#sometimes i think i better start reading the novels but i just know this would make me crazy

[cleo-fox]

Overtime

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

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re still doing it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

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

Also not a great sign.

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

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

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

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

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

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re going out for dinner.”

*

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” he says.

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

“Coffee would be great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Technically.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“Liar,” you say promptly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

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

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

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

“It does.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

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

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are body shots?”

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

He’s teasing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

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

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

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

*

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

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

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

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

You touch his hand. “This way.”

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

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

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

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

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

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

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

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “Not a chance.”

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

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

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

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

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

“No.”

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

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

“Yield.”

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

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

“Yield.”

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

“No.”

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

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

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you say.

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

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

“Cheater,” you say. 

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

You shiver. “Your prize?”

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

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

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

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

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

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

“You have not,” you say.

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

You nod. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

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

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. 

You believe him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For who?”

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

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “Loki—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he whispers back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

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

[steddieas-shegoes]

A little thing based on this post because it wouldn’t leave my brain:

“I just don’t understand why you won’t try to read it.”

Steve had heard Dustin say this exact sentence hundreds of times at this point.

“I mean, do you know how to read?”

Mike was an asshole. Steve loved him because he was part of the group and he’d been through the same things, but he was such a dick.

“Yes, I know how to read. I just don’t.”

Dustin rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t wanna read nerd shit just say so.”

Steve threw his arms up in frustration.

Steve was a nerd at heart. As a child, he would beg the nanny to take him to the library and the science museum that had real dinosaur fossils. There was something about the peace of exiting his reality and finding a new one among fantasy and history that was indescribable, even to this day.

But as he grew into his looks, he grew out of that phase. At least around others.

And with no nanny around to take him places, he settled for just being the popular guy who hung out with his friends after practice and threw parties at his forever empty house on Saturdays.

But secretly, he still found himself enjoying books late into the night. Never school books, or his grades would’ve been good enough for college, but always incredible novels that took him to other worlds with the most impressively brave people.

And then he lived a nightmare. A few times over. With concussions at every turn.

Now, anytime he tried to read, his head started pounding, his vision got blurry, and ears would start ringing. He stopped trying altogether after Starcourt, but he’d never really let go his love of books.

He occasionally let Robin read to him, but she would get distracted by a plot or character and go on a tangent, leaving Steve confused about what the actual story was. He hated being confused.

“Stevie, you got a minute?”

Eddie had been watching from his spot at the end of the table, where he’d been cleaning up the mess of D&D. He usually made the kids do it, but he’d let them off the hook tonight when they beat the monster and escaped his trap.

Steve and Eddie were friends, definitely. Maybe not close ones, but friends.

Steve had a little crush, definitely. Or a big one. Maybe.

So when Eddie shows him attention, he somewhat shamefully receives it like he’s dying of thirst in a desert.

Robin is the only one who’s noticed so far, but if he keeps acting like a dog being called by his master anytime Eddie talks to him, someone else will comment on it.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asked as he made his way to Eddie.

The kids took this time to talk amongst themselves about the game and what they think will happen next week, and Steve couldn’t have been more grateful.

“You don’t have to tell me, but.” Eddie was tapping his fingers nervously against his leg. “Do you not know how to read?”

“Uh. No I do. I mean I graduated high school. I know it’s hard to believe.”

“Not judging if you can’t, man. I mean, I took three senior years. I’m the last person who can judge.”

“Yeah, but you’re smart. You just didn’t like school,” Steve replied with a pat to his shoulder.

Eddie glanced down at the contact, eyebrow raising and then falling back to normal quickly.

“Just seems like you’d have read something by now to get them off your ass.”

And that’s a really good point. Maybe he should’ve just suffered through a migraine so they’d leave him alone about it.

But migraines left him out for days sometimes, and he couldn’t exactly afford that right now.

“I guess it’s just not worth the migraine.”

He hadn’t meant to actually say it. He didn’t want Eddie to feel bad or for him to try to make him feel better about it or ask questions or talk about the concussion thing.

Actually, did he even know about the concussion thing? Things?

