he’d left his cell. The cuffs hurt his wrists as his hands are clasped back together, and the walk back feels even longer than before.

“You had a parcel delivered,” Luther says, breaking the silence. “It arrived last week.”

Tom’s eyebrows pull together. “Last week?”

“I thought I should hold it back until you’d settled in,” comes the patronising response. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many new experiences, Thomas. Not that being in here is anything out of the ordinary for you, though.”

He feels his jaw twitch. He flexes his hand, knuckles burning for movement. Not yet, not yet. He has to wait, has to play the long game.

“You’re a dick,” Tom decides. He doesn’t care that he gets thrown roughly into the cell. He trips over the floor and barely manages to scrape himself to his feet, but he throws out a smirking “fuck you,” before the door slams shut. He’d follow it up with more snide remarks, but he becomes distracted by the sight of the parcel sitting on his bed.

It’s neat, despite the obvious intrusion into its contents by the guards. He flops onto his lower bunk, glad his cellmate is absent as it allows him to drop the ruse. Lips sagging into a frown, Tom rips open the package.

He releases a fragile sound as the contents pour across his duvet. Polaroids fall across the sheets, glistening slightly, neat and pristine. A lump comes to the back of his throat as he shuffles through them, finding images of you, Harry, Sam, Tess… The list carries on. For every person he can think of, there’s an image captured perfectly in time. He even appears in a few of them, with his hand around Haz’s shoulder or his lips pressed to your temple.

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

Tom, I thought you’d want some reminders of home while you’re away. We’re all looking forward until the day you can come home to us. Love you forever, Y/N <3

As Tom traces the edge of his nail along the outline of your face, his eyes well with hot tears. You always know what he needs, even when he doesn’t. You know him, inside out, and you’re continuing to support him, despite it all. He is indebted to you, and he knows already that as soon as he’s let out, he’ll spend every second of his life trying to repay that.

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks later, Tom finally gets to see you again.

The prison visiting room is fucking grim. Toned in sludgy shades of grey and brown, it’s about as ugly as it could be. There are window slits pressed high into the walls, but the primary source of light is from the musky bulbs set above each table. The chairs are uncomfortable, and the decor lacks inspiration. Tom often wonders if the room was designed to be as revolting as possible.

Despite this, as Tom shuffles into the room that smells suspiciously of plasticine, he couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t matter that his wrists ache from the cuffs, nor that the garish shade of orange clashes horrendously against his skin: you’re here, and that makes everything better.

You’re sitting at the table in the corner of the room, drumming your fingers pensively over the surface. His eyes catch on the glinting ring wrapped around your fourth finger, and the sense of longing that had settled in the hollowness of his chest is quickly burnt away. Sensing his movements, you glance up, and when your eyes meet with his, Tom feels his heart come home.

You raise a hand in greeting, smiling shyly, and he tries to look as non-threatening as possible. He knows the new buzzcut and the stupid get-up probably don’t help, but you don’t look at him like he’s any different.

As he draws nearer, Tom finds himself blinking a few times, questioning how long you’ve been separated. The version of you he has holed up in his memories pales in comparison to the woman that he sees before him now, but he can’t quite pinpoint why. You seem fuller somehow—vibrant, glowing, alive, your face doused in a heavenly glow and your skin bright with health. Your figure has changed slightly, and Tom can’t stop himself from running his eyes all over you, trying to memorise every tiny detail his memory had blurred away. You look so beautiful, every single part of your form enhanced and bright, and your chest—

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

“Y/N,” he exhales the moment he’s been pushed into his seat. His guard unclasps his cuffs, and Tom immediately reaches out across the table, almost moaning from relief when you wrap your fingers around his. Your skin is so warm.

“Tom,” you whisper. Emotion seeps into your voice, and he feels his chest crack as tears pool in your eyes. “Are you okay? I— I missed you.”

He hums, biting his lip. “I’m fine, baby. I’m okay. Are you?”

You nod quickly. “I’m okay too,” you say. “Things are strange without you, but we’re working around the clock to get you out of here.” You drop your voice slightly. “I think we’re near a breakthrough.”

Tom’s teeth brush his lower lip. “Good, good,” he says. “How’s Tess? And Harry, and the others? Are they looking out for you?”

“Yeah,” you say. You squeeze Tom’s hands tightly. “They’re all okay. Mainly just worried about you.”

He shrugs, trying to lessen the furrow in your brow. “‘M all good, darling,” he promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes skate across his face. “I like your hair,” you say gently. For a moment, Tom thinks you’re going to try and reach out to touch the buzzed fuzz, but you seem to remember that anything beyond handholding is prohibited. You have to settle for a slightly suggestive smile. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, lovie.”

Your smile is sad but it’s still hopeful. Whatever emotions you’re feeling, it’s clear that you’re trying to smooth them away and keep them to yourself. “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” you say, easing into the words with difficulty. Tom watches as you look away, doubt casting across your face.

“What is it?” Vaguely, Tom remembers how skittish you’d been the day he’d been taken away, the memory distorted from the noise of everything else that had happened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You bite your lower lip. “Uh, just first… how are you holding up in here? Like, actually. Don’t bullshit me and play the tough guy.” Your eyes are wide and persistent. “How are you actually doing?”

Tom blinks a few times. “Fine,” he shoots immediately. He clenches your fingers tightly in his, clinging on for a moment until he exhales. “I wish I could be here for you properly, though. It worries me that I don’t know what’s happening on the outside…” He hates being left out in the dark, but it isn’t your fault. It’s his. “I wish I could be a better boyfriend to you.”

“Fiancé,” you correct, the word soft like it’d left your mouth without thought. “You’re already a good boyfriend, Tom. I knew what I was signing up for. I wanted this back then, and I still do now.”

“Still,” he grumbles. He tries to even out the heaviness of the conversation with a smile. “I think about you all the time, baby. And the others too, but… mostly you. I just hate that I’m missing out on our life together.” He has to stop for a moment as he recollects his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I did this to us, and I’m sorry I let you down.”

You crack a wry smile. “You can’t change the past, Tom. You can only affect the future.” You pause, your expression hardening. “I need to know that you’ll go slower when you get out. I know this is your life, but some things need to change. We— I need you to stay out of trouble. Do you understand?”

He nods his head immediately. “Of course, of course. I don’t ever want to get arrested again, darling.”

You drop your voice. “I’m not saying you need to quit everything, just… get better safeguards and be smarter. I love who you are, Tom, but this…” You break off to gesture around, pointing vaguely at his cuffs, the jumpsuit, and the guards. “This isn’t good for you or for me. And I love you, but I won’t stay if you don’t try.”

It’s hard to hear, but he knows it’s what he deserves to hear. He knows you deserve to stand your ground.

“I know,” Tom says gently. “I’ll get clean when I’m out, Y/N. I promise. I’ll be a good man by you.”

You squeeze his fingers tighter. “You already are,” you promise, “and I love you so much, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Thank you, darling.” Tom tilts his head to the side. “What was it you wanted to say?”

Conflict briefly colours your face, manifesting itself in the arch of your eyebrow and the biting of your lower lip. You inhale sharply, only to exhale again a moment later.

“I’ll tell you when you’re out,” you say softly.

Tom scowls. There’s no anger there, just confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “I… Pretend I never said anything,” you say. You follow it up with a quick, “if I thought you needed to know, I’d tell you.”

He doesn’t want to push it, so Tom lets the topic slip away. You sit together silently for a few minutes. It’s hard to talk, difficult to express how much he misses you, how much he’s sorry. He knows that you understand—you always do, and you have similar tears wobbling across your eyes. Talking can come afterwards when he’s out and he’s free. All he needs now is the feeling of your hand back in his.

The visit is over far too soon.

Leaving you is difficult. Tom isn’t allowed to hug you or go any nearer than the linked hands on the table, but you tug at his fingers until he feels the imprint of your engagement ring rubbing against his skin. He even manages to kiss your knuckles a few times before he’s pulled up from the table and cuffed again.

“Be on your best behaviour,” you say, soft with your parting words. “The lawyer says the better you are, the easier it’ll be to get you out early.”

Tom has a bit of his spark back. Even as he’s pulled back, he manages a devious smirk. “When am I ever not on my best behaviour, darling?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

To be fair, it isn’t really his fault. He’s pushed to the very verge of insanity, prodded at and provoked beyond the point of return.

It happens when he’s in the barber, huddled in the back corner of the room as he gets a new tattoo. Tom is used to the pain of the burning needles as he already has a few pieces on his arms and his hands, so he’s able to take the fresh marks to his knuckles as the ink stains black against his skin. However, he’s a bit on edge from the sharp buzzing, which is perhaps why he responds so negatively to the taunting he starts to receive. It comes from Toni and the rest of his snivelling gang. They’re all members of the East London mob, ruled over by Tom’s nemesis Gordy. Most of the time, they stick to their side and Tom sticks to his, but they’ve caught him in a vulnerable position, and Toni never seems to know how to pick his timing.

It’s basic teasing, instilled with a brutal hard edge that would phase him if Tom cared enough about their opinions of him. It doesn’t hurt him when people attack his character or his honour—Tom knows the truth about his life, and he couldn’t give two shits about an outsider’s opinion of him. However, he finds it a lot harder to grin and bear it when the man changes angle.

“Word is, a couple of our guys saw your missus out with Haz the other day,” Toni taunts. “He said they were getting real close if you know what I mean.”

Tom’s jaw flexes. The action is minute, but it doesn’t go undetected. Toni smirks.

“Eh, you don’t like that, do you?” The man steps a little closer and Tom tries to ignore him by looking down at the needle pressing into his fingers. “Don’t like the idea of your best friend hanging around your wife. Can you even trust them?” He breaks off, laughing coolly. “They think you’re so stupid, did you know that? You’ll get out of here, and they’ll have cut you out of everything—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom murmurs. He flexes his right hand, shaking out his knuckles. With every passing day, he’s felt tetchier. He can feel his anger burning, churning deep within his stomach, growing brighter, harder. He knows he shouldn’t lean into it, but… He wants to. He craves that rush of the fight, selfishly so.

“But she’s not your wife, is she? You aren’t actually married. Have you ever thought that maybe she’s just using you? Maybe they all are? Look at you, Tom.” Toni breaks off to throw a disdainful hand in Tom’s direction. “You are so weak in here… How are any of your guys going to respect you when their leader can’t even stay out the slammer?”

The guy tattooing Tom’s hand finally pulls away, glancing up at him with knowing in his eyes. “You’re done,” he says. “Don’t do anything with that hand, though.”

“Thanks, man.”

Tom stands up, Toni mirroring him. The man looms in front of him, 6’2 and stocky. He’s larger than Tom in every respect, but he’ll never be the bigger man.

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

“Make me, twat.” Toni smirks. “Or are you too much of a pussy to follow through on that as well?”

Tom sees red. Acting on the edge of adrenaline, he pounces, rushing the man and jumping with so much unexpected force that the larger man goes tumbling to the floor. Tom hears the shouts of the guards, but they pale in comparison to his need to straddle the man’s chest and make him pay. With each meeting of his fist with Toni’s face, Tom feels better. He’s never been an excessively violent person, but old habits die hard, and it’s so, so, so fucking easy to pummel the guy who dared breath an uncomplimentary word in his family’s direction. Tom would put the whole city six feet under if they so much as breathed wrong around his loved ones, so really, Toni had it coming.

The prison guards don’t agree.

He ends up in solitary, and when he’s put back into the normal population, Tom is given restrictions. He isn’t allowed visitors for a fortnight, and his calls are reduced to once a week. All other privileges he’d had are taken away again, and he’s relegated to the very bottom of the pecking order.

It’s still worth it.

When he’s finally allowed visitors again, Tom is surprised to learn that his next meeting isn’t with you or his lawyer. Things only make sense when he shuffles into the meeting room and sees his right-hand man settled in the corner, and if Tom had found the room drab before, it appears even more depressing with the addition of the blond man sitting in it. Harrison sucks the life from the room, any hints of happiness at being reunited with his friend overshadowed by the pinched expression on his face.

The guards don’t let Tom take off his cuffs. He has to sidle into the chair, falling into the heavy silence as he places his hands on the table. Metal links click, and Harrison just stares. He stares, and stares, and stares, his blue eyes almost black.

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

Harrison’s jaw twitches. He brings his hands to rest on the top of the table, flexing them as he takes a moment to find the right words. “Tom,” he says, speaking very slowly. “You are a twat.”

He blinks. “Wow,” Tom mutters, chuckling slightly. “Okay. Good to see you too, mate.”

“Do you…” Harrison breaks off, groaning. His forehead develops angry ripples. “Do you understand how detrimental this has been to your case?”

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

“You’ve been pushed to the bottom of the pile,” Harrison says, voice controlled but simmering with unspoken anger. “We were about to get your appeal passed for early release.” He sits back, crossing his arms as he shakes his head. “There’s been a penalty applied due to your stint in solitary. Your case won’t be assessed until it’s lifted.”

Tom feels his stomach drop. “Shit,” he mutters. “That’s not ideal.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Harrison sits forward, leaning on his hands. “You are a bloody idiot. Stop acting like a child… Why… Why did you even attack him? You must have known this would happen. Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t like the patronisation in his tone. Tom’s already beat himself up enough about this in solitary. He doesn’t need Harrison questioning his judgements, doesn’t appreciate his friend breathing down his neck so obviously.

“He deserved it,” Tom says firmly. “I would do it again.”

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, Harrison.” There’s a stupid smirk on his lips now. Tom’s missed being a little shit to his friends. He knows it’s not the time, but he’s vibrating. The callous concoction of shame, anger and isolation make him volatile and abrasive. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually.”

The expression that mars Harrison’s face looks very out of place against his demeanour. The man is in a long black trench coat with a tight grey turtleneck layered beneath it. He has a few pendants hanging from his neck, the gold metal bringing out the warm tones in his curls, mussed in a way that screams of old charm and perfect romance. Harrison’s illusion of control falters only under the pressure of the anger that manifests itself so clearly on his face.

“Tom.” Harrison bangs his fist on the table. The ring wrapped around his pinky clangs against the wood. “You can’t keep this up. If you do, the case gets pushed further, and that is unacceptable.”

Tom scowls. “Well, Haz, last time I checked, I was the one who has to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not you.” He can’t stand the expression of condescension hanging over Harrison’s face. “If I want to throw a few punches, I bloody well will. You have no idea what it’s like in here. No idea at all.”

Harrison’s angered expression fades a little, but only for a moment. When Tom hardens the curve of his eyebrow, Harrison devolves into irritation again, almost snarling as he narrows his eyes. “Your actions affect everyone in your life,” he snaps. “Stop pretending you’re the only one paying for the things that you’ve done.”

“I’m the one with the cuffs, Harrison. I’d say I’m paying considerably more than anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah? Tell that to the men who had their property searched and their possessions seized. Tell that to your family, who continue to be pulled in for questioning. Tell that to Y/N, who—” he breaks off awfully quickly, cheeks flushing slightly. “Nevermind.”

Tom’s blood goes cold. “Y/N?” he repeats sharply. “What about Y/N?”

“Nothing.”

He sits up straighter. “What about Y/N, Harrison?”

“Nothing.”

Tom is angry now. “Tell me right now or god help me, I will find a way to kill you.”

Harrison rolls his eyes, then covers the movement with a sigh. “I can’t. It isn’t my place.” He seems regretful as he jumps in to add, “she’s fine. She just needs you. We all do.”

The guilt returns. It falls over Tom like a wet blanket, extinguishing his frustration and leaving him cold. “Does she… Does she hate me?” He’s looking down at his cuffs.

“What— no. No, Tom.” Harrison looks guilty for the first time, but at least he isn’t confirming Tom’s deepest insecurities. “Nothing like that at all. Just… Listen to me, alright? You need to behave. I know it’s hard in here, I know that, and I understand it must be frustrating. You just… You can’t let that rule you, Tom. You have to look at the bigger picture. You need to come home, and the sooner the better.”

It’s easier said than done, but he knows Harrison is earnest with it.

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

Harrison nods. “Thanks, mate,” he mutters. “We all miss you, myself included.” He glances up at him, eyes finally back to the cool blue tones Tom grew up beside. “It isn’t the same without you around.”

Tom manages a tight smile. “I miss you too.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS since Tom was taken away, and you are miserable.

Every day has been the same. You wake up, nauseous and alone, always on Tom’s side of the bed despite forcing yourself to fall asleep on your own. The mornings are a blur of paperwork and phone calls that follow you into the afternoon. You work around the clock, Harrison, Harry and Sam at your side as you go over Tom’s case, again and again, only stopping when night falls, and one of you throws in the towel.

You had been so close to springing him until he’d gone and got himself demoted to solitary, and there’s not a morning that you don’t think about that. You’d submitted the appeal, stacked full of so much evidence that there was no way the judge would deny him freedom, only for Tom to get into a fistfight the day before the hearing. Just like that, the floor had vanished from beneath your feet.

You’d taken it badly, the others too. Losing Tom to the judge’s gavel had been hard enough, but for his escape to be taken away by his own actions hurt a thousand times worse. You know it’s worse for him, being alone in a cell, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness seeping into your mouth every time you think about the lost chance. Harry and Sam had been incensed, their anger fuelled by the void of a missing brother, and you know Harrison’s frustration comes from similar veins.

Even now that Tom’s served his time in solitary, the frustration lingers on, manifesting itself in the way none of you could decide who should go and visit him first. Under normal conditions, you would’ve been there in a heartbeat, but… Things have been complicated, even without recent events, more so than they’d been when you’d visited two months ago. When Harrison had bitten the bullet and volunteered himself, all of you had been more than happy to let him go.

He’d left this morning, and the house has been quiet ever since.

You’re sitting up in one of the spare rooms as you wait for Harrison to return, your back aching and your mind spinning. You twirl the rings on your fingers as you think, taking turns alternating between your engagement ring and the silver signet rings you’d taken from Tom’s dresser. Keeping him close makes everything easier. You’d take any reminder of him you could get, be that his rings, his shirts, his cologne, or…

The baby.

You shift a hand down to sit on the swell of your belly. Tears prick your eyes as you let them close, a frustrated sigh tumbling past your lips.

You’re four months pregnant, and that throws a spanner in the works.

Sure, you would’ve tried equally as hard to get Tom released under normal conditions, but the biological countdown that has now been sprinkled into the mix has only given everything an air of desperation. Even if it isn’t you vocalising what everyone else is thinking, the fervour to get Tom out before it’s too late is there. You can see it in the way Harrison never lets you go anywhere unaccompanied, and Harry and Sam have been working nonstop to get their brother’s freedom. Everyone around you is aware of how vital Tom’s release is, even when the man himself remains oblivious.

Exhaling gently, you shift around on the cosy armchair. The nursery smells of fading paint, and as you move around, you glance at the messy borders of the walls. The sex of your baby is still a mystery to you, but a few days ago, the twins had freshened up the room with a shade of light green whilst you and Harrison were in court. Neither of them is particularly artistically inclined, but they’d done a pretty decent job, all things considered.

Tom’s family have all been good to you—very kind. You haven’t felt alone, even with half your heart locked away in the outskirts of London. It just hasn’t been the idyllic pregnancy you’d dreamt about with your fiancé.

Guilt falls across you as you look down at the rising swell of your belly.

It’s been hard trying to decide whether or not to tell Tom what you’d tried to come clean about three months ago, down by the Thames. You’d wanted to tell him when you’d gone to visit him, but you couldn’t find the heart to come clean and admit that he’s missing out on the one thing he’s waited for his entire life. Telling him would hurt him immensely, and he’s already hurting being away from you. You don’t want to tell him until he can be part of it, and with that uncertainty present, you’ve kept your lips sealed.

Visiting him today in place of Harrison is all you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’re vulnerable and explosive, and you want to come clean to Tom when the situation is better. There would be nothing worse than storming into that dingy meeting room, flaunting your obvious pregnancy but being too distracted by your anger at your fiancé to explain everything else. You won’t hurt him like that by taunting him with the one thing he wants but can’t have. You refuse to.

All you can do is hope that he forgives you for holding the information back, pray that he understands your motivations, and, above all, hold onto the hope that he’s there when your child comes into the world.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Blinking yourself from your reverie, you look up through the open door.

“In here, Sam.”

A moment later, Tom’s younger brother appears in the doorway. The man looks as exhausted as you feel, deep shadows hanging beneath his hazel eyes. When he sees you, his mouth pulls into a small smile and he lifts his hand in greeting, and you can tell that he’s trying. You try to match him by sitting up a little straighter and smiling back.

“Hey,” he says. “I was just… bored, I guess. Thought I’d come and check on you.” Doubt briefly flickers across his face. “Is that okay? Are you busy?”

“I’m bored too,” you admit. You stand from the armchair and groan as you stretch your arms, your stiff back aching. “Do you want to do something?”

Sam grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Can we try the mural?”

Wincing, you manage a smile. “Okay… But if it looks terrible, I will paint over it.”

“As if. I’m the artistic one here, Y/N. Just be glad Harry’s still away.”

“Did someone mention me?” Harry’s voice rings through the air, startling you. With a hand clutching your heart, you look to your side in time to see Sam’s twin taking his place at your side. Where Sam is in a shirt and tie, Harry is clad in a pair of deep denim dungarees. He offers you a rusty smile. “We’re just filling in these lines, yeah?”

Sam’s the one to nod. He gestures at the wall and you notice the faint outlines, scratched in pencil. “Be precise,” he informs, “it took me bloody ages sketching it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shooting you a silent smirk. “Yes, sir,” he mutters. “Anything you want, sir.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry pulls a face. “Well,” he says, looking at you pointedly, “I hope you’re keeping a record of how many times Sam is swearing around the baby, Y/N.”

Brows furrowing, you pick up a paintbrush. “Why would I be doing that?”

The ginger grins. “Just betters my case for being the better uncle,” he says.

“Oh, what? Don’t you mean the boring uncle?” Sam chides, bristling beside you.

Harry laughs. “I will be the favourite uncle. I don’t care what you say, Sammy. Both of us know it.”

Rolling your eyes at the argument you’ve heard a thousand times before, you give them both a nudge. “Shh,” you plead. “Paint, don’t fight.”

Sam shoots you a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a smile lingering on your lips, you watch as Harry puts on one of his playlists, then relax as the three of you get to work. None of you say anything, but the air is full enough—tickled to life with Sam’s quiet whistling and the sound of paintbrushes thick against the wall. You concentrate on the intricate details of the mural, like the outlines of the clouds and the spirals of the grass, and marvel at how wonderful it is to be so content in silence. It’s indicative of how tight your bond has grown, you think.

No longer despising solitude, you’ve found a comfortable middle ground around the men. You and Tom’s inner circle have learned to work together well, stringing together complex case files as you’ve organised accounts. Nothing you’ve been doing recently is legal, but you would’ve left a long time ago if you genuinely cared about the law. You can stomach a few fixed accounts if it means Tom gets to walk free—you can stomach a whole lot more than that, actually, for Tom. You’d set the whole world on fire just to see him smile.

Like the splotchy mural covering the walls, your team has got the job done. Your case for the court is watertight, if a little messy, but you know it’ll be enough to spring Tom. It has to be. You need him, and your child needs him. Everyone in the house needs him.

“Guys? Where are you?” Harrison’s voice joins the mix just as you’re stretching up to flick a few rays of gold into the sun. Harry is at your feet, crouching on the balls of his feet as he tries to paint a few red flowers to the sprigs of grass.

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

A few moments later, Harrison joins you. You fail to meet his eyes as the focused man sweeps into the room, billowing coat swirling around his feet. His expression is terse as he jerks off his jacket and grabs a paintbrush, dipping the tip in a bit of sky blue paint before standing at the end. You don’t rush him. He’s vibrating with something, his face flushed and his eyes dark, so you give him space.

A few minutes pass, illustrated by Harry’s playlist and the colours of the rainbow. Just when you’re beginning to worry, Harrison speaks.

“Tom is an idiot,” he states, drawing a laugh from one of the twins.

You bite your lip. “Did you explain?” you ask.

Harrison nods. He glances at you, and you note the fleck of purple paint pressed into the pale arc of his cheek. “He said he wouldn’t do it again,” he tells you. “He was angry, though. I think he’s having a bad time.”

Harry hums. “It’s hard in there,” he mumbles. “Was he still himself?”

The blond nods. “Yeah,” he says. “As snarky as ever.”

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

“Good news, though,” Harrison adds. “I went to the courthouse on my way back.”

“Oh?” You look away from your cloud, your heart skipping a beat. “And?”

“And,” Harrison continues, a semblance of a smile twitching across his lips, “I submitted the appeal again. They said they’d probably process it next week. So, if things go according to plan this time, he might be out by next Friday.”

You almost drop your paintbrush. Eyes widening, you turn to face him properly. “Wait, really?”

Harrison’s expression softens. “Yeah.” He puts his paintbrush down, tugging yours from your fingers as if he can tell you’re close to dropping it. “He’s almost out, Y/N.”

Relief spills across you, uncontrollable and overwhelming. Closing your eyes before those easy tears can fall down your cheeks, you step closer and push your way into Harrison’s embrace. He’s ready and waiting for the action, eager to comfort his friend.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Harrison’s chest is warm, and though his hugs aren’t as good as Tom’s, you’ve come to rely on them. You’ve come to rely on all of them. “That’s amazing news.”

“Mhmm.” He squeezes you. “This nightmare is almost over.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry speaks up. You pull away from Harrison’s hold when you hear the quivering tones in his voice, quickly glancing to the man to find him glassy-eyed and flushed. Biting your lip, you extend a hand towards him.

A group hug unfolds, as it’s had the tendency to do since Tom was taken away. The first time had been stoic and cool, with frozen elbows and embarrassed shuffling, but slowly, each one of them has loosened. They’re tough men, burdened and hard, but love ties them to you, and at your request, you know they’d do anything for you. You also know that they all enjoy the physical comfort more than they’d ever let on.

It’s been hard without Tom, and you’d do anything to have him back, but if there’s anything his absence has taught you, it’s that his brothers have become your brothers as his best friend has become your own, and you’ve never really been alone.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s release day comes quickly, hidden behind the retrial and the quick-paced days in court. It’s busy at the trial, and spaces are limited, so Harry and Sam attend in place of you and Harrison. You get them to take in a few letters for Tom and pass on your condolences for your absence, but you don’t allow yourself to get too hung up on it. When Tom’s release is announced, the weight that rolls from your shoulders is immediate.

As you wait outside the prison, you try to find solace in the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. It’s quiet in the car park, allowing you to ruminate in peace, and though you’re comfortable resting against the bonnet of Tom’s car, your thoughts are far from restful.

Anxiety weighs heavily in your chest, mixing with your excitement and creating a volatile concoction. You find yourself pacing, biting back your nerves as you try to reason with yourself. Draped around your shoulders is a long coat that obscures your bump, chosen as you’ve decided you don’t want to overwhelm Tom with too many things at once. You hope it does the job. The coat twitches in the wind as you walk, noisy and obnoxious.

Things around you are still until there’s a sudden, loud buzzing noise from the prison compound. You jerk your head around to see two men leaving the main building, small in the distance but gradually growing larger. They’re still enclosed in the fenced courtyard, but they’re on their way to the exit, and every rational thought you have flies from your mind as you see him. Tom. Your Tom.

He’s in the clothes he’d been arrested in—red shirt, black slacks, shiny shoes. Looped around his hands is his Rolex and his rings. Tom seems almost identical to how he’d been on that cursed day, just his head is buzzed and he looks a little smaller. He’s carrying himself with confidence, though, and when he looks fervently around the car park and spots you, his entire face swells with happiness. The sight of that large, lovely smile hanging from his lips brings immediate warmth to your eyes.

Every breath is easier now you have him in your sights. Overwhelming love gluts your insides, warm and emotive, choking you up. It takes everything in you to stay still as you wait for Tom to finish talking with his guard, a tall man you recognise from all of his stories, Luther. Tom’s smirking in a way that’s obviously infuriating, and the guard doesn’t hesitate to give him a light punch as your boyfriend saunters out of prison, leaving the compound with a swagger to his stride and a smile the size of Saturn.

The sight of Tom jogging towards you breaks you from your reverie, and you push yourself away from the car to meet him somewhere in the middle. Nothing matters until you’re colliding with his front, finding warmth in his arms, feeling his entire body shake as his tears fall into your hair. Nothing matters unless it’s him.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. Your grip on the back of Tom’s shirt is hard, a violent sprawling across your knuckles, but you won’t let go. You’re giddy with love. “Fuck, Tom, I missed you so, so much.”

You pull away from his chest and look into his eyes, your lower lip wobbling as you note the fresh tears on his face. You use your thumbs to brush beneath his cheeks, flicking away the tears as you clean up his handsomeness.

“I missed you so much more,” he promises. Tom brings a hand to rest on the back of your head, breath hitching as he meets your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses you, and it’s so intense you end up pressed against the side of the car. Tom moans with relief as he strokes his fingers over the side of your face, delicately reacquainting his lips with yours as they meet again and again. You keep your hands gliding over his back, his arms, his shoulders, letting your tongues come together as tears flow down your cheeks. The kiss is everything and nothing, familiar and new. The kiss says I missed you. It says I thought about you every day. It says I would wait a thousand dawns if it meant I got to wake up beside you again, but thank fucking god you’re here right now because I missed you more than I ever thought was possible.

“Baby,” Tom murmurs. He pulls away but keeps your foreheads pressed together, the cool tip of his nose brushing yours. “You’re so perfect. I missed you so much that it hurt me.”

He tries to move closer, but you become aware of the pressure to your belly, so bring a gentle hand to push his shoulder away. Hurt immediately floods to his eyes, his expression twitching as Tom takes a few steps back.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. “I need to tell you something.”

Tom’s jaw twitches. “What is it?” he whispers.

“A good thing,” you clarify. You reach up to wipe the residue of your tears away, then bring your hands down to the tie of your jacket. Biting your lip, you take a steadying breath. “I hope you aren’t angry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” you preface, “but I did it for you.”

Tom nods intensely. “Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I’m… I’m here, okay? For anything. It’s me and you. Just… me and you forever.”

A smile flickers across your face. “Me and you, and…” You gently open the front of your coat, then reach out for Tom’s hands. Guiding them slowly, you bring the warmth of his palms to rest on the rise of your bump.

“Wait…” Tom shifts his hands around your belly before staring up at you, slack-jawed. He doesn’t try to hide the obvious tears in his eyes. “You’re…?”

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

“Oh god.” Tom sniffles. “What?” He immediately drops to his knees in front of you, his fancy dress trousers getting dirty in the dust. “How— how far along?”

“Almost five months,” you whisper. “I found out right before you got back from Liverpool. I was going to tell you when we went on that date, but…”

“But I fucked up.” Tom sounds wrecked, his aching eyes fixed on the curve of your belly. “I fucked everything up. I… I left you alone for this entire time, and you had to do this all without me.” He rests his forehead against your bump, very, very gently, and you see him close his eyes. “I am a terrible partner.”

Rolling your fingers over the scruff of his hair, you guide him up to look at you. It’s second nature as you roll a thumb over his cheekbone, trying to instil the action with love and reassurance.

“I’m not angry,” you tell him. “You didn’t know, and you didn’t get arrested on purpose. If anything, you should be angry at me for keeping this a secret.” Your teeth catch your lower lip. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought telling you would only make things worse. I’m sorry.”

Tom shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t apologise.” He rests a hand on your leg, the other still on the curve of your front. “I’m sorry.” He drops his voice and looks at the bump. “And I’m sorry to you too, little one.” He nudges his mouth forward and deposits a soft kiss to your stomach. “I love you too.”

Digging one of your hands into your coat pocket, you pull out a photo. “Here,” you urge, handing it to your boyfriend. Tom takes it after a moment, his eyes slow to move away from your front.

He releases a noise somewhere between an exclamation and a choke, nimble fingers gripping the image from your ultrasound. His cheeks flush a brilliant rose.

“When was this?” he whispers.

“At three months,” you reply. You continue to run your hand over the top of his head, trying to soothe him as he absorbs so much information at once. “I went with my mum and Haz.”

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

Tom hums. He looks between the photo and your bump, then nudges forward to kiss the rise again. His lips are so warm you can feel them through the material of your dress. “Have they been looking after you well enough?”

A light laugh slips past your lips. “Yeah,” you promise. “They helped so much, Tom. It was hard at first… Really hard. Especially when we thought you’d be in there for five years, but… Things worked out.” You have to pause to gather your thoughts. “We converted one of the rooms into a nursery. There’s still stuff left to do, and we can do that together, of course, but… They were all really helpful.”

“Good.” Tom looks up at you, still kneeling, and your hand slips down to cup his face. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “I wish I could’ve been here for all of this.”

Shrugging gently, you squeeze his face. “You can be here for the rest of it,” you promise. “And, I guess… If we have another one, you’ll be there for all of that, right?”

“Of course, darling.” You smile as Tom tilts his lips to knock against the side of your palm.

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Chuckling softly, you nod. “Yes,” you promise. “I love you, and I’m so happy this has happened for us, even if the timing was difficult.” Feeling yourself well up, you exhale slowly. “We’re going to be parents, Tom. Isn’t that crazy?”

“It’s brilliant.” Tom’s eyes sparkle. “I’m going to be a father.” He blinks. “What the fuck.”

Laughing, you move your hands to the crown of his head. “Yeah, it’ll take a while to get used to that.”

“I’ll get there,” he states. Tom returns his attention to the bump. “Hey, little one,” he coos, voice all silk and amber tones, “it’s going to be the biggest honour of my life being your dad.”

Tom spends a while at your feet, speaking softly to you and your bump, and you keep your hand resting on the back of his head. He’s weary when he finally climbs to his feet but regains some of that spark when you step forward to kiss him. You don’t mean to make it as heated as you do, but it hasn’t only been your heart that’s missed Tom. You’ve craved him, constantly, during every single lonely night, and now that he’s here, you’re willing to take everything you can get.

“I love you,” you say, hushed against his mouth.

Tom’s teeth brush over your lower lip, and you moan when he tugs. There’s a fervour to it, hot lust burning through sensitive emotions. He releases your lip and pulls back to stare at you, his eyes rippling darker.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. He brings his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. “I love everything about you.”

Your mouths come back together, and it’s messier than before, your lips wettening as your kisses become wilder. Tongues dance and teeth clash as your body temperature starts to rise. Now you’ve moved through the emotional reunion, you’re left with an underlying pulse—a heat throbbing persistently between your legs. The fire builds as you hear Tom’s grunts and feel the desperation in his hands when they grab at your sides and jerk you closer, his mouth devouring yours until your lips are puffy and tender. You’re greedy, chasing more, desiring everything you’ve missed out on in the months you’ve been apart from your lover.

“Darling,” Tom murmurs, breaking the kiss to whisper hotly against your lips, “I missed you, but if you keep this up, we’re not going to get home.”

Desire takes hold of you. “Who said I wanted to go home?” You push in closer, shifting slightly until you’re able to feel the hardness of his crotch pressing up against your thigh. The familiarity of it all makes you inhale sharply. You drop your tone, trying to seem coy as you speak, “I don’t think you understand how badly I needed you whilst you were away, Tom. I missed you.”

The tips of his teeth glint as he arches his brows. “Well…” Tom mumbles. “I owe you about four months of lost opportunities.” He swallows, briefly breaking from the lust-filled headspace to look guilty. You smooth it away by reaching down to squeeze at his hands. “If my radiantly stunning fiancé decides she wants me to start repenting for that now, then who am I to stop her?”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from the car. “You’re a suck-up,” you taunt. You plant a light kiss to his lips. “C’mon,” you urge. “The car.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “The backseat?” he teases. “Shit, angel. You must be desperate.”

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

Tom smirks deviously. “It’s okay,” he soothes. He darts forward to open the car door for you, resting his hand on your lower back as you step forward. “I’m just as desperate as you, baby.”

“I hate you,” you murmur. Tom follows you into the car, shutting the door behind you both. You wait for him to sit before straddling his lap, your legs stretching until you have a shin planted on either side of his thighs. The position is comfortable, with enough space between your bump and his chest for you to breath, and you whimper as Tom bends nearer to ghost his lips over yours.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to tease him, but you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You’re alright with too much adoration to even think about pressing it down.

“I really don’t,” you agree.

Tom makes a soft noise of vindication, the tip of his nose brushing yours for just a moment until he’s bearing down and bringing your lips together. You sigh, reaching up and urging him closer. His lips are lovely, and you enjoy kissing them for a while, but then you find yourself distracted by the open expanse of his neck. With his hair buzzed, you’re keenly aware of his throat, pale and sensitive, and if there’s one thing you remember about your boyfriend, it’s his affinity for lovebites.

You bring your lips to the side of his neck, nuzzling your mouth against the long, pale stretch of his throat. Smirking against his skin, you start to suckle deep hickeys against the side of his neck, revelling in the throaty gasps Tom deposits into the air in response.

“Fuck, darling,” Tom whines. He has a hand on your back, urging you closer. When you graze the tips of your teeth against his skin, he whimpers. “Shit. More.”

“More?” you tease. “Forgotten all your manners, Tom?”

He growls. The hand on your back shifts to the back of your head, and he jerks you ever closer. He’s still mindful, especially of the bump laying between you, but he knows just as well as you that you aren’t a piece of porcelain; you like being tugged around. You’ve missed it.

“Give me what I want, and maybe I’ll return the favour.” He says it like you’re oblivious to the desperation in his words. You decide to oblige him.

“Okay,” you murmur. You look up to meet his gaze, his honey-brown eyes full of appreciation. For a moment, it knocks you off balance. It’s so strange readjusting to having Tom back—almost overwhelming to be able to touch someone who had existed only in your memories for so many weeks. You drop your head and give him what he wants.

Tom’s skin tastes clean, and it smells distantly of pinecones. He groans, fisting at your hair and holding you close as you kiss and suck along his skin, drawing deep hues to the surface of his neck. He shifts in his seat, basking in the pain and whining every time you soothe a fresh mark with the warmth of your tongue. You keep your hand resting on his hair, the cropped length of his buzz prickly and coarse beneath the pads of your fingertips.

“Oh god yeah,” he murmurs, voice mingling with the wet noises coming from your lips. “Your mouth is so fucking good, baby. I missed it.” Grunting, he brings a hand to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips hard. “I thought about you all the time in there.”

Tom releases his hold on your hair and begins to stroke his hands over your back. As you continue to mark his neck, he starts to tease you, gradually dropping the heat of his palms lower and lower. You can’t stop yourself from bucking down into his hold, moaning against his neck as he grabs handfuls of your ass.

“Tom,” you break off to whimper, panting softly. You feel dizzy on the taste of his skin. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “How am I being mean?” Tom squeezes the curves of your figure, his slender fingers warm against your skin. You’re in a dress, the material thin, and he doesn’t hesitate to curve his hands beneath the hem and bring them to rest over your panties. “You’re the one who wanted to come in here and get your hands all over me… I’m doing what you asked.” He breaks off, chuckling darkly. “That’s not how things usually work, though, is it?”

The air between you shifts.

You pull away from Tom’s neck, your mouth inflamed and throbbing. You have to dig your teeth into your lower lip to muffle your whimper when Tom brings a hand to the front of your legs, gently brushing two of his long fingers over the front of your panties. He’s teasing with it, eyes alight with deviousness, jaw set in a determined line.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I want to be in charge this time.”

Tom laughs gently. “Oh, yeah?” He rubs your cunt a little faster, causing you to suck in a sharp breath as you feel the delicate pressure on your clit. The contact makes your passage clench, growing wet enough to dampen the front of your panties. “So you don’t like this, hmm? You don’t want me to follow through on everything I have planned for you?”

“What have you got planned?”

He tuts. “Oh, I’m not going to tell you, angel. That’d be too easy. Either you want me to be in charge, or you decide to call the shots.” Tom smirks as he feels you buck down against his hand. Maybe if the circumstances were different, you’d find the strength to push back, but you don’t. It’s been so long, and your cunt is weeping already just from the husky tones in his voice.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper. The vindicated smirk he flashes in response is enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Damn right, baby.” Tom moves his hands away, pressing them to your waist instead. “Can you lay down for me, please?”

You shuffle across the car seat as instructed, Tom shifting until he’s kneeling in the footwell of the backseats. It’s a good thing the car is obscenely huge, otherwise, the already-cramped fit would be unworkable.

Draping your legs over Tom’s shoulders, he pushes the hem of your dress up, bunching it just above your bump. The hungry fire in his eyes fades slightly.