“You get migraines when you try to read?” Then realization hit Eddie hard. “Steve. Do you like reading?”

Something about the way Eddie was looking at him, like he was sad for him but not pitying him, made Steve want to cry.

“I used to, yeah.”

“Everyone out! Your parents are gonna have to come get you! No questions, no explanations, go!” Eddie yelled to the room.

Everyone stared blankly at him before they started protesting, Dustin loudest of all.

“Steve’s my ride!”

“Not anymore. Hitch a ride with Lucas.”

“But Lucas’ mom always squeezes my cheeks and tells me she hopes I never lose my baby fat.”

“She speaks for all of us. Get the hell out of here!”

Steve was actually impressed. Maybe a little turned on? God, he was a disaster.

As everyone cleared out of the room, Eddie patted the seat next to him. When Steve sat down, Eddie scooted his chair so close to him, his knees were touching Steve’s.

“Alright, so you’re gonna tell me about what books you like and what books you want to read and we’re gonna get started.”

Steve blinked at him. “Huh?”

“You have a list I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay, then we better get started.”

“I mean, I’ve tried. I appreciate it, but even focusing on one page makes my eyes burn and my head hurt.”

“Got that. I’m not asking you to read.”

Sometimes Steve was worried the concussions had actually knocked some screws loose. He wasn’t getting it.

“I’m gonna read to you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure a lot of them will be movies and I can just watch them.”

“It’s not the same. You know it’s not.”

He was right. Steve didn’t have much patience for movies. And sometimes even those gave him migraines if there were a lot of bright lights and explosions.

“Yeah. But still. You don’t have to do that. You might not even like the books.”

“Ah, this isn’t a completely free service, my liege.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t have extra money to pay you, dude.”

“Not money. I get to pick a book to read to you when we finish the first book you pick.”

“Is it The Hobbit?”

“It is,” Eddie looked so smug.

“Well, that was my first choice,” Steve stared back, equally as smug.

“So, your house is empty.”

“Yep.”

“And I’m assuming you own this book.”

“I do.”

“And it’s getting late.”

Steve looked out the window at the pitch black skies.

“It’s late.”

“So I could stay and read you to sleep.”

“Won’t I miss some of the book?”

“I’ll stop when you’re asleep.”

Steve’s heart was practically begging him to say yes. Eddie reading to him in his bed? Possibly falling asleep together? Maybe even waking up together? It couldn’t be a better proposition. Well. It could.

“Will you stay even if I fall asleep?”

Eddie smirked. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d called Steve that, but it was the first time it felt like he meant it in a non-teasing way.

“Okay.”

So they both changed into some of Steve’s comfy clothes, got into his bed, and Eddie started reading The Hobbit.

Just as he was during D&D and real life, Eddie was animated, providing different voices for different characters and often giving long pauses to let Steve soak in what the words meant.

Steve didn’t even have to ask him to do that. He just did.

Steve fell asleep somewhere between halfway and the end of chapter two, but Eddie stayed.

And they woke up the next day with Steve’s head resting on Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him to keep him as close as possible.

They finished the The Hobbit in a week, and because Eddie was now committed to making sure Steve was well-read, they started moving through his list rapidly, falling for each other in new ways every time Eddie turned a page.

Part 2 (Angst)  / Part 2 (Fluffy) /  Part 2 (Explicit)

[ariestrxsh]

╔═ ❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀ ═╗

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, oral, mentions of masturbation, very light humiliation

✍️ Summary: ✍️ Your best friend Chris finds a book containing erotic literature on your nightstand and teases you about it. However, as he starts to flip through the pages, he starts to see the appeal, and you watch in real time as Chris discovers he actually likes it.

╚═ ❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀ ═╝

"I'm so bored. Can I come over?" Chris asked when I picked up his call. "Sure you can. I'm still stuck at work for another hour, but my place is unlocked. Let yourself in, and I'll meet you there," I told him. "I'll bring the weed," he chuckled. "You better or else don't even bother coming over," I playfully replied. "I've got your favorite. Blue dream," he told me before hanging up.

I tied up a few loose ends at work, checked to see if my boss needed anything else, and I headed home.