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

“It’s fine,” you soothe. “Are you okay down there?”

Tom nods. The scruff of his buzzed head scratches against your inner thighs. “I’m bloody perfect,” he responds. “Can I touch you?”

“Please do.”

The tip of his nose nuzzles against your covered clit. “Perfect,” Tom purrs, his breath hot against your panties. “I think it’s time I remind you who owns this fucking pussy… As hot as it was when you were trying to tell me what to do, it’s not on.” He brings his mouth away from your core, and you whimper as his tongue laps gently across your thigh, the muscle deliciously slippery. “I’m the one calling the shots.”

You’re throbbing, every inch of you aching for his touch. The burn is visceral—pulsing, wet. “Yes, sir,” you return. Tom’s eyes snap to yours. “Do whatever you want.”

“Say please.”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you add, “please.”

“Good, baby. You sound so pretty begging for me.” Tom easily pulls your panties down your legs, returning to push your thighs further apart. He brings both of his thumbs to your sensitive lips, humming when you whimper. Using the pads of his fingers, he gently parts your centre, groaning softly at the sight. “Say it,” he murmurs, entranced by the paradise between your legs. “Tell how badly you want me.”

He’s incredibly infuriating, but you play right into his hand. “Please, Tom,” you whine. “Please touch me.”

He hums. “Of course, lovie,” he murmurs. He glances up at you. “All you had to do was ask.”

The first touch of his tongue against your slit makes your eyes roll back. A breathless whine slips past your lips as his mouth envelops your clit, the strong tip of his tongue nuzzling over your sensitive skin in a way you’ve only dreamed of. You’ve been able to get off in his absence, but nothing can simulate the sizzling heat of his mouth and his tongue, nor the scratching of his short hair against your fleshy inner thighs.

The way he unravels you is obscene, toned with the sounds of spit and lazy lips, the sensations of desperation. Tom devours you, using his elbows to push your thighs apart as he buries his face as close to your centre as possible. You can barely see him over the rise of your belly, but you can certainly feel him. When you start to grind down against his face, things only escalate, your eyes fluttering shut as your spine arches in response to his feverish movements.

“Oh god,” he murmurs, voice thick as it vibrates across you. “Missed this… Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Your high rolls over you suddenly and without warning, manifesting itself in a silent cry as your body goes rigid. You hear Tom hum in surprise, then feel his hands lock around your thighs, holding back your legs as they shake in the face of absolute pleasure.

“Sorry,” you pant, recovering gradually, “I didn’t know that was going to happen then.”

Tom runs his tongue over your slit, still sensitive and throbbing. “‘S okay, lovie,” he replies, voice warm. He nuzzles in closer and brings two slender fingers to push against your entrance. Your hole is hot and pulsing, pooled with your arousal. You hear it pucker as he gently presses against your cunt, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. “I’m not done making it up to you, though. Is that okay?”

Exhaling, you nod quickly. “Fuck yeah,” you say, struggling to think. “Oh.”

He slips two fingers into you, your eager walls parting and welcoming him in. Tom removes his mouth from your heat and replaces his tongue with the pad of a thumb, and when you release a loud noise of strangled enjoyment, he begins to crook his fingers into you. He strokes his digits against your walls with poise and elegance, nudging up against your g-spot and stroking, again and again, chasing the noises you release.

“So pretty,” he coos. “My pretty baby. Making all those beautiful noises.” Tom smiles almost proudly. His chin is wet with your arousal. “I love your cunt… Look at how well it's taking me.” To prove his point, he feeds a third finger alongside the others. “So greedy for me, eh? Greedy little pussy. So hot. So wet. God…”

Tom drops his head again, disappearing from your sight of vision. You moan, body jerking as you feel his tongue move around his fingers, catching the arousal that seeps from your pussy as he works you open. He releases an obscene moan before dragging his mouth to your clit, stimulating you with his hands and tongue in tandem.

“Holy fuck,” you whimper. You feel hot in the best way, your skin becoming sweaty as you writhe over the leather seat. “Feels so good, Tommy.” It feels like heaven—especially when he bends his fingers and the tips of them stroke up against your sensitive spot. “‘M gonna cum again.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

Tom chuckles. “I’m so good at this,” he murmurs. “Go on, angel. Don’t hold back on my account… You’re so pretty when you cum.”

The tide breaks, and your climax rolls across you, legs trembling as Tom holds you in place. You writhe as you bask in the heat, your knuckles losing blood as you clench your hands into hard fists. The press of your nails against the soft flesh of your palms hurts, but you don’t care. It feels far too good to think about anything beyond Tom.

You ride it out, and Tom eventually draws his face away from your clit. He kisses along your inner thighs as you gasp for air, only removing his fingers when you start to whimper. As good as the climaxes have felt, panting for breath on the backseat, it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough by far.

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

Tom chuckles as he appears from between your legs. He gives your thighs a little tap before he closes your legs, wriggling out of the footwell as you sit up. Easily, like you’ve done a thousand times before, you swing a leg over Tom’s lap, straddling him when he sits with his back against the car seat.

“Are you okay up there?” he checks, bringing his clean hand to rest on the curve of your stomach. When you nod, his brown eyes darken. “Perfect…” he hums. “Clean off my fingers, will you?”

You nod, opening your mouth expectantly and moaning as Tom slips three of his fingers between your lips. Fighting your smirk, you maintain eye contact with him, your pride swelling as you see his cheeks darken. He gently fucks his fingers into your mouth, making you moan at the movements and the taste of your heat as it spreads across your tongue. He’s messy with it, and you feel your lips and chin grow heavy from spittle.

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

Tom goes to move his fingers from your mouth, only for a detail to make you pause. Eyes straining, you reach up to catch his wrist, holding his hand in place just as his fingers pull away from your lips.

“What’s this?” you query, narrowing your eyes. You drag Tom’s left hand nearer your face, gasping softly as you take note of a new tattoo resting at the bottom of his ring finger.

“Oh.” Tom shifts around slightly, biting at his lower lip. “I got your initials tattooed… When we get married, the ring will cover them, but I wanted you with me—I want you with me—all the time, even without a bit of metal.” He hesitates. “Is that okay?”

You press a delicate kiss across the letters. “Yes,” you say. You feel shy as you meet the eyes of the man who loves you so immensely. “That’s really, really sweet, Tom.” You bite your lip as you look up at him. “Gone soft on me, baby?”

“‘M always soft on you,” he says gruffly, guiding a hand to your face. He brings you closer, encouraging you to lean higher on your knees. “Love of my life, angel. You know that… My wife.”

You shift on his lap, smiling bashfully. “I’m not your wife yet.”

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

Both of you come together, no words needing to be exchanged for you to know what to do. Tom loses his clothes as you sit up a little straighter, one of your hands curling around the headrest of a seat as Tom angles himself slightly. With the rise of your bump between you, you aren’t able to be flushed together like times before, but the man beneath you is quick to readjust so he’s laying further back, giving you plenty of room to move in a way that’s comfortable. He kisses over your knuckles as you run his hard cock through your slit, his interested eyes fixed firmly on the sight of his length as you finally begin to move down.

The moment the head of his cock pushes into you feels indescribable. The ache of the stretch falls away as relief pours over you, the closeness satisfying far more than just your arousal.

“Gentle, gentle,” Tom murmurs, hand resting on your belly. “Be careful.”

You chuckle, beginning to move but only slowly. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “it won’t hurt them.” Your eyes roll back slightly as you bring your hand down to rest on Tom’s shoulder, moaning quietly. “You can move too… Please, move.”

“Okay, darling.” Tom gently starts to move his hips. He groans as he slumps back against the seat, beautiful face coloured light pink. You’d missed the expressions he makes, how emotive the slants of his features can be. His nostrils flare and his jaw tenses as you ride him, your cunt so wet the movements are almost effortless. “That feels… so good.” His voice is hollow, gutless. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about you. You, and your hot cunt.” He moans again, unable to sit around the words. Tom ruts into you a little harder, guiding you to move faster with the hand on your hip. “Taking me so well, darling. So fucking well. I’m not going to last at all.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur. “I won’t either.”

Tom manages a lazy smirk. He opens his eyes as he brings a hand to your clit, teasing the sensitive bud with his thumb. You jerk a little at the stimulation but start to ease into it, basking in the pleasure from the bud and Tom’s cock. He’s buried deep within you, pressing your walls apart, the curved tip of his head brushing deeper than you’ve felt in months.

“So tight,” he murmurs. Tom leans back, clearly enjoying the sight of you riding him. “My darling. You look so beautiful like this… I swear your tits are bigger, too.” The hand on your belly gently caresses the bump, Tom’s tongue briefly wandering out to wet his lower lip. “Look at how beautiful you are… I can’t wait to knock you up again.”

Stifling a moan, it takes everything in you to focus on your movements. “You feel so good, Tom,” you whimper, unable to hold back the praise he loves to hear. “I missed this so much.”

“I know, baby. I missed this too… Come on, now.” His voice hardens slightly. “I’m about to cum, but I don’t want to unless you’re right here beside me. So… will you be a good girl and finish with me? Please?”

Heat flushes through your system as you bounce your head quickly. Your eyes close, breath hitching as you feel your climax rise. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a coil pulling tighter and tighter until it bends and snaps, bursting wide and spilling pleasure across your body in warm waves of enjoyment. You cry out as you fall apart, holding Tom’s shoulder tightly as his hand clamps around your waist. You feel him mirror you, hear his loud groan as his cock pulses inside you, your movements unceasing as you ride it out together.

It ends, but you stay joined. Tom sits up, the distance put between you by your belly requiring him to stretch closer and seize your lips in a smouldering kiss. His hand returns to your cheek, yours to his, and the look in his eyes is dizzying.

“I love you so much,” he speaks, words soft like a promise. “Everything I do from here on out is for you, and…” He glances back at your stomach. “And our child.” Words thickening, you see Tom’s eyes well with tears again. He chuckles, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” he adds. “I get a bit choked up thinking about it.”

You stroke your fingers over the back of his hair, spiky strands smooth against your hand. “Don’t apologise for expressing your emotions, baby,” you whisper. “It’s been a very long day.”

Tom nods. “Love you,” he murmurs again. He nuzzles his head into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing.

“I love you too,” you say, words truer than they’ve ever been before. You bend down to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to go home now?”

He hums. “Y/N,” he whispers. Tom blinks up at you, eyes soft. He catches the palm of your hand with a few kisses as he sits up a little straighter. “I’m already home.”

Teeth grazing your lower lip, you hold back your smile as you marvel at how clichéd he’s become. You bend down and kiss him very gently. “Sap,” you murmur. “Love you, though.”

Tom pulls a face. He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice—only love. “Love you too,” he says. “Yes, though,” he adds, “I would love to go home.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

that’s probably a wrap on mob!tom ! i don’t have any more fic ideas for him :( that being said, this was a lot of fun to write, and i really, really hope you liked it :D ik the theme isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you read it all, i love you very very much

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

[hotwings0203]

I feel like Dabi would be the type of dude who would bully you incessantly at the LOV and for the life of you you can’t figure out why. He’s always around you and making snarky comments or pulling your hair, trying to catch you messing up on missions. You’re sure he hates you, and you do well to stay out of his way, or sometimes when you feel bold you’ll offer a quip of your own. The bullying increases whenever you talk to other guys at the bar, especially when you make Tomura crack a smile, Dabi’s breathing down your neck the second your leader leaves, calling you terrible names and pushing past your boundaries.

Cw: language, nsfw, noncon, manga spoilers, some angst?

In a perfect world, Touya would not have been abandoned and rejected by his family. In a perfect world, Dabi would not exist, and Touya would be eating dinner with his family right now as he shows his little brother how to properly wield fire to its fullest extent.

But there was no such thing as a perfect world, and therefore Dabi did exist. And Dabi doesn’t care for anyone, or anything.

Or so he tells himself.

“Slut”

“Nothing but eye candy, and shitty eye candy at that”

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore him

“What was that all about, huh? The fuck are you and crusty snickering about?”

Fed up with his continuous antics, you decide to mouth off a little too.

“Oh nothing, just talking about how adorable you and Hawks would make as a couple. And wipe that sneer off your face, it looks like some of your staples fell out of your mouth.”

It’s nothing too snarky, but in a second he’s shoving you in some dark room, forearm pinned against your throat as his hand is lit up with blue flames merely inches away from you, snarling in your face.

“You wanna be funny, bitch? I got jokes of my own too, why dont I show you what happens to dumb little girls who don’t know their fucking place? I think that would be real funny.”

But his hand is stopped from drawing near your wide eyes when you both hear Twice and Toga calling everyone for their next meeting.

He pushes you away from him, giving you a murderous look over his shoulder as he leaves the room, not paying mind to the way you slide down the wall in the dark.

You take extra precaution to try avoiding him for the next few days, not even making eye contact with him when you two get teamed up for tasks. He never mentions the room incident, if anything he acts as if it never happens. It’s like whiplash for you, he tries to weirdly talk to you more but all you offer him is mumbles and hums of agreement.

The conversation is never long, but it starts to be less talk of degrading you and more of begrudging questioning of what you’ve been up to. You never engage, opting to pretend like you never heard him, and strangely enough he leaves it be.

You give him a side eye one day as he joins you at the bar (much to your discontent), downing your glass just to fill another.

He says nothing as he slides into the stool right next to you, and pours a glass of whiskey for himself as well.

It’s awkwardly silent, you’re not sure if you should leave or not, but you’d be damned if you try to initiate small talk with this psycho.

But then, he speaks.

“Is Shigaraki sending you on the mission to get that UA kid?”

His gravely voice rumbles and cracks from his usual lack of use, and he clears his throat after he talks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

This is excruciating, you think to yourself as he mulls over the drink in his hand for a silent minute or two.

Toga calls you over thankfully at the exact same moment, and you breathe out an inaudible sigh of relief as you slip off the stool to join her.

“Wait-“ Dabi grabs your arm and you flinch out of instinct, expecting a slap or a burn to come from him.

He sees your reaction and shakes his head dismissively, letting you go and muttering a “Nevermind”. You don’t ponder over it as you trip over your own feet to join the eccentric blond.

A week passes, and then two. With each day you maneuver your way around him, request to be partnered up with different people in private, and busy yourself in random tasks. Every time you pass him by the bar he lifts his head from whatever he’s doing and tries to maintain eye contact with you, even going so far as to open his mouth to say or ask god-knows-what.

You try to ignore the foreign hopeful glint in his glacial eyes as you walk right past him, ducking your head as you do so.

It drives Dabi crazy.

He can’t handle any more rejection, he thought his family would be the last straw for him to ever want recognition or love validation from again. He wants to talk to you, to hear your voice as it snaps back with witty comebacks of your own that he secretly enjoys so much, even if it means he has to force it out of you with hateful words. He wants to feel your hair underneath his scarred hands, even if he has to mask the soft wanting of you in forms of yanking the strands. He wants nothing more than to see your eyes fill up with no other sight than him and think only of him, even if it means he has to corner you and scare you into submission.

But your silence is something he’s not used to.

Well, to be fair, you weren’t silent completely, but the only sentences he was hearing from you nowadays was when you were speaking to Shigaraki or the other League members.

You were the only idiot who didn’t notice the smoke curling from his nostrils and ears comically when he’d finally see you stop your stoic act just to open up to other men apart from him. Spinner, Twice, and Compress backed off almost immediately from talking to you for too long when they’d see the look on his face as he watched you surrounded by them, but Tomura would merely smirk from behind your shoulders and keep a level gaze with his subordinate, knowing fully well why he was so pissed off.

You began to notice the weird energy at the base soon after the rest of the men would keep curt conversations with you in comparison to your long talks about video games, sex, and life after you would all win the war.

So you thought it would be best to ask the most semi-normal person there that wasn’t fueled with testosterone and aggression.

“I just don’t get it, why are they all being weird? I mean, we all used to talk so much and now they just...try avoiding me. Except for Tomura of course, he’s still normal I guess. But he always has this smirk on his face when I’m with him and I can’t figure out why.”

Toga stops cleaning her blood-laced needle to give you a sly look, all fangs and glinting white.

“And Dabi?”

“What about him?”

She sits back on her haunches and cocks her head at you. “You really don’t know what’s happening here, do ya?”

“No,” you roll your eyes in exasperation. “But I’ll gladly take any theories here, since apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t get it.”

“He likes you.”

You gape at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“What? That’s crazy, he doesn’t like me, he hates me!” He can barely stand being in a room with me, all he does is talk shit and harass me.”

The blond curiously licks at a bead of red from the top of the weapon and you cringe when her own tongue rips from the sharp point.

“You say he can’t stand being in a room with you, so then why is it that he’s always there? He might talk shit, but he talks to you out of everyone else right? Regardless of if it’s something mean.”

You’re thoroughly flabbergasted. She had a point, but it was too much to wrap your head around. She cheerfully hums and gets up to flounce around the room, cleaning her already-tidy room up to a T.

“And that little silent treatment act you’re giving him isn’t helping either. I swear, Jin told me Dabi almost burned his mouth off that one day you, him and Spinner were talking about GTA. He totally cornered the poor guy and threatened his life if he didn’t stop talking to you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am not. He wanted to do the same to Tomura but I figure he wants to keep his job, so he won’t. Doesnt make it any better for him when you’re all chummy with the one person Dabi can’t stand the most, though.”

No wonder your leader was so smug whenever you two were in the same room, your attention solely focused on him.

You run your hands down your face, moaning about the whole situation being fucked. It’s just your luck that you couldn’t take a clue, but to be fair, how could you? Being called worthless and a waste of space wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for flirty banter.

“Soooo what’re you gonna do now? I heard he’s gonna try talking to you for realsies like, tomorrow or something.”

“Tomorrow?” You yelp, jumping up to your feet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can’t face him!”

“Oops,” she giggles, twirling with outstretched arms around her room and falling down onto her bed.

“Oh god, I can’t do this. I don’t even know if I like him! He’s such an ass, and even when he tries to come off as normal he’s just so..unsettling. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good conversation with him.”

Toga props her elbow up to rest her chin on her hand, frowning in thought.

“Why not just tell him how you feel?”

You snort and fold your arms. “Yeah, because the psycho arsonist is really gonna take the word no well.”

“Hmm.. I see what you mean. Oh well, whatever you choose, I’ll support you!”

And with that she skips out of the room sing songing for Twice to make a clone for her.

You were fucked.

And sure enough, the next day he approaches you, hands stuffed in his pockets and an almost bored look on his face.

“Yo newbie, I gotta talk to you for a second. Come with me”.

You look blearily up at him through eye bags and mussed hair, a direct telling of your sleepless night. Your stomach drops when you hear his words, but you nod your head and take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself of the speech you practiced till the sun rose.

No one else is bothering you both today, Shigaraki having gone to visit All For One and the rest of the League left to their own devices. It was something you weren’t so comfortable with, but you doubted a hero would come to save you.

He leads you through the short winding hallways, each step of his growing louder and heavier as the space started growing smaller. Finally, he reaches a dimly lit room and stops outside the door, gesturing for you to go in with a casual wave of his patched wrist.

“After you.”

You raise an unsure eyebrow at his uncharacteristic show of consideration, and do as he says. You’re sweating bullets, fists balled so that your nails are digging into your palms, and vision going in and out of focus as your eyes begin to adjust to your surroundings.

A loud bang pulls you out of your stupor, and you whip around at the sound.

Dabi is already staring back at you with lidded eyes, leaning his weight against the door, his arms crossing over each other.

You shift on both feet, picking at your nails nervously.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

He says nothing, but just observes you, his head slightly tilted as if you were some abstract art piece.

“Dabi.”

“You got a lot of nerve, y’know that?”

He pushes himself off the wall and advances slowly towards you, hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets.

You immediately back up with raised palms, sputtering indignantly at his offensive movements coming closer and closer. However you thought his ‘confession’ would go, this was most definitely not starting out like how you planned

“Excuse me? What’re you talking about-“

“I know what you’re doing. You think whoring yourself out to ol’ crusty and the rest of the guys here is gonna make everyone forget just how useless you actually are. What the fuck do you even do here? You fuck up half the missions which I have to come bail your ass out of, you constantly put us in jeopardy by being all friendly with everyone, and you can’t even keep your mouth shut when I need to let off a little steam, as I rightfully should.”

In a perfect world, Dabi would be the light of your eyes, the hero of your world. In a perfect world, Dabi would be able to hold your hand in his smooth one and tell you that he wants you so much that it impairs his rational judgement and makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He’d tell you that your presence is like a weight lifted off his chest, your presence means he doesn’t have to think or worry about the outside world, he just wants you all to himself without anyone interfering.

But this is not a perfect world, and Dabi is not a hero, but rather one of the worst villains.

So he does exactly what one does as a villain.

Instead of a loving look that he knows he’s incapable of, Dabi looks down into your horrified gaze as he traps you against the wall between his scarred arms, spewing misplaced venom at you.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to chill out. First you go ballistic on me ‘cause I talked to Tomura for no reason, then you act all weird and quiet as if you’re some decent person, and now you think you can just bring me in here and tell me how worthless I am? Go fuck yourself, seriously.”

You scoff and make your way to push him but stop when he does what he did a couple weeks ago. You hold bated breath as he casually brings an inflamed hand to scratch at his face as if he can’t feel the hellfire emitting from it, and let out a whine of distress as he lowers his head mere inches from yours, lips almost touching.

“Stop talking to the rest of the guys,” he breaths. “Stop smiling, laughing, or going near anyone who isn’t me.”

You wonder if he knows how insane he sounds. He does, but that’s nothing he doesn’t know already. If anything, it solidifies in his mind that if he is to be as bad as the world has made him out to be, then he is acting exactly fit for the role.

“Why?”

“I don’t need to give sluts like you a reason. It should come as easy, right? What’s putting out for one more person?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, your stoic facade showing cracks as you sniffle a little bit.

He eats it up and groans watching salty rivers cascade down your cheeks. Suddenly, he feels as though he can no longer hold back anymore, he feels as though if he thinks for one more second he’ll combust.

So, acting on instinct, he surges forward and presses his lips against yours, swallowing your cries of distress and holding your hands above your head in midst of them frantically beating on his chest.

Your lips are so, so soft compared to his and it’s making him sink deeper into this instinctual daze. He puffs against your writhing lips as he thrusts his hot tongue in your mouth.

You try to bite him but when his hands heat up against your skin you resign to your fate and wail, allowing him to pull his hips flush against yours and start humping your thighs.

He draws back and bites your lips, teeth clacking against yours as he does so. You open your terrified eyes and blanch when you see the look on his face.

Lust is clearly drawn everywhere, from his blown pupils to his heaving chest, all the way to his flushed face and wild eyes. He looks as though he’s about to eat you alive and it’s appropriate that you feel like a lamb about to be slaughtered.

“Dabi, wait, please stop-“

But he cuts your pants off again in favor of slamming his hips against yours again and grinding impossibly hard on your legs, the friction of his jeans catching on your clothed cunt and forcing a mewl out of you.

“I’m not gonna stop. I’ve had enough of you teasing. You’re mine now, and if it takes burning our dear leader alive and this whole place down for you to understand that then I’ll fucking do it.”

He thought that terrorizing you would ease the empty feeling in his heart, that continuously berating you would force him to see you as what he always said you were, just another empty headed cunt. He thought that distancing himself from you and focusing on other things would make him forget about the soft feelings he longed to share with you, feelings he thought perished in the fire he was in when he was a young boy .

Even now, there is an ache in his chest as he hears you beg for him to stop, to let you go, that you’re sorry for whatever you did.

But this is not a perfect world, and not everyone gets their way in life.

You should really learn that, because Dabi already has.

And so Dabi will act accordingly to what life has put out before him .

[fanfiction-artist-prototype]

I am looking at this from so many angles I just discovered a new dimensional plane??? He swears in book titles originally because of Jericho and not wanting to pass on his bad language to his kid but obviously that fell through in the end, and so when he went under a new alias to separate himself so thoroughly from his old life he picked it up again?

He went to Amity specifically because it’s on the middle of like 18 converging ley lines and technology works through sheer human belief in it nothing else so if he simply thinks that the tracker Waller had in him from the suicide squad doesn’t work because of the ley lines it doesn’t work and it gives him enough time to dig it out of his arm and he dumps it in one of the Fenton’s special waste bins that the city has to come collect separately. By the time Waller got it back online it looked like Slade Wilson would have taken an unwitting one way trip into a cesspit of toxic waste, and not the reanimating kind.

It’s why he doesn’t look too far into Danny’s excuses. He’s spent too many years dealing with supers he can spot Danny and Valarie from a fucking mile off. He gives extensions on his projects to the two of them because hell he wasn’t the best human but Mr Lancer is supposed to be a man who decided to be a teacher; he’s supposed to be somebody who cares for his kids. (He does he gained that care somewhere along the way but doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

He also sniffs out Vlad; maybe not as Plasmius but he knows *something* is wrong there and he *does not* like it.

Just.... Lancer pulling himself out of retirement to train Valarie. All the kids are happy that their english teacher has taken up fitness because he wants to be healthier, not knowing that the unhealthy appearance of Lancer is mostly costume. Lancer/Slade taking up self-defence classes for his kids, and as Slade (who Val heard about in her research before becoming Huntress) teaches Val ways to protect herself against the human GIW agents because he knows from his past job that kids need people when they’re being left alone with adults who only have bad intentions.

Slade reaching out to Phantom who can instantly tell that it’s Lancer because they have the same taste of death to them . (Danny thought Lancer must have been a marie/army etc vet or something not an international super mercenary!?)

The JL turning up because they want to know if Huntress and Phantom can be trusted or if one or both need to be elimiated only to be faced with the conjoined force of two teens who have clearly been trained by SLADE (and all reports state these two are enemies so did they train together before Phantom died and became a ghost? is is a league thing where Slade made his apprentices fight to the death?) and have to retreat momentarily only to come across Lancer.

And like half the league know Slade’s face, the other half don’t.

Some of them keep quiet wanting to see what Lancers doing and he’s...

a teacher.

He’s teaching his kids English lit. He’s stood in front of a room of teenagers with makeup to hide the scars and ranting about moby dick and the implications of it being a ‘self-insert’ reader as the author glamorized others actual experiences. He’s pulling a kid aside who was bullying a student who looks like a human Phantom ( a twin? a younger sibling he feels guilty to?) and explains to them that bullying isn’t going to make their self-esteem better.

They see him teaching his students self-defence after school, they see him getting in a parents face, yelling about how they should be ashamed of themselves because they aren’t feeding their kid properly, about how he knows from experience that parenting his hard but he *lost* his chance to be a parent so they need to shape up or stop being a fuck up.

And maybe they decide to tell the others that don’t know that they found Slade, maybe they decide to leave it be seeing that he’s trying.

Short DPXDC Prompts #537

Mr. Lancer is a retired Slade Wilson.

[stariwrites]

Please

Pairing: Sukuna x GN! Reader (The reader is AFAB)

Warnings: Dubious Consent, Oral (Reader! Receiving), Mind break, edging, denied orgasm, monsterfucking, corruption kink, dirty talk, mean dom to soft dom Sukuna, use of little one and little sorcerer as well as pet (only twice though), forced submission just to be safe 

A/N: I had so much fun writing this and this is for @seita “Corrupt a Virgin Collab!” Thank you so much for letting me participate! All characters are 18+  and as always Minors DNI and if you do or if you’re a nameless blog I will block you instantly. 

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: Megumi, Itadori, Nobara, Gojo, Nanami...I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to keep my promise and protect all of you. 

Debris settled over the city. You coughed, cringing at the blood that spilled from your lips at the hit you had taken. You looked around you, watching as more buildings collapsed, people screamed causing it to echo. You couldn’t find anybody no matter where you looked. Your heart raced inside your chest. 

How much longer would you be able to pull this off? Ever since Sukuna and Itadori had been separated he caused nothing but destruction. 

You watched the curse you were currently fighting rush towards you. It’s green spindles shot out only for you to dodge it in the nick of time. The wall where you had been standing in front of was nothing but a hole. You cringed. That could’ve been you.

Before you had time to recover it focused it’s sights on you again, the eight purple eyes stared directly into yours. You tried to get up again only to be met by an explosion of pain. You glanced down at your hand nursing the wound on your stomach only to see crimson seep through your fingers. Shit. 

It let out a wicked shriek, leaving your ears ringing. It charged at you again. You closed your eyes. 

Megumi, Itadori, Nobara, Gojo, Nanami...I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to keep my promise and protect all of you. 

“Protect me?” Gojo’s voice was incredulous as he tossed his head back and laughed. It had been a busy day filled with killing curses and saving people, but at the end of it all of you were able to spend time together and watch the fireworks. “I’m the strongest there is, if anything it would be me protecting you.” 

Nanami huffed at his response, proceeding to whack him upside the head. He whined, turning to Nanami no doubt to start playfully fighting him which would end in Nanami sighing in disappointment.

You could only shake your head at the two of them while Nobara scoffed, nudging your arm with a grin. “Yeah, and besides we’re all going to get stronger so we don’t need to be protected.”

Megumi nodded with a small smile which caused you to huff.

“It’s not like that!” You clenched your fists beside you, before lowering your voice. “It’s just that all of you are precious to me and I’ll do whatever it takes to not see you hurt.”

They were all speechless at your response until Itadori’s face lit up into a bright smile. “Let's do it!” He cheered, jumping into the air. “We’ll be the best group of sorcerers out there you’ll see! Let’s all protect each other.”

The six of you looked at each other with matching soft expressions, a silent agreement that you’d all make it to the very end when the first explosion fired off. Itadori shrieked at the unexpected boom that echoed in the sky causing your laughter to break the silence between each firework. 

You smiled looking back on the memory. It was fun. The people you met, the friends you gained, you wouldn’t have traded it for the world. As you anticipated the final blow one last thought flashed through your mind. You had no regrets.

An explosion of light flooded from behind your eyelids, you braced for impact but none came. Slowly, you cracked an eye open only to have your breathing hitch. Standing where the cursed spirit used to be was-

“Sukuna,” your own voice surprised you. The demon turned to you with an unamused expression.

“Think you can just die like that?” He sneered approaching you. “You fool.” 

You tried to get up, all your senses screaming to fight but you only managed to straighten your posture before wincing in pain. Broken ribs, you assumed, if not worse. “What do you want?” You managed to croak out. 

Standing above you, his eyes were filled with venom. You swallowed silently wishing the destroyed cursed spirit had taken you out. You refused to break away from his gaze while his hand moved to cup your cheek. You flinched from his touch expecting him to rip your skin away with the swipe of his talons, but instead he clicked his tongue at the action.

“Make no mistake little one, If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” His voice sent shivers down your spine, but your body relaxed at the words. You wanted to shake your head. How could that even be remotely comforting?

You couldn’t dwell on it for long because the next thing you knew you could breathe properly again. You took a deep breath in, almost choking on it. You removed your hand from your stomach only to gape in shock. 

“You,” you looked up at the demon with wide eyes. “You healed me?”

He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stand the way humans interacted nor did he want to. He craved the chaos he created and only wanted to see more of it, but one sorcerer managed to get under his skin, you. 

You were an enigma, your cursed energy was strong, that was for certain and as obsessed as he was with Megumi there was something about you that drew him to you. Maybe it was the way he could tell you were a virgin. You had so much experience but none with another person’s touch. He thought many times about you being tied up and at his mercy while he edged you for hours causing you to cry out pleas along with his name. 

Unfortunately there was no time to act on what he wanted with him still being inside the brat, but now, now was the perfect time. 

“Why?” The question left your mouth before you could stop it. He wanted to laugh at your perplexed expression paying close attention to your lips. You didn’t realize it, but you backed yourself into a corner. 

“Oh Little Sorcerer,” he crooned mockingly. A sinister smile stretched across his face reminding you just who you were dealing with. 

Squatting down to your level, he let his eyes rove over your body, paying close attention to where your uniform was torn and wrinkled. Instinctively, you covered yourself to the best of your ability which only made him lick his lips.

“You didn’t think I did that without a price,” his voice dropped an octave, “did you?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest while you gasped. There was no way, but noticing the hunger in those eyes that held a predatory gleam you understood what he meant. You couldn’t-

“Get away from them!” Megumi shouted. His footsteps raced towards where you were. Itadori and Nobara were fast at his heels shouting for you. A ghost of a smile fell onto your face. They were okay. From what you saw the only wounds were some scratches and bruises. They would be okay. The relief quickly faded when a talon turned your chin to make you look at him once more.

His teeth were on full display. “Let’s make a contract, shall we? I won’t hurt your friends as long as you do what I want in my domain.”

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And what would that be?”

“I get to ruin you.”

You knew you could stall, could buy time until they could help you, but the more you waited the more people screamed.

“So little one, what will it be?” Sukuna’s voice rang heavy in your ears. You could either go with him or more people would be hurt. You purse your lips, you had two choices: either allow Sukuna to take you and buy your friends some time or wait for them and risk more people dying. 

With a deep breath you faced the demon. “If I go with you, you promise that no person, that includes jujutsu sorcerers and civilians will be harmed?”

“Of course.”

Part of you didn’t trust him, but you mulled over the deal, searching for any loopholes. Megumi, Itadori and Nobara were getting closer. 

“Time’s running out, have you made a decision?”

You looked at your friends one last time as they screamed in horror running faster. With a final breath you focused back on the king of curses. 

“I accept.”

                                   ------------------------------------------------------------

“Such a pretty little thing aren’t you?”

Obscene sounds echoed throughout the domain as you grinded against Sukuna’s tongue that resided on his abdomen. Small whimpers and broken moans spilled from your lips. Tears slid down your face while the appendage was lapping at your folds, flicking at your clit every now and again. Each grind down had your toes curling. You tossed your head back.

“Shut, ah, shut up!” You tried to shout, but it held no mirth to it. 

Sukuna smirked at your reaction. Still so fiery even after he edged you, you were a fun one that was for certain. 

He’d envisioned this moment many times before, but nothing beat the real thing. He kept your arms stretched above you with one of his hands while the other he used to cup your cheek. He lived for your expression, the way your eyelashes were grouped together with tears as you were forced to keep taking what he was giving you, completely at his mercy.

“What’s wrong little sorcerer,” he snarled. “Can’t take my tongue?” He couldn’t help but grow addicted to the breathy pants you let out as you clamped down at his words. His eyes widened, peering at you with an expression that almost looked impressed. 

“Who knew you could be such a slutty pet. Nobody’s ever touched you like this before and you’re already so fucked out, I wonder what will happen when you cum, hm?”

“Fu-fuck you,” you managed to get out between moans. You refused to give into him, wishing you had more strength in you to glare. You needed to put up a fight. 

He raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “Brat,” he dug his nails into your hips, there would be indents there for days, but he didn’t care. “You try to put up such a front, wouldn’t it feel better to give in rather than fight me? You’re so wet and you’ve been so good, so pliant for me are you sure you don’t want a reward?

The familiar coil in your stomach was about to break causing you to thrash your head back and forth. The burn was becoming painful, you didn’t know how much longer you’d last if he kept denying you. Sukuna noticed, forcing your hips to grind faster. 

“Oh? Is the little sorcerer close? Tell me, do you want to know what it’s like to cum from somebody other than you, hm?” He hummed keeping the brutal pace, watching as you heaved for breath, your eyes glossy and almost rolling back. A twisted grin morphed onto his face at the sight. 

“Don’t tell me I’ve fucked you dumb already,” he bit his lip to keep from groaning out into the domain. The reflection of the water only made you look more wrecked. “Tell me, is this what you’re going to look like when you're stretched out on my cock?”

The image alone had your toes curling. You couldn’t fight it anymore. You needed release. “M’close. M’so close. M’gonna cum. Gonna ngh gonna cum Sukuna. Sukuna,” you babbled, slurring your words.

You were almost there all you needed was one more extra push. 

Before you had time to process what was happening your hips stilled. A loud sob ripped it’s way from your throat. You couldn’t handle being denied anymore. All you could do was struggle in his hold and curse the king in front of you for torturing you like this. That’s when it registered, he was going to kill you like this. That must’ve been his plan all along.

You were about to speak, to tell him to just kill you already when he leaned closer towards you. His lips ghosted against yours. Without thinking you leaned in, desperate to feel his lips against yours, but before you could he pulled away and gazed at you.

You could see your reflection in his eyes, the way you were drooling for him, you were a mess, your eyes glossy from crying, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you. You couldn’t remember how many times he edged you, but it was unbearable. 

“Beg me.”

Your breath caught in your throat even though you’d been expecting that. Part of you, the desperate want that curled itself into your skin and set your heart aflame wanted to cave in. Wanted so badly to finally get the release you’ve been craving all this time, but rationally you looked at the demon and whispered, “I, I can’t.”

As soon as the words were out you wanted to take them back, disappointment swam within you. You wanted to know what it was like, but the sorcerer in you couldn’t yield. You reminded yourself that you were doing this for them, but that would’ve been a lie.

 You expected Sukuna to tear you to shreds or leave you like this but instead he shushed you.

Your eyes snapped open, not even remembering when you closed them. He only rubbed your back with one of the hands that was on your hip while the other hand holding your arms set them down.

“Such a brave sorcerer, aren’t you? Even when you’re so desperate you still hold so much strength, but don’t you want to be ruined? Don’t you wish you would just be able to let go and have somebody else take the reins?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft like he was talking to something fragile, something that could break. 

“I-”

You couldn’t deny that it sounded nice, to be out of control for once, to just let yourself be ruined by Sukuna. You craved release so bad it hurt. You shuddered against him at the thought of finally being able to lose yourself in pleasure while the cool air of the domain caught up to you.

Without hesitation, Sukuna embraced you in his arms, bringing you close to his chest. You imagined that if he was human, you’d be able to hear his heart beat pressed against him like this. He caressed any inch of your body his hands could reach as he placed a chaste kiss to your temple. You settled in the warmth.

“Shh, just let me take care of you little one,” he squeezed you close before placing two set of his hands on your shoulders to pull you back. It took everything in him not to smile. He had you, he knew he had you judging by the way your face was going from conflicted to completely lax. 

“I’ll ruin you for anybody else,” the hands on your shoulders dropped down to barely touch your waist, tickling you. He began to kiss down your jaw, moving to your neck. “You could rule by my side and stay with me in this space forever, you wouldn’t have to worry about curses,” he sucked a mark causing you to whimper. “Or saving people,” his other hands moved to play with your nipples. “Or those pesky sorcerers.” 

Your mind was reeling, unable to concentrate on any coherent thought. The difference from being so rough to being soft was messing with your head. You were losing yourself, but still tried so desperately to hang on, to not give in. You had friends you needed to protect, but all of that was fading away. 

Sukuna noticed and as he sucked on your earlobe, he used the hands tickling you to meet your hips, positioning you over his cock. “All you have to say is-”

“Please.”

[v-hope]

With You

Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk x Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, College!AU, established relationship

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Although trying to fight it, Jeongguk can’t help but become insecure about your relationship after your ex best friend starts filling his head with lies about you and Taehyung, his best friend who you just so happened to be out with that day. Good thing is, you’re right there with him to reassure him you want him and only him.

—Alternatively, the one in which during a heated make out session you find out your boyfriend is a virgin, and decide to help him get himself off.

Warnings: Heavy making out, light body touching (?), dry humping, confident Guk and shy/awkward Guk keep switching places, handjob, blowjob. And yup, Guk’s (still) a virgin.

A/N: Helloo, this from part 28 of my Social Media AU ‘Tiger Flower’, but I guess you can still read it if you haven’t read the full story lol. So this was supposed to be a 2k drabble like the ones I always write but I got a bit carried away 🤡 I hope you enjoy! 💕 ALSO, someone asked me to bold the beginning and ending of the smut part(s), so if you don’t wanna read the smut just look for the bolded words and skip what’s in between lol.

Running his hands through his face as the elevator’s doors opened, Jeongguk started walking through the hallway to his place, head lowered as he absently looked in his pocket for the keys to the apartment.

The conversation he had with Sooyeon was still going through his mind over and over. Although he had managed to sound confident enough through the texts they had exchanged and he had put her in her place —along with blocking her ass just like he had wanted to ever since the first time she brought you up into the conversation—, he could not deny her words did hit home.

Taehyung was definition of your type. Outgoing, talkative, funny, handsome. The life of the party, in other words. Something he was not, and something he would never be, considering he did not show up to parties at all if it wasn’t because he was either forced to by his friends or because you would be there.