Once I got to my place, I headed straight for the backyard. Knowing Chris, he was already out there sparking up. I stepped out onto my back porch to find Chris with a lit blunt between his lips, his feet kicked up, and he was slouched down in a chair reading a book? Chris wasn't much of a reader, so this surprised me. "Hey! Whatcha reading?" I nonchalantly asked, not even glancing at the cover.

"I don't know. You tell me. It was on your nightstand," he responded, looking at me mischievously. Then it dawned on me. Oh my god! He was reading one of my dark fantasy romance novels that I left on my nightstand the night prior. I thought about grabbing it from him, but chances are it was too late. He was already several pages deep.

It was one of my favorites. It was a story set in medieval times where a princess is captured by a man who was sent to kill her, but instead, he captures her and ends up fucking her and falling in love with her. There were a lot of detailed and deranged sexual encounters in it. The book is from the princess' point of view and deals with her internal monolog of falling in love with her captor and the shame she feels about liking everything he does to her.

"What? You into it?" I teased him. "I'll be honest - kind of," he smirked, and he passed me the blunt he'd rolled. "Why don't you just watch porn like the rest of us?" Chris giggled, flipping to the next page, still reading it. I rolled my eyes and took a few puffs. "If you must know," I started, passing the blunt back to Chris, "I do watch porn, but sometimes I prefer to read it," I said, biting my lip. "Really? How come?" He looked at me intrigued. "Well, I like how detailed the books are, and I like that I can imagine anyone I want when I'm reading books. When you're watching porn, you're stuck with whatever usually unattractive male actors that they give you. Plus, I like having my mind stimulated, not just my eyes and my body," I said, shrugging.

"Oh yeah? And what hot guys do you picture?" Chris asked, teasing me, passing me the weed again. "Like I'd ever tell you," I scoffed. "Why not? Is it 'cause you think about me?" Chris jokingly asked me. However, I wasn't a good liar, and I did sometimes picture Chris. I couldn't help it. He was really hot, even though he was my best friend. I blushed and tried to hold back a grin as I passed him back the blunt. "No way! You think of me like that?" Chris responded, seductively smiling at me while he took another hit. "No!" I said, but even I remained unconvinced at the way it sounded when it came out.

"Do you ever play with yourself while you're reading these books?" Chris wondered, biting his lip and looking me up and down. "Well, what else would one do with pornographic material?" I rhetorically asked, smirking. "Does that mean you think about me when you touch yourself?" He questioned me, putting out the roach in my ashtray. Chris loved to stir people up and make them uncomfortable, and it's one of the things I found most attractive about him, the way he could rile me up so easily.

"Shut up, Chris," I said, slugging him in the arm. "It's a simple question you've yet to answer," Chris sneered at me. "You already know the answer to that, Chris. Did you come over here just to humiliate me?" I inquired. "Of course not. Only if you're into that," he shot me a look. I couldn't stop blushing.

"You know, this shit is well-written. It's actually making me a little hard," Chris admitted while he slowly started to stroke himself through his pants, looking up at me from the book. Ugh, he was doing this on purpose. "I'd love it if someone took care of it for me," he moaned, seductively grinning up at me and massaging the head of his cock through the fabric of his clothing.

I took in the lovely sight before me, Chris' ocean blue eyes locked on mine, his pouty bottom lip caught between his teeth, his fingers grazing the bulge between his legs. I couldn't control what happened next.

I helplessly fell to my knees. I couldn't look at him like that and not help him. My mouth fell open as he took himself out of his sweatpants, and I stared in awe at the way it looked. It was only half-hard, but it was big. He placed it between my parted lips, and I felt it grow bigger as I explored all the ridges with my tongue, and he responded with a breathy and drawn out "fuuuuck."

I slowly and sensually worked my way around his whole manhood. I left a long lick, starting at the base of his shaft and ending at his tip. I did this a few times, teasing him while his eyes followed my tongue. His cock lightly twitched, begging to be taken wholly into my mouth.