Taehyung could most definitely show you a good time, whereas he, on the other hand…

No, fuck that. You were dating him. He was your boyfriend. He, Jeon Jeongguk. That was all he could find comfort in.

Then again, you were not with him right then. You were somewhere else with Taehyung. As friends, but still. And then again, just like he had a high school crush on you and found himself falling all over again three years into college, so had you with Taehyung right before dating him. Would it really be that hard for you to fall for him a third time when the two of you were still so close?

He shook his head, as if trying to shake his thoughts away. Don’t let Sooyeon get to you, Y/N’s with you for a reason. Don’t let Sooyeon get t—

“Hey…”

Before his head could keep on torturing him, your voice brought him back out of his small trance, fixing his wide doe eyes on you for two seconds before he took in his surroundings, only then realising he had already reached his apartment’s door.

Staring back at you, his eyes lit up.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What… What are you doing here?”

You shifted nervously in your place. “You sounded kinda off through texts, so I just wanted to check up on you”.

He nodded quietly, fighting the huge smile that was threatening with forming on his lips.

Because you were there. With him.

“You didn’t, um…” his eyes travelled to the door for a second before they were back on you. “Joon-ie hyung didn’t open the door for you?”

A small laugh escaped your lips at the way his eyebrows had furrowed, ready to fight his roommate for leaving you waiting out there for God knows how long. “I didn’t call on the door” you explained, causing his eyebrows to knit further together in utter confusion. “I didn’t know if you wanted me here at all, so I thought I’d just wait outside in case you wanted to be alone and asked me to g—”

Your words were cut off by a sweet kiss being pressed to your lips. Although taken aback the first second, you smiled when he cupped your face to press his mouth deeper against yours.

“What was that for?” you smiled once he pulled away, eyes still closed as you felt his nose gently bumping yours.

“I’m just happy you’re here” he breathed contently.

“That’s good to hear” you sheepishly admitted, resting your hands on his chest. “I honestly thought you would ask me to leave”.

He shook his head no, pecking your lips before he pulled you into his arms. “Don’t be silly, you know I always want to be with you”.

You took in a shaky breath, feeling all the tension you had been building up until then leave your body for good, and then wrapping your arms tightly around him as well. “Yeah, but you sounde—”

“Shh,” he hushed you, pressing a brief kiss to your neck. “I want you here”.

You let out another laugh, not only because of how happy his words made you, but because of the way he later grabbed your face once again to start peppering kisses all over it.

“Yah, Jeon Jeongguk!” you called him out in between giggles. “We’re in the middle of the hallway”.

He laughed, pecking your lips one last time before he pulled away. You just didn’t know how much it meant to him having you there with him right then when he needed you the most.

Without another word, he took his keys out of his pocket, like he had intended to minutes ago, and finally opened the door.

Stopping in his tracks, he turned around to look at you with a raised brow. “You’re coming in, right?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, since you ask so nicely…”

Rolling his eyes at your overdramatic ways, he grabbed your hand, pulling you inside his place with him, not giving you time to even take a look around as he dragged you into his room.

“I don’t even get to say hi to Joon?” you teased as you closed the door behind you and he went to lie down on his bed.

“You can go say hi if you want” he replied simply, resting his weight on his elbows so he could properly look at you.

“Nah,” you shrugged, watching his nose scrunch up as his lips parted into a big smile when you started walking towards him. “I came to see you after all”.

“That you did” he contently affirmed, that being all he needed to let go of his intrusive thoughts.

Letting his back fall on the bed once again, he stretched his arm out on the mattress for you to go over there. Without another word, you crawled in bed with him, resting your head on his arm just like he wanted you to, scooting closer to him when his hand rested on your shoulder, and then resting yours on his chest.

“So how was work?” you tried to initiate small talk, tenderly running your fingers in circular motions from his chest to his abdomen.

The sigh that had escaped his mouth let you know not so well.

Work itself had been alright . What happened afterwards when he was heading home and Sooyeon texted him? Yeah, that had been shitty as hell.

“I blocked Sooyeon” he let you know.

Your head snapped up. “Hadn’t you already done that?”

“From Instagram, yeah” he nodded. “I blocked her phone number now. It can be a little awkward tomorrow when I see her but it’s the last day of filming, so I couldn’t care less”.

Although wanting to laugh —because, let’s be honest, that new piece of information could only bring you joy—, you ended up pouting in confusion.

“Something happened?”

“The usual,” he took in a deep breath. “She was talking shit”.

You nodded understandingly. Although wanting to know the details, you understood he didn’t really want to talk about it, for otherwise he would’ve told you by then. So, you said nothing, settling for pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder instead.

“Is that why you were upset?” you wondered.

Jeongguk stayed quiet, both in awe at how you could tell he wasn’t feeling his best just by a couple of texts, and once again upset at the conversation he had held with Sooyeon earlier that evening.

“Kinda” he tried to shrug it off.

You puckered your lips, stopping your soothing motions on his torso and resting your palm on it instead so you could support your body up as you looked for his chocolate eyes.

“Was it because I went out with Tae?”

The way his body had tensed was all the answer you needed. However, he surprised you by shaking his head no.

“It wasn’t… I mean,” he sighed, pushing his hair back with his hand. “You guys are friends, it’s okay”.

You stared at him intently. Maybe he claimed it didn’t bother him, but his eyes right then, which remained fixed on the ceiling instead of your concerned ones, told you otherwise.

Placing your hand on his arm and giving it a light squeeze, you leaned in to briefly press your lips to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” your sincere words managed to catch his attention. “I should’ve asked if you were okay with it”.

He shook his head no immediately, sitting up and resting his back on the headboard. “You don’t need to ask for my permission to meet up with people, petal”.

“I know, but,” you shrugged, sitting up as well by his side and focusing your eyes somewhere other than his. “Everything is still kind of recent, I should’ve been more considerate of your feelings. I’m just so used to hanging out with mostly guys that I forget I have a boyfriend now and you—”

You caught on the way he had —teasingly— raised up a questioning eyebrow, making you mentally go over the words you had just said and panic once you realised how wrongly you had worded them.

“Wait, no!” you tried to correct yourself immediately, as he could no longer hold his serious semblance and started laughing. “I don’t forget I have a boyfriend, I meant that I forget you might not be very fond of—yah!” you called him out when his laugh did no longer allow your words to be heard.

“I know what you meant, petal” he reassured you, grabbing your hand and gently running his thumb on the back of it. “You look so cute when you panic”.

“Aish, you’re so annoying” you crossed your arms over your chest.

Chuckling at your cute annoyance, he took advantage of your folded arms to pull you towards him by them, having you instinctively straddle his lap after his lips collided with yours.

“You’re really okay with it then?” you asked one last time, cupping his face as he opened his eyes; watching the way they smiled right before he nodded.

He trusted you. Both you and Taehyung. He really did.

He knew the two of you were just friends. After all, he had told Taehyung it was okay for him to hang out with you from time to time back when they had The Talk. And he was truly okay with it. It was just that he couldn’t help being insecure sometimes, and Sooyeon’s words had only managed to increase that feeling.

He needed some reassurance from you, that was all.

“Just…” he licked his lips as he tried to find the right words. “You want to be with me… right?”

You answered his question with a slow, lingering kiss. One that left him aching for more, lips slightly puckered when yours left their touch. “I’m with you for a reason, bun” you cooed. “I mean, I am your girlfriend after all, am I not?”

He smiled blissfully, still feeling a wave of heat run up his body whenever that word was mentioned in reference to you, as he was not quite used to it yet. “Don’t go forgetting I’m your boyfriend then”.

Just as a light laugh escaped your mouth at his mocking remark, he entangled his fingers in the hair at the back of your head to pull you back into his lips, resting one of his hands on your lower back as you wrapped your arms around his neck the way he loved it, slightly opening your mouth to give him easier access to it.

And maybe it was the loose fabric of the oversized hoodie of his you had kept and were wearing that day, that made it so easy for his hands reach for your naked body underneath, or maybe it was just the way he had been craving you for so long, what made him dig his hands inside of it without a second thought — fingertips hesitantly tracing your skin and thumbs drawing circles on your waist for a couple of seconds before they trailed all the way up to the hem of your bra, where they stopped in their tracks and travelled to your back instead, as he didn’t want to overstep any more boundaries than he already thought he had.

Earning a small protesting whine from him when your mouth let go of his, you surprised him by digging your own hands under your hoodie and grabbing his wrists, causing a shaky break to abandon his mouth when you placed his hands on your breasts, just like that, giving him the last little push he needed to do what he was dying to.

“You can touch me all you want” you managed to say a little out of breath, not having time to feel shy at your own words under his piercing stare before his mouth was once more smashing on yours.

Enjoying the spoken consent you had just given him, he wasted no time in cupping your breasts, smiling in between your kisses at the way they felt so perfect in his hands — imagining how much softer they would feel without the lacy fabric in the way.

Letting go of one of them, he placed his hand on your bare back to pull you closer against his chest, giving the one still in his hold a firm squeeze that had you moaning against his lips.

And right then, he felt something he had not quite felt before. It was the way he felt his blood boil and the way he wanted more. He wanted to hear more of that melodic sound. He wanted more of you.

Only, the next second, it was you the one making a raspy moan come out of his mouth, when you grinded against his lap, providing him the friction he didn’t know he needed so bad.

Removing one of his hands from underneath your hoodie, he cupped one of your cheeks to keep you steady as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, tongue tracing its outline so you would open up. Doing as he wanted, you felt his tongue pleasantly massage yours, deciding right then you also wanted to feel his bare skin against your fingertips, not letting any other second go by before your hands were already making their way inside his black sweatshirt, feeling goosebumps form on his skin as your faint touch inevitably tickled his abdomen.

Letting go of his mouth, you planted a kiss to his jaw before making your way down to his neck, getting a gasp out of his mouth when you started sucking at the sensitive skin.

With the intention of keeping you still on his lap as your hungry lips worked on his neck, he placed both of his hands on your hips — momentarily forgetting about his own strength and ending up pulling you down roughly enough for you to unintentionally rub once more against his already hardening member.

“Fuck” he rasped, feeling you smile agains his neck before you rolled your hips one more time just to get another moan out of him.

Not letting go of your hips, if anything grabbing them tighter, he turned both of you around so he could be in control now. With your head hitting the soft pillow, and still taken aback by his sudden actions, you allowed his needy lips to attack yours once more for a while before they peppered small kisses all their way down to your neck.

“Jeongguk” you moaned when he thrusted his hips against your center.

He smiled, loving the tone his name had just came out with from your pretty lips. Wanting more of it, he did it again, going back to your mouth right in time to muffle the moan that had just escaped your mouth, as you could not be anything other than grateful at the fact he had decided to wear a pair of dark joggers that particular day, allowing you to feel his stiff member with little to no restraints.

With one hand holding onto your hip and his other one making its way back inside your hoodie and up to your breasts, he cupped one of them — his thumb giving attention to your nipple by making circular motions over the thin fabric of your bra and having you bite your bottom lip to hold back a moan.

Losing yourself into his pleasant touch, you rested your hands over his back, wrapping your legs tight around his waist, pulling his hips once more into your center. A satisfied smile curved up your lips at the way he had to let go of your mouth and buried his face in the crook of your neck to muffle the quite loud moan that had just escaped his lips — thrusting into you one more time just as you rolled your hips up to meet him there.

Breathing heavily at the ongoing friction, you let your hands travel down to the waistband of his joggers so you could pull them down and feel him up.

And although for just a second, you felt his lips abandon the spot they had been teasing on your neck — an almost inaudible gasp escaping his mouth as his body tensed up.

That was all you needed to stop.

“What happened?” you worried.

“Nothing” he was quick to try and brush it off, going back to pepper wet kisses to your neck.

“No, Guk” you lightly pushed him off you, cupping his face in your hands so he had no choice but to look at you. “If you don’t want t—”

“I want to” he stated before you could even finish your sentence.

Fuck, he wanted to.

“Then?”

Jeongguk sighed in defeat, managing to break free from your hold and letting his forehead fall to your shoulder. “It’s embarrassing…”

Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding where he was trying to go with this at all. “You can trust me”.

He took in a deep breath. He knew he could trust you. He knew you would never make fun of him for such a thing. However, to him, his lack of experience, especially since you did have some of it, could only be something he felt insecure about.

“Bun…” you tried to reassure him, wrapping your arms around him and planting kiss after kiss to the side of his head.

“I’ve never…” his voice came out muffled as he spoke against your shoulder, making it harder for you to hear.

“What?”

“I’ve never had...” he spoke louder this time. “You know…”

He found delusional how hard it was for him to admit it. He had never really minded, to be honest. Whenever his friends teased him because of it he would just brush it off. It wasn’t that he was not interested in having sex, he was a young man with many needs after all. And it wasn’t that he didn’t feel ready either —or well, that until that evening, because it was fair to say he was freaking out now that it was you the one he was about to be with—. It was just that no one had ever caught his attention the way you had. There was never someone he felt the need to have this kind of intimacy with, until you.

That’s why, unlike with his friends, he did mind when it came to you. It was hard for him to admit it to you because, although he knew you’d understand, you could always be disappointed at his lack of experience, and it was precisely not being good enough for you what worried him the most, what had made him hesitate before.

“You’ve never… had sex?” you softly finished for him.

He nodded shamefully, and for a good couple of seconds you couldn’t believe him. Yes, he had told you once he had never been on a date, but dates are different than sex. For starters, you didn’t need to really talk during sex, which was what you knew troubled him the most about dates and just meeting people in general. Besides, with a guy as handsome as Jeongguk, you had been positive he must’ve been with someone at least once.

However, opposite to the disappointed reaction he thought you would have, he found himself relaxing under your touch when you pressed a kiss to his head.

“Gotta say I can’t believe and am kinda disappointed that no one ever tried to jump your bones before” your bold words had him laughing in a second, pinching one of your sides to call you out on them. “Seriously, bun. I mean, look at you!”

“Shut up” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment.

You chuckled, gently shoving his face with your shoulder to let him know you wanted him to look at you, making him feel at ease just by seeing the smile on your lips once he did as told. “It’s okay”.

“It is?” his voice came out uncertain.

You nodded, cupping his face. “Of course it is. I’ll wait for as long as you want me to”.

“But I want to” he pointed out embarrassingly fast, earning a light laugh from you.

“Then I’ll just wait until the moment’s right and you feel like going through with it without hesitating” you kissed his pink lips briefly — as if on cue, your heads snapping to the next room after hearing Namjoon drop something and cursing at it. “And until we’re alone and won’t risk being heard by our roommates, maybe”.

Jeongguk laughed at your last addition, leaning in to peck your lips three times. “I like the sound of that” he smiled, only for it to be erased when his eyes instinctively went down to the problem he had just been left with inside his pants. “I should probably, um…”

Your eyes followed his as they glanced down to his still hardened length. You had been too caught up on kissing him before to pay attention to it. But now, watching the outline of his erection poking through his sweatpants, you found yourself wanting more of him all over again.

“I can help you with that if you want” you couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth, having his attentive eyes lock with yours in a second. “We don’t need to have sex for that”.

Jeongguk licked his lips, deep in thought over something he already knew the answer to. “Don’t feel like you have to...”

“I want to” you stated.

Simple as that, he found himself nodding — your determined eyes being the last push he needed to let go of the shyness he had suddenly been filled with and just give in to what he wanted, to what he needed.

With a smile curving up your lips, you gently stole a kiss from his mouth, sweetly pecking it a couple of times before you finally sucked on his bottom lip — a muffled moan coming out of his mouth when you gave it a teasing bite right as your hand palmed him over his pants.

“You have to be quiet” you reminded him with a light laugh. And for a second there you were kinda glad it wasn’t you the one on the receiving side, for you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it down either at all.

Not being able to say anything in reply, he just nodded — a pretty eager nod that seemed more like one to move on from the topic already than one of agreement. Nevertheless, you had no intentions of stopping, (un)luckily for him.

Pressing another kiss to his swollen lips, you fidgeted with the waistband of his joggers just like you had intended to before. This time, he didn’t tense up, and you took that as your green light before you dug your hand in them.

“M—Fuck” he mewled when you took a hold of his cock, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you guided it out of his clothes.

Letting go of it for a second, you helped him on his back so you could sit up into a more comfortable position before wrapping your hand around it again, and right then you could’ve sworn you would never get tired of the pretty sounds that escaped his lips every time you touched him.

Gently, as you were just then discovering what it was he enjoyed the most, you started giving him a few pumps, trying to find the right pace for him and his needs.

“Baby, fuck” he breathed out, leaning his head deeper againt the pillow as he looked for some kind of support.

And it was the way he faintly thrusted his hips up into your hand, what let you know he was craving more. Not having to think twice, you sped up the pace of the way your hand moved up and down his length, tightening your hold on it just a little bit more.

“Mm… Just like that,” he let you know softly, as if suddenly remembering about the whole being-quiet-thing. “Just like that”.

“Feels good?” you wondered, enjoying the view of his furrowed eyebrows and closed eyes as he gave in to your touch.

“So good” he agreed.

Licking your lips, you stared down at his hard cock in your hand, giving it one last pump before your thumb slowly spread his precum over its tip.

“You alright with just my hand?” you asked and he was nodding before you could finish the question, which made you wonder if he had even heard it at all or was immersed enough in his own pleasure to agree to anything. “Or would you enjoy my mouth being wrapped around you better?”

His eyes opened as soon as the word ‘mouth’ was on the table, studying your face for a couple of seconds to make sure you were not playing with him in his vulnerable state. At the sight of your lustful eyes on him, however, he knew you were indeed very serious. And he’d be damned if he ever turned down such an offer.

“I want your mouth” although determined, his voice came out shakily.

Nevertheless, you were willing to comply with his wishes.

Jeongguk was on the edge of losing it when he saw you smile and make your hair out of the way right before you leaned down, removing your thumb from the tip of his cock so you could replace it with your tongue instead — a hiss escaping his mouth when you licked the traces of the precum you had just spreaded over it.

Giving him two small pumps, you allowed yourself to take him in your mouth; far from being able to take his entire length, yet enough for his body to tremble out of utter pleasure.

“Y/N…” he whimpered, fingers entangling in your hair as he desperately tried to control the overwhelming pleasure your wet mouth and tight lips wrapped around his cock were giving him.

Not once had he ever felt this good before, both your hand and mouth taking him places his hand alone could’ve never taken him to. And he was afraid he would come in your mouth anytime by then.

Pulling it out of your mouth, you threw him a small glance before you carried on — your tongue tracing all the way from the base to the tip, hearing him moan when you took him in your mouth a second time.

“Fuck, baby, you—ah,” he moaned when you swirled your tongue over his tip. “You feel so good”.

Enjoying way too much being the reason behind how good he was feeling, you decided to do him a favour and push him closer to his release for once and for all.

Slightly tightening your hold on him, you started once again moving your hand up and down his length, switching between the ministrations both your hand and mouth were applying on it, and knowing you were driving him over the edge when his hold on your hair tightened and his body trembled ever so slightly.

“Y/N…” he panted. “F-Fuck, I’m—”

His words were cut off by the heavy breath he had to take when you gave him one last particular pump, trying his best to hold on. Noticing that, you gave one of his thighs a squeeze to let him know it was okay for him to let go. And he was so desperate to reach his high right then, that your small gesture alone was all he needed to do so.

Closing his eyes, he found himself having to cover his mouth with his arm not to be too loud when his orgasm hit, feeling his warm release spreading into your mouth. Moving his hand up to cover his eyes as he came down from his high, letting himself get lost in the aftershocks of it, he missed the way you tasted his release in your mouth.

Cleaning the small stains of it left on the tip of his member, you adjusted it back inside his pants and went to lie down next to him, smiling adoringly at the way his chest moved up and down as he tried to catch his breath and tenderly removing his arm from his face, having his eyes find yours in a second.

“Was that okay?” you asked, softly removing a few strands of hair that had gotten stuck to his slightly sweaty forehead.

Jeongguk smiled incredulously, gently running his fingers through your hair to try and fix the mess he had made on it. “You even have to ask?”

And somehow that was all you needed to hear for the heat to reach your face, suddenly feeling shy at what you had just done.

Catching up on that, he pulled you into his arms, pressing a couple of kisses to your cheek before moving them to your mouth, where they remained for a little longer.

“You’re amazing” he said truthfully — the way he had said it, letting you know he did not just mean it when it came to sucking him off.

You smiled wholeheartedly. “Yah, don’t” your eyes focused somewhere else, feeling your face burn.

Jeongguk smiled sweetly, managing to draw your attention back to him by ever so tenderly caressing your cheek. Fuck, he loved you. And right then, with your eyes looking at him in a way he thought they had never when you were just friends, although unspoken, delusional even, he really felt like maybe you felt the same, too.

Tilting your face up just enough, he connected his lips with yours for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. “I’ll be good to you, too”.

You chuckled, loving the idea of it and kissing him briefly to let him know you did. You knew he would.

“When we’re alone, though. I won’t have Joon hear from me what he probably just heard from you”.

Jeongguk laughed, deciding to say nothing and instead pull you tightly into his chest and rest his chin on your head. And although he knew he might never hear the end of it from his friends, for once, he did not care what the rest had to either think or say.

[softyoongiionly]

Power Trip

You and Jungkook make a bet to see who can last the longest in bed. 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Genre: established relationship, smut, fluff

Warnings: explicit smut, oral (f receiving), spit, swearing, fingering, Jungkook

A/N: If I ever tell you I don’t have a bias wrecker, call me a liar. Also this one is for @bulletproofbirdy​, I hope Jungkook can lift your spirits. I love you so much! also, this unedited cause im the worst :D This can be read in the same universe as my fic Press Start btw! 

He smirks, “You really wanna go there?”

You shrug, “I’m just saying- I know I can last longer than you can, that’s all.”

At this, his brows raise as a short and unimpressed laugh leaves his lips, “What led you to that conclusion?”

From the opposite end of the couch, you feel him staring at you. His competitive nature is simple minded and easily baited into situations where it’s able to prove itself; Jungkook simply cannot resist a challenge.

“I mean-” You bite your lip, “You are usually begging me to cum at some point...”

His smirk only broadens, “Oh? And you think I do that for my benefit?”

Oh.  

Staring into his eyes, the two of you regard one another for a moment, sexual tension floating aimlessly in the air above you.  

“I want you to consider the fact that you’re looking your fiancé in the eye and, telling her that you’re faking something in bed...”

Jungkook finally laughs at that, his head falling back on his shoulders momentarily, “Whoa whoa whoa- I never said I was faking it, I just said I wasn’t doing it for my benefit. I beg you to cum because, I know you like it- not because I can’t control myself.”

“Oh so it isn’t that you’re faking it- it's just not as good as you make it out to be...” You clarify, voice loaded with sarcasm, “That’s so much better.”

Jungkook clicks the tip of his tongue against his teeth, “You know that isn’t what I'm saying...”

You cross your arms, trying your best not to notice how good your fiancé looks lit up by candlelight, “No actually, I don’t know that.”

He knows he needs to choose his next words carefully because, this conversation can go one of two ways. One, the two of you spend an undetermined amount of time tangled up in one another and two, he ends up in the doghouse.

“Well you should-” He insists, “Because I don’t lie. I’ve told you that you’re the best I’ve ever had and, I meant that. All I’m saying is that I can make you cum first- and that has nothing to do with how good you are. It's just how bad I want to make you cum...”

You feel your lips twitch, “Even if that very convenient explanation were true- it doesn’t change the fact that I can last longer than you...”

Jungkook chuckles finally and the sound of it sends a shiver up your spine. He jerks his chin towards you, “You wanna bet?”

Your teeth find your bottom lip as you feel your heartbeat increase slightly, “What are your terms?”

He shrugs but his palms are already itching with the desire to touch you, “Who ever cums first loses...”

Snorting, you roll your eyes, nudging your foot against his leg, “Yeah I got that part but, how are we going to do this?

Again he shrugs but this time the smirk creeps back onto his mouth, “Oh well- if you’re asking that, this really isn’t going to be a fair fight...”

He’s such a little shit.  

Your lips part with shock whilst your eyes blink owlishly at him before you decide that you’ve had enough of his attitude.  Flipping the covers over your head, you work your way across the couch until you’re positioned between Jungkook’s legs. He snickers when you maneuver the covers over your head, doing his best to assist you until you’re finally free from the endless swath of blankets.  

“H-” Jungkook opens his mouth to make another comment but, your lips stop him from doing so.  

You’re irritated with his goading but, you know that you can’t just start roughly making out with him in order to turn him on; you have to take things slowly.

Situated atop the seam of his grey sweatpants, you press your hips down carefully whilst you kiss him. He’s lost in your mouth the moment he feels it, his fingers coming up to brush over the apples of your cheeks. They encase your face moments later and, you make a conscious effort to ignore how good this is. He tastes like the sweet mint mouthwash he uses but, the rest of him smells like amber and vanilla.  

Outdoing Jungkook is so much easier said than done.

But what you don’t know is that he isn’t fairing much better.  

The softness of your lips and the tiniest instabilities in your breath are going straight to his dick. His hands find themselves sliding at a snail-like pace up the backs of your thighs and, god he can’t help himself as he grips at the flesh there. He always says he would die happily in between your thighs and even though you laugh, he’s dead serious. They are so perfect.

Deep in the trenches of his muscular chest, he groans when you grind against him. His breath coming out much shakier through his nose before he finally pulls away,

“Bedroom?”

You hum, pecking his at his mouth again, “What about it?”

Jungkook smacks your ass suddenly and just as you yelp, he’s recapturing your lips all over again. Only this time, he starts leaning you backwards towards the couch and it’s many blankets.  

“Do you want it here?” He breathes, “There isn’t a lot of room...”

He’s right.  

The couch is good for cuddling and making out but, actual sex is usually out of the question- especially when it’s so cold in your house.

Moments later, Jungkook is throwing the massive pile of blankets onto your bed and, just as he’s about to climb up there, you stop him by cupping his face in your hands. Your grip is gentle and your lips follow suit, plucking against his minty mouth. In the midst of kissing him, you reach behind his head, feeling around for the scrunchie holding up his mane of hair. Once you locate it, you carefully pull back until his pretty face is curtained with ebony tendrils.  

He doesn’t question your decision. In fact, there isn’t much Jungkook would question right now. His attention is on you and, your deadly assault on his composure. When he feels your fingers tuck into his hair, he realizes he’s beginning to forget the reason why he needs his composure in the first place.

“You’re so handsome,” You whisper, “like a prince...”

Jungkook feels his heart flutter at your comment whilst his hands reach out to grip your hips, pulling your body flush against him. His palms travel up your back, cursing the thick fabric of your hoodie for being in the way. He knows it’s practical but, he doesn’t care. He wants to touch you.  

“I’m cold-” You pout into his mouth, “Can we get in bed?”

He returns your pout and nudges your nose before reluctantly removing his hands from your back, “Yeah...let’s go.”

Jungkook unturns the winter duvet you have on your bed and, lays the pillows down flat, gesturing to the empty space which then causes you to shoot him an apprehensive look,  

“It’s going to be so cold.” You whine and the sound if it forces Jungkook’s lips into a fond smile- completely against his will.  

“I’ll get in first-” He assures you and just before he flops onto the sheets, he yanks his hoodie and t-shirt over his head. The presence of his body alone is a defeat to all other men you’ve been with. The tan skin, the tattoos, the softness of him reminding you that he is a walking example of duality...

It’s a lot.  

But you have to stay focused and, when he settles onto the mattress and pats the empty space beside him, you waste no time in returning to your earlier mission.  

“C’mere...” He mumbles once you’re beside him, his voice deep with arousal.

The two of you resume your kiss and, this time there is a bit more urgency in the way he moves against you. He nudges your nose as he introduces his tongue into your mouth. Pulling away slightly, he continues moving his tongue along the length of yours until the two of you are properly French kissing one another.  

It’s sloppier than his usual style but, you aren’t complaining; he tastes amazing. And the way he’s licking into your mouth reminds you of what his mouth feels like when it’s elsewhere-

“I used to see people in porn kiss like this-” He whispers, “I never understood the appeal of sucking on someone’s tongue until I met you...” With his admission, he does just that, taking the tip of your muscle between his lips.

Mouth open around the entirety of his, you grip his biceps as he continues to suck on your tongue. If it were anyone else, this would feel awkward and sloppy but with Jungkook, it’s so unbelievably hot. He’s working his way over you until his tattooed arms are settled on either side of your head. Rolling his body downward, he presses his hardening dick right against the seam of your leggings. He pulls off of your tongue then and resumes kissing you normally, his lips are wetter and there’s so much spit involved in this kiss but, you couldn’t care less.  

You wanted all of him.  

Jungkook uses the strength and control he has over his body to grind against your aching core with precision, the curve of his dick sliding sinfully onto your neglected clit. Even as the pleasure begins to drown out the logical side of your brain, you desperately try to remind yourself that you are still in the middle of a bet.  

“You feel so good-” You make sure to play up the whimper that leaves your lips whilst your nails begin at his wrists and slowly drag up the bulging muscles on his arms.

His dick twitches in his sweatpants and, you take that as an opportunity to wrap your legs around his hips. The strength of his arms gives out then as he opts to rest on his elbows instead. He’s still kissing you but now the two of you are grinding against one another as if you were fucking.  

“Yeah?” He smirks against your mouth, “Good enough to cum on me?”

His attitude returns causing you to dig your nails into arms. You pull away from his mouth and shoot him a look of determination, “In your dreams...”

He snickers, sounding rather cute for a man who is literally throbbing between your legs. He licks his lips as he stares down at you for a moment, cocking his head to the side, “My dreams...” He clarifies before kissing his teeth, “I guess you’re right ah? If this were a dream of mine, you would have already came all over my tongue...”

His words make you bite your lip, your hips involuntarily curving up towards his. He snickers again, leaning away when you try to reconnect your lips, “You always tell me to go for my dreams though, don’t you baby?”

At the moment, Jungkook’s voice would be unrecognizable to anyone else but, you. It’s so deep and raspy and, only thickens as he gets more and more turned on.  

“I will cum on your tongue,” You murmur suddenly, pecking his lips, “after you cum inside of me.”

This time, it’s Jungkook who retaliates with movement, his hips rolling down at a sinful depth, causing your clit to throb with anticipation.  

He lets out a breathe from between his lips whilst he shakes his head, his dark eyes flitting down to where you’re connected before returning to your face.

“It’s so much better when I cum in you after I’ve eaten you out though-” He insists with a pout that would look innocent if this were any other scenario, “If you hold it after what I’m about to do to you, then I’ll let you have a turn with me- sound good?”

He’s so fucking cocky sometimes, it makes you want to scream. However, this wouldn’t be much of a bet if the two of you just had sex; you know that you’d have to let him touch you properly at some point, even if it would be devastating to your odds of winning.  

“You’re going to cheat- I can literally feel it in my bones...”

Jungkook chuckles and slowly begins his descent down towards the ache between your legs. When he gets to your stomach, he carefully peels up your hoodie to expose the band of your leggings. He kisses along the skin there with gentle and unhurried movements, licking once just below your belly button and smirking as he hears the giggle that tumbles from your lips. Sitting up slightly, you watch as he hooks his fingers underneath the black fabric and peels it back until he’s working it down your legs. Jungkook knows that you don’t wear underwear with these pants, especially not around the house- but it doesn’t stop him from biting his lip at the sight of your bare pussy anyway.  

Jungkook gently pries your legs apart and, you find yourself biting your lip when the cold air from the bedroom weaves its way onto your swollen, wet folds. You already want to tell him to stop- not because you don’t want it but, because you are severely doubting your ability to last.  

That doubt only increases when Jungkook settles onto his stomach and positions his mouth at the apex of your right knee, “You really do have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen...” He says this as he starts sponging his lips up your inner thigh, his eyes looking straight up at you, “Did you know that?”

With your breath increasing, you do your best to remain calm as he nears your lips but, it’s so hard when he’s intentionally saying all the things you want to hear.

But two can play at that game...

“You think so? I try to keep it all pretty for you...” The tone of your voice takes him off guard a little bit but, he isn’t complaining.  

He secretly relishes in the moments that you’re soft towards him; so much of your relationship is banter and, constantly trying to get on eachothers nerves.  

Jungkooks starts at the other knee then, kissing his way back down towards your center, “You don’t ever-” He bites down and then pulls back, “ever, have to try to be pretty jagi. You just are.”

The sensation of his teeth causes you to jump, your movements coaxing a chuckle from Jungkook’s throat.

He kisses his teeth, “Easy.” He teases with a smirk, his mouth finally hovering of your pussy.  

“Sorry-” You murmur coyly, licking your lips, “I just want your mouth so bad.”

Jungkook is about to lick up the length of you but, he stops at your confession and kisses the top of your pussy instead, “You do huh?”

It’s not really like you to plead for him as usually things are quite playful in the bedroom and, as you mentioned earlier: it’s usually him who’s begging.  

Nodding, you reach down for his fingers, lacing them with your own as you dial up the sweetness in your tone to 100%, “Please? Can I have it? I’m so wet for you Jungkook- it hurts...”

The moisture leaves his mouth when you say his name. He’s never heard you quite like this before and, it’s driving him crazy.  

He wants to give you everything.

“Whatever you want baby- I'm right here...” He mumbles against your skin, kissing the top of your cunt once more before shooting a somewhat intense glance your way, “...and I’ll make sure you give me what I want in return.”

With that, he licks up the length of you, collecting all of your arousal in middle of his tongue before drinking you in as best as he can. The feeling of his mouth finally meeting your cunt is enough to make your hips jerk from the bed. He takes that as a sign to wrap his inked arms around your body to hold you in place as he gets to work on you.  

He uses the tip of his tongue to gather as much of your wetness as possible, groaning ever so softly when the taste of you graces his tastebuds. His hands are resting on your stomach but, he uses his thumbs to pull your pussy taut so he has better access. Your clit is amply exposed now allowing him to tease his languid muscle against it, the sensations making you dizzy.  

You can feel your nipples hardening to the point of discomfort when he suckles the sensitive bud into his mouth. He only does it for a second before settling for laving his tongue up and down your clit. Breathing heavily, you tug up your hoodie to expose the rest of your upper half, your hands going straight for your neglected nipples.  

“Fuck-”  

You hear him curse and look down just in time to see that although his mouth is busy working on your pussy, his eyes are locked onto you.  

And you take advantage of that, pinching your nipples you say, “Your tongue feels so good, no-” You let your breath catch on the end of the sentence, “nobody does it like you Jungkook...”

His eyes squeeze shut for a moment and, he looks like he’s like he’s in pain. But suddenly, he moves hands from your stomach and, grips the outside of your thighs- pulling your legs apart and pushing them up. With your knees up in the air and your pussy spread completely open, Jungkook quickens the pace of his tongue on your clit. Licking over it with a consistent pace that your fiancé knows all too well, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to grow in preparation for your orgasm.  

You need to act fast...

Letting out the tiniest whimper, you reach down towards his hand again and grip onto one of his fingers, “Can I have your fingers please? I need you to fuck me so bad baby- please? I’m so close...”

Jungkook’s eyes are blackened with pure lust, his lips still kissing and licking at your clit as he moves his hand, somewhat hesitantly towards your dripping cunt. He looks so torn but, you can’t completely figure out why, but you have a feeling.  

He licks your clit once more as he lines his index finger up at your entrance. You can see how wet his mouth has become when he pulls away slightly to watch his digit disappear inside of you. Immediately, your pussy clenches around his finger, sucking it in with desperation. Jungkook groans as his eyes squeeze shut again but, he manages to return his lips to your clit, resuming his earlier motions.  

The pleasure from by his dual movements is causing your entire body to ache with need. You don’t think you can hold back your orgasm much longer, not with his finger quickening it’s pace inside you. Surrender is on the horizon; if you aren’t going to win this bet- you may as well just enjoy yourself.  

“Can you fuck me faster Jungkook?” You moan, licking your lips and rubbing your fingertips over your nipples, “You’re making me feel so good...you’re so strong.”

And faster he goes but, he only maintains the pace long enough for you to whimper one more time before he suddenly pulls away. The loss of contact shocks and disappoints and, you’re about to protest until you notice what’s going on.  

Jungkook is sat back on his knees, lips wet with your arousal, nipple hardened with his own and, grey sweatpants stained with precum. He’s taking a deep breath through his nose, his hair hanging in his face whilst he looks down towards his dick.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” You murmur, sitting up.  

The promise of an orgasm is slowly fading but, the concern flooding your mind distracts you easily.  

He shakes his head, “No no- I'm good. I just uh-”  

Jungkook’s hand moves quickly, cupping over his dick and prompting another deep but shaky breath from his chest.  

And then it clicks...

“Wait-” A grin spreads across your lips, “Were you about to cum?”

“No.”  

But he won’t look up at you, his cheeks dusted a rosy pink as he presses his hand down even harder.  

“Jungkook-” You get up on your knees, your chest blooming with pride as you crawl across the bed towards him, “Were you about to cum?”

When you ask him again, there is a bit of laughter at the end of your sentence that causes him to shoot a glare your way.

“You were cheating...”

A sharp giggle leaves your throat, “I was cheating??? The bet was to see who could last longer and, you literally just pulled away before you were going to cum.”

Jungkook smirks, “You were fucking cheating.” He insists, “With that fucking voice of yours and your hands all over your tits; don’t act like you don’t know what you were doing.”

He doesn’t swear often but when he does, it always gets to you. His voice his so husky now and that paired with the rest of his visuals is enough to force you into your next move.  

Suddenly, you grip his chin and angle his upwards, “Admit that you were going to cum.”

His eyes widen then, that familiar doe eyed look infecting his gaze; it’s the same look he always gives you when you take charge.  

But as much as he loves to submit to you, he almost hates losing more.

Almost.  

“No...”

Your teeth find your lip again as you smirk, your other hand sliding down his flushed chest towards his throbbing cock, “Admit that you were going to cum baby, so we can put you out of your misery...”

He shakes his head and although his hand twitches at his side, he makes no move to stop you, “I wasn’t, I was just-”

You cock your head, your hand tucking beneath the band of his sweats, “You were just what?”  

As he feels your hand encase his dick he crumbles, his whole body slumping forward, “Fuck-”

His forehead is on your shoulder now, his stomach caving in as you begin stroking his cock. You can feel how hard he is now, his length jumping in your hand, the tip of him covered in precum...

Your lips are at his ear whilst he bears his teeth, “Admit that you were going to cum sweetheart- and then I’ll let you put it inside me...”

“No-” He growls, “You were cheating, I- ugh...” He whimpers, his teeth sinking into the ball of your shoulder when you quicken your pace on him.  

You giggle, turning your head to the side so your lips are at his ear, “What a shame- you're going to waste all of this cum on your pants when you could be pumping it inside of me...”

Jungkook groans, his teeth nipping at your shoulder once more, “Let me cum inside of you please- wanna fuck you so bad...”

You’re focusing your hand on the tip of his cock, massaging it within your grip and, at this point- Jungkook is leaking so much precum, you aren’t sure if he managed to sneak in his orgasm without notice.  

“You can fuck me when you admit that I won.” You nibble on his ear, “That’s all you have to do baby- then I’ll let you fuck me.”

“But I wasn’t going to cum-” He still insists, his voice more of a whine now his hands desperately going for your hips.

Pouting your lips, you increase your pace on him for the final time, the sound of you jerking him off filling the room, “Well you definitely are now, aren’t you?”

“Fucking- fuck me...” He moans, his nails digging into your sides whilst his hips jerk up against your hand, “Oh fuck- I'm gonna cum...”

The admission is involuntarily as he paints your hand and the inside of his sweatpants with the his hot release, cumming all over himself.  

“Mm there it is- that wasn’t so hard was it?” You tease with a bit of laughter as you stroke him through his release.  

He lets out a shaky breath, moaning again as the rest of it comes out but, before you’re even able to process what’s happening, his using the grip he has on your hips to shove you back against the bed. Your back hits the sheets as your eyes widen and despite his sweatpants being stained and his dick throbbing with sensitivity, Jungkook is prying your legs apart and lining himself up at your entrance.

“Ju-” You begin but he cuts you off as he pushes inside of you. The thickness of him is so perfect and your pussy swallows him whole, unable to get enough. Through your efforts to tease him you had forgotten how close he had gotten you but, he was about to remind you exactly what he was capable of.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth-” He growls, his eyes piercing into yours, his swollen lips curved into a smirk, “Unless it’s please,” He thrusts, causing a whimper to leave your lips, “Thank you,” Thrust, “Or Jungkook...”