As I wrapped my lips around the head and took him in as deep as I could, I heard him let out a primal moan. I bobbed my head up and down on him, lightly gagging and making sloppy sounds as my lips glided across his enticing dick. I ever so gently ran my teeth along the tip, eliciting more harmonious sounds from him. "This is the best head I've ever gotten," Chris moaned breathlessly under the flit of my tongue.

I was obsessed with the way he watched me, his facial expressions tainted by sexual desire, and his soft whimpers. I felt his dick pulsate against the roof of my mouth. "Oh god," he muttered while he emptied his seed into the back of my throat. It was thick and sweet and salty, and I graciously swallowed.

Chris let out a satisfied laugh as I wiped my spit off my face. "Shit, do you have any more books like this? And can I please borrow them sometime?"

[temis-de-leon]

Gn!MC with chronic joint pain

Characters: Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor (x reader, separately, could be read as romantic or platonic)

Main Masterlist

Anon request: Could I request the brothers with a gn!MC with chronic joint pain? Sure, medicine makes it feel better when they take it, but it never 100% goes away and the meds aren't without side effects. On a good day, they can function relatively normally even if they do certain things at a slower pace. However, on a bad day, they can hardly get out of bed or do basic tasks (brush their teeth, lift a coffee cup, use a hand towel, etc) without difficulty, and require a fair amount of support when flare ups happen

A/N: I'm pretty sure Google thinks I'm the one with chronic pain

.

Mammon

Although he’s the one who spends time with you the most, it took an embarrassingly long time to notice how significant your winces and fatigue were. After all, his initial belief was that humans were naturally weak.

He thought he understood why you stayed too long in bed from time to time or why your brows would frown when you grabbed your backpack if it was especially heavy some days.

You’d say you couldn’t help it whenever he teased and of course, you talked with frustration each of those times, so he learnt to ignore it; just like you tried to do.

Then came the day when he crushed you in the hallway while running away from Lucifer. The only thing he could do before both of you fell to the ground was twist your body so he could act as a cushion, but even that wasn’t enough.

You started to complain before he had the chance to ask for payment for his ‘sacrifice’, but it wasn’t just words or berating; Lucifer was already doing plenty of that.

It was a mix of gasps and moans of pain that stopped both brothers in their tracks.

The only reason why the eldest didn’t obliterate the younger demon on the spot was because the guilt was already eating him alive.

He helps you with no asking needed, carrying your backpack to and from school, helping you put on your coat or making you breakfast, although it’ll most likely be burnt.

He’ll stop if it makes you feel useless or incapacitated on days when you are mostly okay, but if you’re barely able to lift your head off the pillow, you can bet all your money he’s laying right next to you ready to make you some company, even in silence.

It will take him some time, but, eventually, you will have his undying support.

Levi

Being as distracted as he is, with his eyes glued to a screen most of the day, wasn’t an excuse for him to ignore all the pill bottles in your bathroom cabinet or the way you sometimes couldn’t keep up with him when he was excited and walking too fast.

He feels like a horrible friend when you tell him. He should’ve known!

You will have to explain the whole situation to him in the comfort of his room, moments after he requests your presence for the testing of an arcade shooting game that will, for sure, make your arms sore for the next few days.

Although you assure him you can still play, just not for excruciatingly long periods and on lower difficulty, he still feels like he failed you in some way.

Sharing his interests with you will never be enjoyable as long as it has the possibility of causing you pain.

Fortunately, he knows countless games where long-range movements are not required and you can have fun anyway: visual and choice-based novels, turn-based RPGs, social simulation games…

He especially likes the choice-based ones. From your views on morality to romance and friendship, each important interaction with the characters or the lore helps him know you more and more as the game progresses.

It doesn’t stop there, though.

He will also try, not so subtly, to find games, shows, comics and manga where you can relate to the main character in one way or another.

It could be seen as pity, but that isn’t his intention at all. You should enjoy the media you interact with! Either heroes or villains or something in between, you should have someone you can understand on the screen or paper.

Asmo

Since observing you and everything related to you is an enjoyable pastime of his, it doesn’t take him long before he figures out your medication schedule. At first his beauty-driven mind thinks your pills are vitamin supplements, but then he notices the headaches, the stomach issues and the exhaustion; no doubt side effects.

It is on one of your worst days when he knocks on your door asking to spend the evening together. The only thing you can do to greet him is throw a weak peace sign from beneath the blankets and that’s when he pouts and frowns in worry.

He hopes you trust him enough to talk about it in case you want to keep it a secret and, if not, why would he treat it like a taboo subject?

He may be the only one who straight-up asks with absolute normality.

Changes are not noticeable at first seeing that he already liked being around you and dotting on you before knowing anything, but rest assured he will be there if you ever need him.

On days when you feel like you can’t take care of yourself, the only thing you have to do is send him a message.

Whatever you need, he will do.

From drawing a bath so you don’t have to stand up while holding the shower head to applying dry shampoo on your hair so you don’t get out of bed at all. He will also do your skincare routine and even your makeup if you're up to it; brush your teeth and your hair and organize your room while mindlessly chatting with you.

His favourite shared activity is painting your nails since you don’t have to move at all and you still enjoy each other’s company.

The rest of the brothers need to remind him from time to time that you aren’t a doll for him to dress, but he won’t ever do something that makes you uncomfortable in any way.

Beel

He doesn’t really notice until it comes up naturally in conversation.

You’re both in the kitchen, getting a snack to hold on until everyone is ready for dinner, and he starts talking about a new workout plan he is following in the gym. A famous bodybuilder posted it on his Devilgram account and he was too curious not to give it a shot.

Although he can do it on his own, he likes to spend time with you, so he innocently asks if you want to go with him someday and try it, even if it’s a watered-down beginner version.

It’s not like you can’t go to the gym, but the number of exercises you feel like you can do is limited and you need to be mindful while doing all of them. Hell, even at home you need to be careful with some of your movements, doing simple chores like making your bed or washing the dishes.

You remind him how you cook too, usually doing one-pot meals and trying to use your body as little as possible; there are human influencers (highly recommend) that show specific tricks to make cooking easier for people like you, after all.

Luckily, he understands immediately, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give up.

Unbeknownst to you, he researches specialized exercises and routines, as well as food, made to alleviate pain and strengthen your weakest points.

It isn’t a definitive solution, and certainly not the best, but it’s the thought that counts and he’s genuinely trying to make your life more comfortable and pleasant; not so draining.

He won’t push if you decline his offers and options (he’ll never force you to do anything, even if it benefits you), but will be extremely happy if you accept.

Belphie

He never asks, but you never have to tell him either, he just knows.

Your pain reflects in the way you move and live your day-to-day life, slower than the rest of them and always taking precautions, medicating yourself periodically even if sometimes that isn’t enough.

All of them have dinner in your room when you’re feeling way worse than usual and each time his memories can’t help but go back to that fateful evening in the attic.

He willingly and excitedly caused you abysmal pain back then, but he doesn’t want to imagine how underestimated his measurements are.

You suffered, yes, but all of that happened in the past.

Asking you what exactly hurts and what makes it worse won’t help his guilt at all.

Now that he can help you, he won’t do anything but.

Being who he is and liking what he likes, he has a trustworthy list of mattresses and pillows that he doesn’t hesitate to share with you.

He knows better than anybody else what a well-rested body can do to the mind and, although it may not help much, he insists you try at least once.

Going shopping for something like this and doing it with him is a double-edged sword; while he couldn’t be a better critic, there’s also the possibility of him falling asleep on one of the mattresses on display.

And you know perfectly well you aren’t going to be the one dragging him back home, so inviting Beel as well is always the best choice; especially since you can hang out after shopping knowing that you will have your purchase delivered.

If you still feel like you aren’t getting any rest, he will use a little bit of his magic to make you fall asleep more easily without waking up in discomfort.

.

.

Taglist: @hatchers-hoard @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[starshinegazer]

Shoutout Sunday

I just wanted to collect some of the most memorable Astarion fanfics I've read so far and to give them and their authors a big ol' shoutout. These are some of the fics I strongly suggest others to check out, if you haven't yet.