His pace is fast but it’s completely perfect and, it isn’t long until your orgasm comes crashing into your body, the pleasure peaking as he fucks you harder.  

“J- Jungkook- Oh god....” You moan, reaching down to rub at your clit, which only spurs you on further, “Oh my god...”

He chuckles darkly through bared teeth, his sweaty tendrils of hair jerking back and forth with his motions, “I guess I’ll settle for god too...”

Leaning down, he hovers over you as you continue to cum and despite the smirk on his face, he presses his lips to yours sweetly- kissing you through the rest of your orgasm.

He lets up the intensity inside of you, for both your sake and his, slowly allowing his hips to come to a stop. With destroyed breathing patterns, the two of you kiss each other for a while longer until he makes the painful decision to pull out of you. Still kissing at your lips, he slumps over beside you, blindly pulling at the duvet to cover your shivering bodies.

“I love you.” He chuckles boyishly, completely giddy from your encounter.

The sound of his laughter makes you smile into the kiss, “I love you too.”

He brings you closer to him so that he can hold you, his lips moving to press against different parts of your face.  

Laying on his chest, you feel content as you listen to the sound of his heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

After a few moment of post orgasmic bliss,  Jungkook whispers,

“ Jagi?” He mumbles to which you respond by humming, “I was definitely about to cum...”

[songmingisthighs]

[11.21] dad!jongho × reader

⇀ he said it's just his overall charm as a dad. but you blamed your daughter glueing herself to him on his overall teddy bear-like aura. but really, how could you blame her for loving her dad so much?

⇁ I'm fucking blaming @paralumanniluna for feeding this scenario in my head

The morning was never rowdy in your house. Your husband, bless his soul and genes, would more often than not wake up before you. He would usually go for a quick run just to make sure he's always moving and not stuck in the studio or his home office. His idol life demanded him to be an early riser and it stuck to him.

Which is actually a good thing. Most of your friends complained how their husbands or boyfriends rarely help with their children when they woke up at ungodly hours. But not Jongho. You're 76% sure that most of the time he went out to calm his crying daughter, he was in his sleepwalking state. Though you really couldn't care less when every time he went out to calm the baby, she'd quiet down within seconds. Which was why you never ferberized her. Or more like you couldn't since Jongho's body's on autopilot when he hears his daughter cry.

They created a very deep bond which was quite surprising as most people thought that Jongho would've been awkward with kids.

It wasn't even surprising when you walked out of your shared room to see Gaho watching tv as she sat on his dad's back while he's doing push-ups.

You walked over to them and scooped Gaho into your arms, making her squeal and giggle loudly at the surprise, "Good morning, my little princess," you greeted her whilst peppering her tiny face with kisses.

"Good morning, too, mama!" she greeted back, squishing your cheeks in her hands as she peppered kisses on your face, reciprocating your action.

Jongho stood up from his previous workout stance to peck your lips, "Morning, love. Slept well?" he asked. You hummed, smiling at his kiss and nodded, "Best sleep yet," you answered.

Gaho spoke up, cutting your conversation with Jongho, "Mommy, I want pancakes," she pouted. Her lips jutted out much like her father's and it made you squeal at just how adorable she was.

"You want pancakes, honey?" you walked to the kitchen with her in your arms, "what do you want on your pancakes?" you asked her. The little girl pursed her lips, thinking hard. That was until she turned around to look at Jongho who was trailing behind the two of you, "What do daddy want?" she asked him instead.

Jongho chuckled and reached to pat her head, "Daddy wants whatever princess wants, so what does daddy's little princess want?" he asked her back. She jutted her bottom lip out because her question was left unanswered, "I dunno'," she muttered, burying her tiny face on your shoulder, making you chuckle.

"How 'bout we do the usual berries and whipped cream? Sounds good?" you asked her. At the mention of fruit, her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly, "I help!" she exclaimed, wiggling her body so you'd let her back on the ground.

You began taking the ingredients out, Gaho helping you as soon as her daddy finished tying up her long hair into a ponytail. Your heart swelled as you watched her ponytail bouncing as she walked. Even as a little girl, she was adamant about helping around.

Work delegated, each of you began preparing breakfast. Since your husband couldn't really be trusted with cooking, you made him prepare the pancake batter. Gaho was sat on the kitchen stool, picking out the fruits that she wants on the pancakes and making sure each plate has the exact same amount. You, on the other hand, was the one in charge of cooking the pancake.

"Daddy," Gaho called to Jongho, pulling at his shirt sleeve, "wash," she instructed, pointing at the fruit that she had so neatly put in a bowl.

Jongho grinned down at her, patting her head, "Good job, baby," he praised the little girl.

He was about to walk away to the sink with the bowl of fruit in hand when Gaho suddenly whined out loudly, sounding as if she was on the verge of tears, "Ah! Ah! Ah!" she called out, catching Jongho's attention immediately. When Jongho turned to her, she saw that she had a deep frown on her face, arms were raised up towards her daddy, and hands making little grabby gestures.

Seeing this, Jongho put the bowl in the sink and reached over to pick up his little princess, moving her to the counter next to the sink. "Stay still, okay?" he smiled at her. The girl's frown was replaced by a wide, toothy grin, much similar to her father's.

You scoffed next to Jongho, catching his attention as he washed the fruit. "She's a total daddy's girl," you muttered under your breath as you peered over at Gaho. Jongho smirked in amusement, "Is that jealousy, I hear?" to which you rolled your eyes, "Well, duh. I grew her in my stomach for nine months, I breastfed her until she was 2, and even so, she still preferred you?" You whined, slapping a perfectly cooked pancake on the plate.

Jongho cooed at you, moving to wrap his arms around your waist, "Then, should we create another one that would prefer you compared to me?" he whispered to your ear directly, making you blush hard.

But before you could answer him, Gaho had once again cried out for her daddy. You playfully glared at her, pushing Jongho off of you, "Go tend to your daughter," you grumbled out.

Jongho could only chuckle at your response, pecking your cheek before moving to his awaiting daughter who was making grabby arms to Jongho.

Soon enough you all were seated on the dining table, Jongho at the head of the table with Gaho on his right and you on Gaho's other side. She looked extremely satisfied on her high chair, being doted on by her mom and dad, absolutely gleaming.

"Baby, you gotta chew properly," Jongho cringed as Gaho giggled, letting out small bits of barely chewed pancake and fruit drenched in maple syrup out of her mouth. "You're a messy baby, aren't you?" you chuckled as you reached forward to clean the bits and pieces of food from her mouth.

"Mommy! Kisses!" she puckered out her lips and before you could realize it, she had pressed a sticky kiss onto your cheek, making you yelp in surprise. Jongho snickered at you as you tried to wipe the syrup off of your skin. You glared at him, "What are you snickering about? You're next," you smirked as you turn to Gaho, "Sweetie, don't you think daddy deserve kisses too?"

At that, Jongho's eyes widened.

Thankfully, before Gaho could smack her lips onto Jongho's cheek, the bell rang.

Jongho immediately jumped up, "Oh, look! Someone at the door!" He exclaimed.

Seeing her dad fleeing, Gaho squealed loudly. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips immediately pulled into a frown.

Not wanting her to cry, you immediately took her off her high chair and she immediately sprinted (or at least attempted to with her waddle) to Jongho and latched onto his leg. Of course, being the strong person he is, Jongho wasn't affected. He casually walked to the front door with Gaho attached to his leg.

You couldn't do much but watch as the two of them disappeared into the hall towards the front door.

While you're jealous of their relationship, you couldn't help but be very understanding as to why Gaho is so attached to Jongho. It warmed your heart seeing them.

Maybe to aid your slight jealousy, you need to take into account Jongho's words. Maybe you need another child that would latch onto you like how Gaho latched onto Jongho.

[restapesta]

hi emina! happy last week of no school ♥♥

15. “Finally. Missed you so much.” but make it sort of in front of other people??🙏🙏🙏 if u want. it's okay if not, too!

MONDAY

---

ian (1:11 AM): it's hot as fuck here. can't sleep.

ian (1:12 AM): also, lip snores

mickey (1:12 AM): that's what you get for leaving me

ian (1:13 AM): drama queen, i only left this morning. be back in just a week.

ian (1:13 AM): why are YOU awake?

mickey (1:14 AM): fuck you, just a week. 🖕🖕🖕

ian (1:14 AM): 🙄

ian (1:14 AM): go to sleep

mickey (1:15 AM): you woke me up???

ian (1:15 AM): doesn't matter. just go to sleep.

mickey (1:15 AM): probably not

ian (1:16 AM): ???

mickey (1:17 AM): can't sleep without you

incoming call from ian (1:17 AM)

---

TUESDAY

---

mickey (11:22 AM): college bitch still pissed at us for waking him up?

ian (11:25 AM): isn't speaking to me. bitched about it to fiona the entire morning.

ian (11:25 AM): "can't go a night without him." blah blah

mickey (11:25 AM): fuck him. wyd right now?

ian (11:27 AM): helping Fi with the moving shit.

ian (11:27 AM): you?

mickey (11:28 AM): lunch with tami. bitching about lip.

ian (11:29 AM): 😌

ian (11.29 AM): that same lip is currently screaming my ear off to get off the phone.

ian (11:29 AM): keep bitching, my love

mickey (11:30 AM): tell him to fuck off.

mickey (11:30 AM): also, call me when you're done

ian (11:31 AM): 😘

mickey (11:31 AM): 🙄🖤

(12:57 PM) incoming call from ian

(16:44 PM): incoming call from mickey

(21:44 PM) incoming call from ian

---

WEDNESDAY

---

mickey (09:06 AM): come back home, im bored.

mickey (09:06 AM): Fiona doesn't need you for an entire fucking week.

ian (09:10 AM): 😬 just five more days

ian (09:10 AM): Fiona says hi!

mickey (09:11 AM): I'm horny, this is stupid.

ian (09:12 AM): handy-dandy hand 😁

mickey (09:12 AM): 🖕🖕🖕🖕

mickey (09:13 AM): ...something to work with?

ian sent a link (09:14 AM)

mickey (09:15 AM): you did not just send me the benefits of a cold shower, you bitch.

ian (09:16 AM): loveeeeee youuuuuu

mickey (09:16 AM): 🙂🔪

incoming call from ian (12:33 PM)

incoming call from ian (17:29 PM)

incoming call from mickey (00:12 AM)

---

THURSDAY

---

ian (08:12 AM): I'm horny.

ian (08:13 AM): mickey

ian (08:13 AM): mickey

ian (08:13 AM): mickey

ian (08:13 AM): MICKEY

ian (08:14 AM): babyyyyyy

ian (08:14 AM): pleaseeeeee come on, you're not sleeping rn

mickey sent a link (08:16 AM)

ian (08:16 AM): i deserved that.

mickey (08:17 AM): handy-dandy 🤛

ian (08:17 AM): hate myself at this moment 🙂

mickey (08:17 AM): 🤭😘

-

ian (09:44 AM): coffee on facetime?

incoming call from mickey (09:45 AM)

---

FRIDAY

---

ian (14:22 PM): sorry for the ghosting

ian (14:22 PM): Fiona's been killing me with the whole apartment cleaning shit

ian (14:23 PM): And Lip's hiding from her so he's always with me.

ian (14:23 PM): i know it's been a day.

mickey (14:25 PM): well, well, look who decided to text their husband finally

mickey (14:25 PM): it's been a whole day, ian.

mickey (14:26 PM): we are no longer on speaking terms.

ian (14:26 PM): 😲😨

ian (14:26 PM): i'm sorry.

ian (14:26 PM): i miss having breakfast with you.

ian (14:27 PM): i miss sleeping with you

ian (14:27 PM): i miss kissing you

ian (14:28 PM): and doing other things with you 😏

ian (14:28 PM): miss you so fucking much.

ian (14:28 PM): mick?

mickey (14:30 PM): ugh fine, you sap

mickey (14:30 PM): call me

incoming call from ian (14:31 PM)

---

SATURDAY

---

incoming call from mickey (18:55 PM)

ian (19:24 PM): phone sex is cool, but we should try sexting 😳

mickey (19:26 PM): i don't need a reminder of your disgusting ass dick anywhere on my phone.

ian (19:26 PM): hm? 🤔 not what you were saying ten minutes ago.

ian (19:27 PM): you sure you ain't ready for round two? 😏

ian (19:27 PM): bet facetime sex is even better.

incoming call from mickey (19:28 PM)

-

ian (02:22 AM): i miss you. i really fucking miss you.

---

SUNDAY

---

ian (08:02 AM): flight is at 10

mickey (08:04 AM): i'll be waiting for you when you land.

---

It had only been a week. A week filled with phone calls and text messages and a whole bunch of facetime—but, fuck, it had been a week.

Did Ian really have to go on and visit Fiona alone with Lip? Was it really that necessary for him to travel all the way to the alligator land just so they could help Fiona switch apartments? Mickey didn't see the point of the long-ass trip to Florida just so Ian could complain about how humid it was and how it was a blessing he didn't share a room with Lip anymore.

Mickey missed him. He missed him a lot more than he thought he would, and he really should've considered the fact that he and Ian spent most of their time together. They may have been apart before for long periods of time, but it was hard to tear them away from each other nowadays.

So maybe it wasn't that much of a surprise he'd had a hard time adjusting to the empty space of their apartment and the coldness of their bed. The lack of dad jokes during their long rides at work and the unmistakable scent of Ian that had been slowly fading and was almost gone now.

That was Mickey's excuse for not doing laundry. He didn't wanna lose Ian's smell from their home. The sappy excuse would probably work with Ian, he thought.

And even if it didn't, Mickey could distract him from his annoyance in other ways.

Airports sucked.

Being in an airport, waiting on Ian and Lip with their family of twenty thousand—or six, whatever—sucked even more.

But the plane had already landed and it would be just another couple minutes before Mickey saw his husband for the first time in a week. Before he wrapped his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. He didn't even give a shit if anybody saw him and thought how big of a fag he was.

Husband. That was the only thing on his mind currently.

"They should be here already," Tami said, bouncing Fred up on her hip.

Debbie shrugged from beside Mickey, one hand tightly holding onto the redheaded girl between them. She was fisting the fabric of Mickey's jacket, and it made Mickey smile. It eased the anticipation a little.

Who was he kidding? There were swarms of bees in his stomach, poking and stinging. He felt slightly nauseous.

"I think I see Lip!" It was Liam who exclaimed.

Mickey didn't see Lip.

But he did see the redhead trailing right behind him, a suitcase in his right hand, recently bought for the trip. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes were sleepy, the jet lag probably hitting him in full swing.

Still, the green orbs Mickey missed so much lit up the moment he noticed Mickey, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a wide smile.

Mickey wasn't any better. He could feel the grin stretching across his face involuntary, yet he did nothing to hide it. Nothing to stop it from spreading. He didn't care to hide the excitement he was feeling upon seeing Ian for the first time in a week.

A week.

His legs moved on their own accord, and in what felt like no time at all, he was engulfed into a hug, Ian's long arms circling him—it was familiar; comfortable, and warm.

"Fucking finally," Ian choked out against Mickey's hair, his lips pressed to the top of his head, cradling his body gently. "I missed you so much."

Mickey tilted his chin up and their lips connected in a brief kiss. Just a peck that turned into a couple more, all loud on the pullback, their limbs still wrapped up in each other.

"Missed you more."

They stared into each other's eyes longingly for a couple of moments—it was probably too soft and sappy for them, but who gave a shit? They hadn't seen each other in a week.

What interrupted them eventually were a few short coughs, as if somebody was clearing their throat.

Mickey glared at Lip, practically forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the man he was holding.

"We done with the reunion or you guys wanna continue making out in the middle of the airport...?"

Ian was the one who flipped him off, finally disentangling himself from Mickey so he could greet his siblings properly and pick Franny up into a long hug. It made Mickey frown, the loss of contact. He forced himself to endure it, though—half an hour of a ride longer and they'd be home alone, free to do whatever the fuck.

Still, as soon as they were done with the obligated reunions and the questions about Florida and Fiona, Ian found himself next to Mickey again, gripping Mickey's palm and intertwining the fingers with his own.

Who gave a shit if anybody was looking? Who gave a shit if Lip was rolling his eyes at the obvious display of affection or if Carl was making obnoxious kissy faces at them as if they haven't been married for a while now—Mickey saw none of that shit.

All Mickey saw was Ian.

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Thursday (Part 2)

Monday     Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, puking, concussions, mentions of injuries/bullying, homophobia

Word count: 5,138

After school, you were sitting on the couch as you furiously typed on your keyboard at an extremely fast pace. You were on a roll with these essays, they were probably going to be finished by the time you had to go back to the school to get on the bus with the team. You figured that you could even finish Annie’s essay and get started on Sammy’s US history presentation on the sociopolitical climate of the United States in the mid twentieth century to today. However, instead of covering a variety of topics like the rubric requested you to do, you were only going to talk about the significant events that happened to the LGBT+ community starting with Stonewall and going to Obergefell v. Hodges. You were also going to go in depth about how even if there are more opportunities available and more laws set in place to protect for LGBT+ people in the present then there were in past, members of the LGBT+ community still suffer heavy discrimination in the workplace and in the public. With receipts of course, the assignment required a minimum of three pictures per slide, and the group chat was a perfect source.

After that was done, you would email Sammy’s teacher (you had her last year for US history and you knew that she had a son in the grade below you currently transitioning from female to male) that you were the one that did her project and send screenshots of Sammy calling you slurs. Luckily for you, you had receipts of her being transphobic in the past that you could also send. Everything was effortlessly falling into place for you today. 

As you were typing, the front door swung open and two overly excited fifth graders ran into the house and up the stairs. A tired Schlatt followed them. “I will never know how the hell Phil keeps up with them.” 

“I dunno, maybe because he’s already raised three kids before.”

You watched as your uncle jumped and whipped his head over towards you, his hand clutching his chest. He lightly glared at you, “christ kid don’t do that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You smirked at him before turning back to your laptop to continue typing the essay. You were almost done with the conclusion paragraph on Annie’s essay and you wanted to get to Sammy’s presentation as fast as possible. As you were typing, you felt a warm air fan across your neck and your uncle’s voice right next to your ear, “whatcha typin?”

You lept off the couch and almost fell into the coffee table before steadying yourself and deadpanning at Schlatt. “I was typing an essay before you interrupted me.”

He snorted, “it looked like you were on a roll, just thought I’d see what my beloved niece was writing. Can I read it?” 

Your eyes lit up as an excited grin split your cheeks, “yeah, but lemme catch you up real quick. Adrian, Sammy, and Annie got mad at me a few days ago and wanted me to do some homework for them as a sort of payment. But after they pulled that little stunt in the lunchroom yesterday, they decided to be little bitches to me and call me slurs. So naturally, I decided to change the essay prompt into an in depth analysis about discrimination LGBT people face from their peers on the daily. My english teacher’s really against homophobia and the project’s worth twenty five percent of our overall grade, so it’s perfect.”

While you were rambling on and on about your detailed plot for revenge, Schlatt couldn’t help but be proud of the person you’d become. A major part of him was impressed that you came up with a detailed plan so quickly, that meant that his cunning nature was rubbing off on you and that made him ecstatic. Sure you mentioning not being straight was new to him, but he was prepared to accept you for whatever you identified as. He didn’t care how people identified, he just cared if they were good people. And his niece was one of the best kids he knew. He’d let your slip up slide for now until you felt comfortable enough to properly come out to him. 

“That an amazing plan, fuckin brilliant. Though, you could do more.”

That piqued your interest, “I’m listening.”

“Do you have any blackmail?”

Your eyes glinted with sudden understanding, “why yes I do, uncle dearest. I just so happen to have thousands of texts from them talking shit about each other and basically the entire school. And them being incredibly racist. They would be destroyed if that came out.” 

“Two things. One, never call me that again. Two, perfect. Keep it as leverage if they try to do something. You don’t pull out all the good cards in the first round, you wait for the right moment to strike so you can win. You need to constantly defend yourself against other players and anticipate their every move. If you leak everything right now, you won’t have anything to use against them if they have something up their sleeve you didn’t know about. Patience is key in things like this.”

You absorbed every single word that came out of his mouth like it was the holy gospel. Although he was your uncle and you loved him with all your heart, but he was a sly bastard when he wanted to be. He knew his way around fighting and manipulating people just right, so you were incredibly happy that you were on his good side and he absolutely adored you. Though questionable and morally gray, he was giving you advice because he cared about you and you’d be an idiot to not heed his advice. 