Also, please feel free to comment and recommend your favorites as well! And, if you know of some of these authors on tumblr, lemme know, so I can add them too :) I'm not too good with words, so I'll be slapping some of the authors own words as descriptions (for now). Oh, and do be mindful of tags etc etc... Here goes, in no particular order:

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "The Vampire Ascendent has crossed a line. Eleven years after making the biggest mistake of her life and losing the man she loved, tiefling wizard (now Archmage) Rosalie decides it’s time to put this Astarion in the ground for good. Hopefully, both her head and her heart are strong enough to see this awful task through to its end."

An Honest Lie by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "Astarion and Rosalie think they understand each other perfectly, but they have each fallen prey to the other’s mask. As they both go forward with their adventure, will either of them dare to be honest?"

A Crooked Touch by eyes_of_the_lamb "If you want to read a story where Astarion is sweet from the start and Tav is here to fix him, this isn't the one. If you want to read about two terribly broken men spending a good long while making each other worse before they make each other better, this might be for you. If you thought the in-game romance was a little too easy and it should have been ten times more painful and difficult to convince Astarion he's worthy of love, this is definitely for you."

Perfect Slaughter by Imagineitdear (@imagineitdearies ) "Tyrus, a low-born drow with aspirations for necromantic wizardry, finds none of the hospitality he expected from his new noble patron, Cazador Szarr. Quickly he loses his life and future, his hopes and dreams—only to find something new to fight for in the unlikely arms of Cazador’s least favorite spawn."

A Novel Experience by meanboss (@meanbossart ) "Initially just an epilogue for my own game campaign with my big meaty dark urge drow, turned whole story which I accidentally deleted and am now reuploading, my bad LOL

Hope you enjoy!"

Carving Through The Dark by skitter "The realm is safe and the story is over.

Wren and Astarion descend into the Underdark in search of a new purpose, and learn a few things along the way. Namely, that healing isn't linear and sometimes love takes the long way round."

Blood In The Weave by gingealish "There is no need to breathe, but I miss it all the same. The suffocating silence, the desperate darkness have encapsulated me for I don’t even know how long; It could have been tendays or years. I’ve long since accepted my punishment, stopped trying in vain to crack the seal of my tomb against the onslaught of panic and hunger. Now I lay here, thinking of the friends I’ve lost, the lover who turned on me, and how to finally get even.

Astarion is the new Big Bad Evil Guy. Spawn Tav is rescued by a familiar face. "

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by bg_brainrot "You saved Baldur’s Gate almost 300 years ago. You died 150 years ago. On a new life now, you find that memories from your past lead you to a specific silver-haired man. Who was he, and why won't he leave you be? tldr; An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well."

More Than Any Words by mataglap "They have saved the city and possibly the world. All is great and everyone is happy... except Astarion has been banished back into the shadows, and Tav is stuck in an uneven battle with his own oath. He's losing the fight. He knew he would from the moment he fell for Astarion. But he can't lose yet, not before they find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again."

Inexhaustible Oil by homeward_bound "This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride."

[physalian]

“How do I know if my story needs work or if I’m just being hard on myself?”

As I sit here accepting the fact that at 70k words into Eternal Night’s sequel while waiting for my editor for Eternal Night itself, that I have made an error in my plot.

Disclaimer: This is not universal and the writing experience is incredibly diverse. Figuring this out also takes some time and building up your self-confidence as an author so you can learn to separate “this is awful (when it’s not)” and “this is ok (but it can be better)” and “this isn’t working (but it is salvageable).”

—

When I wrote my first novel (unpublished, sadly), years ago, I would receive feedback all over the chapters and physically have to open other windows to block off parts of the screen on my laptop to slow-drip the feedback because I couldn’t handle constructive criticism all at once. I had my betas color-code their commentary so I could see before I read any of it that it wasn’t all negative. It took me thrice as long as it does today to get through a beta’s feedback because I got so nervous and anxious about what they would say.

The main thing I learned was this: They’re usually right, when it’s not just being mean (and even then, it’s rarely flat out mean), and that whatever criticisms they have of my characters and plot choices is not criticism of myself.