“That’s genius, Uncle Schlatt. What would I do without you?”

“You’d get along just fine without me, you would’ve gotten there eventually. You’re smart. I’m just givin you a little push in the right direction.”

“I honestly would’ve never thought about waiting, I was so dead set on getting revenge that I would’ve just leaked everything all at once. I want them to feel how I felt when they were around me. I-” you paused. Would this make you the same as them? You’d be screwing up all their grades, Adrian’s job, and Sammy’s athletic career. You came to the chilling realization that you’d be the same as them. You’d be as manipulative as they were. “...Uncle Schlatt, would that make me the same as them?”

“Fuck no! You’re always gonna be better than them no matter what. When they’re at their best, you’re always gonna be a whole lot better than them. They deserve what’s happening to them, it sounds like they put you through so much shit the past few years. I actually think you could do a whole lot worse to them if you’re willing to put more work in, but it’s your plan and if you think that what you’re doing is too much,” he darkly chuckled, “you wouldn’t like my idea.”

“You’re right, they deserve everything I have planned for them. God, I don’t know what I was thinking, ‘would that make me the same as them,’” you mocked what you said earlier, “what a load of shit. Anyways, thanks Uncle Schlatt. I’m gonna get back to writing this. They’re due tomorrow and I wanna finish as much as I can before I have to go.”

“Alright, whaddya want for dinner? Phil’s gonna be like thirty minutes late from work so I’m cookin tonight.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no. That man can barley cook boxed mac n cheese, let alone anything else. He’d burn down the house if you left him alone in the kitchen with the stove. “On second thought, why don’t I help you with dinner? We can make some chicken alfredo.”

“Awe, you’d rather hang out with me than finish your homework? Ya really do love me. C’mon let’s start.”

The process of making dinner was… interesting. Multiple times, Schlatt almost spilled boiling water on himself and he even managed to burn the pasta while it was in the water. How he even managed to do that you’d never find out, you had your back turned cutting up vegetables and herbs at the time. That was when you subtly started to take over in the kitchen, giving him smaller tasks while you handled everything else. You felt bad for Tubbo, his father can’t cook for shit. 

By time you finished, about an hour passed and Philza had come home and changed out of his work clothes. The two adults sat at the table discussing something that you didn’t pay attention to while your brothers and cousin were in the living room waiting for you to finish dinner. Finally, you set the table and it was time to eat. 

Because you couldn’t have many fatty foods before any matches or practices, you had made a separate plate for yourself that only had plain pasta, chicken, and broccoli. You were surprised with how well it turned out, you were following an iffy recipe you found on the first link Google brought up. 

After dinner, you went upstairs to put your uniform on and pack a little bag full of things you might need: a small blanket, some snacks, a water bottle, and a portable charger. Oh, and fuzzy socks and a pair of crocs. You could never go wrong with fuzzy socks and crocs. Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you pulled out your phone.

Hales : )

(Y/n), I’m omw to your house

Gonna give you a ride to the school

(Y/n)

Hales you don’t have to give me a ride, I can drive

Hales : )

Don’t care

Omw, be there in like 7 mins

You swiped out of yours and her conversation and opened up the family group chat

(Y/n)

I don’t need a ride to the school, Haley’s giving me one

She’s gonna give me a ride home too

Dadza

Alright, thank her for me

Tell her I said good luck too!

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Dadza

(Y/n), do everything he wouldn’t do

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck you I’m a good influence

Dadza

You’re really not

Wilby

^^^^

Technology Sword

^

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck all of you 

You heard Haley’s car pull into the driveway and dashed out of your room with your bag. Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, a hand stopped you.

“Coat.”

You grumbled as you reached past Philza to grab your coat. After you slipped it on, you were pulled into a hug. “You’re gonna do great out there. I know you’re gonna win this, we’ll be watching in the stands.”

“Damn right she’s gonna do good, she’s my niece after all.”

Schlatt pulled you away from your father’s hug and tried to ruffle your hair before you swatted away his hand, “don’t. You have no idea how long it took me to get a perfect ponytail. I have an ungodly amount of hairspray and bobby pins in my hair right now.”

“Fine. You’re gonna kick their asses tonight.”

Tommy and Tubbo pushed past Schlatt and both tackled you into a hug making you stumble slightly back. 

“Kick their asses good (y/n)!” Tommy cheered, making you crack up before one stern glance from Philza completely stopped you. “Tommy, don’t say that. (Y/n), not funny.”

“Alright, Haley’s waiting for me. I gotta go, love you guys!” As you turned to walk through the door, you could hear your family following you and shouting “good luck”. You felt heat creep up on your cheeks as Haley rolled down her window and wove at your family with the biggest grin on her face. 

“Thank you! We’re gonna take home the gold for sure!”

You hopped in her car as she rolled up the window and chuckled. “I love your family, they’re always so full of energy. It’s refreshing to see compared to how boring my family is.”

You glanced at your entire family gathered on the front porch. Tommy and Tubbo were practically vibrating with excitement, Wilbur and Techno calmly smiled and wove at you, Philza was grinning widely at you as you saw his mouth forming words that you couldn’t hear or read, and Schlatt was grinning cheekily at you. You raised your hand to wave at them as they vanished from view when Haley pulled out of your driveway. You smiled softly, “I love em too.”

The car ride was relatively quick with the same soft indie pop music floating from the speakers and an easy going conversation with Haley about the match tonight. You both thought that you could beat the other team if everyone focused 100% and played exactly like you guys did in practices. If everyone did that, you would be unstoppable. 

Luckily for you and Haley, you were the first ones in line to board the bus so you two got the back seat with Zara and Jazzy sitting across from you guys. The hour long bus ride passed quickly and lively with you four passing around your phone and playing some mad libs, you were sure that by the end of the last game you four were laughing and crying. Sometime in the middle of the trip, you noticed that Haley would start to lean on your shoulder and continuously glance at you as she laughed. You desperately wanted to believe that it was because she liked you, but she was straight and she was your best friend. She was probably trying to make sure you were having a good time. 

When the team had gotten to the opposing school and left the locker room to stretch in the gym, you could hear your family start to scream your and Haley’s names from the front row next to you, Tommy and Tubbo being the loudest amongst them with Philza trying to get them to quiet down so you could focus. You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled at them and Haley wove enthusiastically back at them. Zara was laughing at you two. Stretching went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were on the court facing the opposing team. 

The first match was won by the opposing team by five points. The second match stretched on and on until it was won by your team narrowly by two points. The team was going to have to shape up in the third match if you guys wanted a chance at winning, the opposing team was good. Before the third match started, Coach Williams called for a time out so you guys could talk about strategy. Before Haley could go back onto the court, you pulled her aside.

“Hales, we need to do what we practiced. The other team won’t be expecting it at all, I’ve been setting you up this entire game. They’re never going to expect you setting me up for a spike.”

“When are we going to do it though? We need a better plan.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will come and both of us will recognize it. We just can’t do it too early in the game though, that’ll ruin their surprise.”

“(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When do I not Hales? We gotta get gold this year.”

The third round went by with both teams constantly swapping places until you both were tied fifteen to fifteen. You saw the ball flying towards Haley, giving her the perfect opportunity to set you up for a spike.  “HALEY NOW!” 

You watched as her face hardened in determination as she pretended like she was going to spike it by jumping high in the air and stretching her arms back, making the opposing front row players all gather in front of her. Much to their surprise, she launched it towards you as you leaped up and went for the kill. The stinging of the ball hit by your wrist and the smack sound the ball made when it slammed onto the open gym floor was something you’d never forget as the crowd around you went wild over the unexpected play. You could hear the high pitched screaming of Tommy and Tubbo over everybody else. Glancing at them over your shoulder, you saw them jumping up and down on the gym floor and looking at you with awe filled eyes and gaping mouths. The rest of your family looked at you with similar expressions, their cheers echoing in your mind. Winking at them, you turned back to your team and went straight to Haley. Clapping a hand on her shoulder, you pulled her into a quick hug, yelling over the raving of the crowd. “HALEY WE NAILED THAT!” 

“HOLY SHIT I DID NOT THINK THAT WAS ACTUALLY GONNA WORK!”

“You have such little faith in your setter! You wound me Hales.”

“Well, I would have more faith in you if you weren’t chaotic on the court, sweetheart.”

You felt yourself surge in happiness at the nickname, but you couldn’t afford to focus too much on it. Your team only needed one more point to win best in the state and go to nationals. It would be the first time in your team’s history if you reached national level, and you’d be damned if you were the one to screw it up for them. 

The last rotation went on for a while, each team fighting tooth and nail for the state championship title with clashing determination. You tried your best to block every hit and try to set Haley up for a spike, and you were successful for the most part, only missing a few blocks. You saw the setter adjacent to you set the spiker up for a spike and jumped up in time to try to block it, your arms stretched upwards and your palms out. Only, the ball didn’t hit your hands. It collided painfully with your nose, ricocheted off your face with a thwack and sailed over to the other side of the court. Your head whipped back as your body followed suit and flew backwards onto the floor. Without giving you any time to react, your head bounced back and cracked against the polished hardwood floor of the gym. Everything went black. 

“...(y……”

“..(y/n)......”

“(Y/n).”

You faintly heard someone calling someone’s name over the continuous ringing noise. Was it your name? It felt right, so it had to be your name. You peeled your eyes open to see a blurry figure hovering over you. It was swirled with tans, browns, and backs. After a while of the figure repeating your name, it slowly became more recognizable, albeit appearing twice in your vision. It took you a while to figure out who this was before your muddled brain recognized Haley.

“Hales! There’s two o’ya. Twice as beautiful babe…” You slurred out as you attempted to smile at her.

“Oh thank god, PLEASE WE NEED A DOCTOR SHE HIT HER HEAD!” Her usually angelic voice gritted against your brain like sandpaper making you cringe as pain exploded in your head.

“God babe you’re so loud, why’s so bright? I-wha's goin on?” You blearily tried to move your head to look around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on each side of your head gently holding it in place. You moved your laggy eyes around to look at the figure. He was a blonde man with blue eyes and a hint of stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked… he looked… your brain worked to figure out why he looked how he looked. Who was he?

“Please don’t move hun.” His muffled voice was baritone. You squinted at him trying to figure out who this man was.

“Who th f-fuck… why?”

“I’m your dad hun. Do-do you not recognize me?” You made a noise in the back of your throat as your stuffy brain finally put a name to the face.

“Dad- wha’s goin on? I’on feel so good…”

“Shh, I know, I know. Just stop moving and talking. Everything’s fine. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Mmk… Dad, where are we? I’ont know- you’re so quiet.”

“Stop moving so much. You’re on the floor in a gym. You just won your team the state championship. Now stop talking please.”

Huh. So that’s why everybody seemed to appear from above you. You strained your eyes to look around you, but you could only see your dad’s face hovering above you. “Shit I- who’s aroun’ me? Where’s Hales?”

“I’m right here sweetheart. I got the doctor, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad’s face moved away from your vision so fast that it made your head spin and your stomach twist. Another face appeared above you that you once again didn’t recognize.

“I’m Doctor Martin, can you tell me your first and last name?”

“Uh, (y/n) Minecraft?”

“Good, what month are we in right now?”

“Nov-November?”

“Close, it’s late October. Can you tell me who this,” he pointed to your dad, “is?”

“S’my dad Phillip.”

“That’s your dad Philza.”

The questioning stopped as he suddenly shined a blinding light into your sensitive eyes. You hissed as you tried to move your head away from the offending light only to be held in place by your dad’s hands. Your head spun as you moved too quickly and a wave of nausea hit you, making you groan and move your arm to cover your eyes. Your hand was stopped by something warm and soft wrapping around it and holding it tightly. Everything was so overwhelmingly and painfully bright and loud. You wanted to make it stop. 

“Mr. Minecraft, your daughter appears to have a concussion. I don’t have the tools on hand to determine the severity of it, but it’s worrying that her pupils are asymmetrical, she’s delirious, and has slight memory loss. I understand you live about an hour away from here, and it’s alright for you to take her to a hospital closer to your house. Make sure you keep her alert.”

Your delirious mind only registered about half of what came out of the doctor’s mouth. You mumbled gibberish as you once again opened your eyes to look around. You were only briefly able to crane your neck to the left. Several figures large and small were standing behind your dad. Your family, your mind supplemented. Slowly, your mind was starting to recognize your surroundings even if there was currently double of everything and everything was blurry.

“I’m going to help you stand up. Do ya think you can do that?”

“Yeah Dad.” You lifted your upper body off from the ground with a gentle hand on your back helping you sit up. Fighting the wave of nausea that slapped you in the face, you reached up to rub at your eyes. A hand once again stopped you. You peeked your eyelids open and lightly glared at whomever stopped you. “Hales you’re lucky you’re so cute I woulda slapped you. I like holdin but you’re bein annoying. Stop.” You attempted to make your voice sound firm, but the words that came out of your mouth were slightly slurred.

She was silent as she helped her dad haul you to your feet. Once on your feet, you saw the room spin and felt yourself start to sway slightly. An arm wrapped itself around your shoulders and pulled you close to them so that your weight was supported. They were a little taller than you were making it easy to lean on them. 

“...Can you walk?” A deep, monotone voice rumbled the chest of the person you were leaning against. 

“Mhm. ‘M not weak.” Though your limbs felt like they were made of molasses, you placed one foot in front of the other slowly. The person moved alongside you, “you’re doing so good, keep going.” That sparked familiarity in you as you stopped in your tracks and tried to look up at the person you were leaning against making the person tighten their arm around your shoulders when you almost fell over.

“Tech?”

“Yeah, it’s Technoblade. Just focus on walking. You’re almost out of the gym.”

When you realized that you were out of the gym, you sighed in relief. It was so much quieter and darker. Though it was still relatively bright, it was better than the gym. 

“S’better.”

“When we get her to the car we can give her some sunglasses or something if it’s still too bright for her.”

“Wilbs-”

“Focus on walking.”

You huffed in irritation, “don’ tell me what to do bitch.”

You felt Techno’s body jolt slightly as he chuckled, making your head throb at the sudden movement. “Just walk.”

When you walked outside, you shivered as you felt the cool air nip at your exposed skin. Right, you were in your volleyball uniform. “I’ll go pull the car around, you guys stay with her.” 

You saw a tall brunet start to walk away from you. Uncle Splat? Uncle Schmat? Whatever his name was, you were sure he was your uncle. You tried to snuggle closer to Techno, craving warmth but never being satisfied. Where was your uncle? 

After a while, you saw a car moving towards you and blinding light pointed right at you making you cringe away and groan. Techno started to slowly walk towards the car. “C’mon (y/n), you’re almost there. When you’re in the car you can relax.”

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Techno, you’re in the back row. Schlatt can drive and Wil, you’re taking the passenger seat. I’ll stay with her in the middle row so she can have some room to lay down.” Tommy and Tubbo were with you? Why weren’t they talking, they usually were very vocal.

“Tom, Tubbs didja like the game?”

They didn’t say anything as they climbed into the car. Did they not hear you? 

“They’re just… tired (y/n).” Your dad’s voice reassured you as he took Techno’s place holding you up. 

“I wanna nap. ‘M so tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet. We gotta get you to a doctor first.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

“Let’s get you in the car hun.”

As he helped you climb into the car, you felt an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over you making you lose your balance and almost faceplant into the cloth seats. You felt yourself being gently, yet urgently taken out of the car and led to grass as you felt your esophagus shorten. Something burning made its way up your throat and spewed into the grass. You felt someone rubbing your back as you puked up your dinner. 

When you were done, you reached up with a shaking hand to wipe your mouth. “You feelin better? Think you can get back into the car or do you need to sit down for a bit?”

“Car.”

After some difficulty, you were successfully in the middle row of the car laying down with your head on Philza’s lap. Soon enough, your shoes were taken off and a blanket was draped over you. 

“(Y/n), what do you remember?”

You scrunched up your face as you squinted at Philza’s face. “I remember playing volleyball with Hales. She’s so pretty, she’s straight though. I remember the other team hitting the ball, me jumping, then nothin. Wha’ happened?”

You watched as Philza winced, “well, you got everything right so far. You got hit in the face with the ball so you fell and hit your head on the floor. You were passed out for a minute before you woke up. It was a pretty nasty fall, we’re going to the hospital now. How’re ya feelin?”

“Head hurts, ‘m seein two of everything, an I can’t think.”

“Do you know what a concussion is?” You nodded in his lap slightly, “you probably have one.”

After a while of talking, you were slowly starting to come to your senses and your speech was clearing up, but your head was still too stuffy to think about what you were saying before you said it. You didn’t have a filter.

“Do you wanna tell us about your week so far? Do you remember most of it?”

“Mhm, it was shit. On Monday I had a panic attack and Adrian, Sammy, and Annie were being bitches to me all day. They fucked up my back. On Tuesday, they got mad at me for ditching them and they had me do their homework, had another panic attack, and Haley told me that someone took pictures of our boobs ‘n stuff and they were gonna leak it to the school if Haley didn’t stop hanging out with me. Haley and I almost kissed, but she’s straight. Pulled an all nighter and Wednesday I accidentally came out to Tech and Wil and had another panic attack. Annie, Adrian, and Sammy took more pictures of me through my window, Annie outed me to the entire school and slapped me. Another panic attack, skipped the last two classes and felt like shit the entire practice. Today Adrian and Sammy told me to kill myself and I had another panic attack. ’S about it.”

As you were going through your week, the hand that was previously gently stroking your hair had frozen as the car was enveloped in a tense silence. Luckily, Tommy and Tubbo were passed out in the back seat so they didn’t hear how bad your week was. Everyone awake knew that you had a few bad days this week, but they didn’t know the full extent of it. You watched as Philza’s expression had turned downright murderous, but you didn’t really care. You were busy talking about your week.

For the rest of the car ride, Philza asked you simple questions like what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, basically your favorite everything. Eventually, the car pulled into the hospital parking lot and Philza helped you get out of the car. “Schlatt, can you take the boys home so they can get some rest? I’ll stay with her.” 

“Yeah, I’m on it. Don’t cause too much trouble (y/n), we all know you can raise hell.” He watched you for a reaction, but when you didn’t react, he coughed. “Well, I’ll see ya later kid. Good luck.”

The car drove off leaving you and Philza at the front of the emergency room building. “It’s gonna be a long night (y/n).”

“I gotta finish Annie’s essay and Sammy’s presentation though.”

“No you don’t, I’ll email your teachers.”

You two checked in with the front desk before moving to sit on the uncomfortable chairs. It was going to be a long night. You were so tired.

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@jabby16

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@immadatmostthings  @thaticecreambish  @hee-hee-haw  @dearnataliealoveletter  @wasteofspacze  @dcml04  @bbigbbrainn  @dirtydiavolo  @vanhakirja  @rinzyx05  @misselsbells06  @ialexabsuniverse  @im-a-depressed-gay  @energy-drinkk  @mothra-main  @i-need-hugs  @dragons-lurk-here  @katj733  @m4r-s  @vievi  @dykeragee  @waterstrawberry  @aplaintart  @kakamiissad  @myunfinishedsymphony  @nagitokinnieissad  @autumnpleaves  @justanothergirlwithdemons  @zachariethememerie  @moon-asia  @m0on-blue  @strawberrysodababy  @akikko-yataro  @haikkeiji  @shiningsunrises  @cinnamonmochi  @queen-turtle-boiii  @imanewsoul  @sparkling-gayyyy  @angelicaschuyler-church  @vixenfoxpup  @ella-ivanov  @shio-yuki  @mosstea-png @ijustshatbricks  @sugarandspicebutnonice  @coolayee  @haikkeiji  @sadassflatass

@a-simp-for-block-people  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @laura--444  @sylumarts  @faceache111  @auroraskyfall  @kusuinko  @http-issaclahey  @angelic-scent  @multifandomgirl94  @mirios-sunflower  @lifestylesleep  @altwitchtrash  @queenbouncingjelly  @eieminia  @livie-bug82108  @cheybaee  @demure--daisy  @midnight-storm  @moonbaejpeg  @kiinokochii  @miavfx  @vilbur-s00t  @coreybyrg  @comfytastic  @kodababygirl-blog  @artisticfandomtrash  @yourlmanburg  @indigopocky  @futuitsursum  @luluwinchester  @hello-there556  @kike-jii  @kalipto