It did take time.

But now I can get feedback from betas and even when I hear “I’d DNF this shit right now unless you delete this,” I take a step back, examine if this one little detail is really that important, and fix it. No emotional turmoil and panic attack needed. I can also hear “I didn’t like it” without heartbreak. Can’t please everyone.

The only time I freak out is when I'm told "this won't need massive edits" followed up by, in the manuscript, "I'd DNF this shit right now". Which happened. And did not, in fact, require a massive rewrite to fix.

So.

What might be some issues with your story and why it “isn’t working”.

1. Your protagonist is not active enough in the story

You’ve picked your protagonist, but it’s every other character that has more to do, more to say, more choices to make, and they’re just along for the ride, yet you are now anchored to this character’s story because they’re the protagonist. You can either swap focus characters, or rework your story to give them more agency. Figure out why this character, above any other, is your hero.

2. Your pacing is too slow

Even if you have a “lazy river” style story where the vibes and marinating in the world is more important than a breakneck plot, slow pacing isn’t just “how fast the story moves” it’s “how clearly is the story told,” meaning if you divert the story to a side quest, or spend too long on something that sure is fluffy or romantic or funny, but it adds nothing to the characters because it’s redundant, doesn’t advance the plot, doesn’t give us more about the world that actually matters to the themes, then you may have lost focus of the story and should consider deleting it, or editing important elements into the scenes so they can pull double-duty and serve a more active purpose.

3. You’ve lost the main argument of your narrative

Sometimes even the best of outlines and the clearest plans derail. Characters don’t cooperate and while we see where it goes, we end up getting hung up on how this one really cool scene or argument or one-liner just has to be in the story, without realizing that doing so sacrifices what you set out to accomplish. Personally I think sticking to your outline with biblical determination doesn’t allow for new ideas during the writing process, but if you find yourself down the line of “how did we get here, this isn’t what I wanted” you can always save the scenes in another document to reuse later, in this WIP or another in the future.

4. You’re spending too long on one element

Even if the thing started out really cool, whether it’s a rich fantasy pit stop for your characters or a conversation two characters must have, sometimes scenes and ideas extend long past their prime. You might have characters stuck in one location for 2 or 3 chapters longer than necessary trying to make it perfect or stuff in all these details or make it overcomplicated, when the rest of the story sits impatiently on the sidelines for them to move on. Figure out the most important reasons for this element to exist, take a step back, and whittle away until the fat is cut.

5. You’ve given a side character too much screentime

New characters are fun and exciting! But they can take over the story when they’re not meant to, robbing agency from your core characters to leave them sitting with nothing to do while the new guy handles everything. You might end up having to drag your core characters along behind them, tossing them lines of dialogue and side tasks to do because you ran out of plot to delegate with one character hogging it all (which is the issue I ran into with the above mentioned WIP). Not talking about a new villain or a new love interest, I mean a supporting character who is supposed to support the main characters.

—

As for figuring out the difference between “this is awful and I’m a bad writer” and “this element isn’t working” try pretending the book was written by somebody else and you’re giving them constructive criticism.

If you can come up with a reason for why it’s not working that doesn’t insult the writer, it’s probably the latter. As in, “This element isn’t working… because it’s gone on too long and the conversation has become cyclical and tiring.” Not “this element isn’t working because it’s bad.”

Why is it bad?

“This conversation is awkward because…. There’s not enough movement between characters and the dialogue is really stiff.”

“This fight scene is bad because….I don’t have enough dynamic action, enough juicy verbs, or full use of the stage I’ve set.”

“This romantic scene is bad because…. It’s taking place at the wrong time in the story. I want to keep it, but this character isn’t ready for it yet, and the vibe is all wrong now because they’re out-of-character.”

“This argument is bad because…. It didn’t have proper build-up and the sudden shouting match is not reflective of their characters. They’re too angry, and it got out of hand quickly. Or I’m not conveying the root of their aggression.”

—

There aren’t very many bad ideas, just bad execution. “Only rational people can think they’re crazy. Crazy people think they’re sane,” applies to writing, too.

I just read a fanfic recently where, for every fight scene, I could tell action was not the writer’s strong suit. They leaned really heavily on a crutch of specific injuries for their characters, the same unusual spot getting hit over and over again, and fights that dragged on for too long being unintentionally stagnant. The rest of the fic was great, though, and while the fights weren’t the best, I understood that the author was trying, and I kept reading for the good stuff. One day they will be better.

In my experience beta reading, it’s the cocky authors who send me an unedited manuscript and tell me to be kind (because they can’t take criticism), that they know it’s perfect they just want an outside opinion (they don’t want the truth, they want what will make them feel good), that they know it’s going to make them a lot of money and everyone will love it (they haven’t dedicated proper time and effort into researching marketing, target audiences, or current trends)—these are the truly bad authors. Not just bad at writing, but bad at taking feedback, are bullies when you point out flaws in their story, and cheap, too.

The best story I have received to date was where the author didn’t preempt with a self-deprecating deluge of “it’s probably terrible you know but here it is anyway” or “this is perfect and I’m super confident you’re going to love it”.

It was something like, “This is my first book and I know it has flaws and I’m nervous but I had a lot of fun doing it”.

And yeah, it needed work, but the bones of something great were there. So give yourself some credit, yeah?

[ventique18]

Malleus book recommendations (⚠️ Warning: Adult novels)

Are you a MalleYuu simp? Are you tired of their endless pining that never goes anywhere? Are you frustrated and just want the Yuu♀️ to bed the Malleus? Well you're in luck because I've sacrificed my sanity to comb through heaps of trash just to feed my brethren's delusions!

If your fave is his temper tantrum: Rurik - The WitchSlayer. This is only one book, but very cute and satisfying. Not very heavy on the plot; more on a fantasy slice of life between a dragon shifter and a sweet part-dragon witch.

If your favorite is the playful in Malleus: Rhysand - A Court of Thorns and Roses Series. Note: Do not stop reading until you get to Book 2, at least. It's the actual start of the series.

If you like both Malleus and Silver and want to merge them into one person: Creon - Fae Isles Series. IMO the best out of all of them.

If you like Evil Malleus: Valroy - Maze of Shadows Series. From the most well-written book out of all of them, but requires the most open mind. This is a dark novel with an evil hero. When I say evil, he is EVIL.

Some rankings below:

Note that all of these are personal preferences.

Ranking the best boys:

1. CREON (Fae Isles). He's THE best hero out of all romance books I've read so far. He's complex. He's devilish. He's thoughtful. He has a unique feature about him that no one else possesses. You'll understand.

2. Rurik (The WitchSlayer). He's annoying, has a bad temper, grumpy most of the time, but he's very cute. He's a literal dragon. He's also smart and actually thinks things through to actively resolve misunderstandings because he understands that feelings can muddle the truth.

3. Rhysand (A Court of Thorns and Roses). He's perfect. That's all. Sometimes a bit too perfect, but he's much better than many fictional male leads.

4. Valroy (Maze of Shadows). This does not mean he stinks. He's literally just extremely evil, which in itself makes him very interesting and better than most cookie cutter heroes.

All of them are great characters. They're the main reasons why you would read these novels.

Ranking the stories:

1. Fae Isles. Its magic system is unique. A lot of it is unique. Just excellent all around and definitely my favorite.

2. Maze of Shadows. DARK romance. Toxic. But very interesting and a refreshing read for those who have the strength to stomach it and remind themselves that this is only fiction.

3. The WitchSlayer. Just a one-shot so you can't expect much, but its pacing is unique in that the conflict resolves fairly early, leaving enough room to tackle what happens after the big bad evil has been defeated. It also has a cute epilogue! Definitely read this if you only have time for one of these. You won't regret the sweet dragon moments, both in his tiny form and his giant form.

4. A Court of Thorns and Roses. I generally just enjoyed it for Rhysand tbh.

Do you know other stories with Malleus clones? Let me know because I need it 👀

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Dialogue

Dialogue is a spoken exchange between multiple characters in a play, film, TV show, or another type of creative writing.

Writing dialogue reveals character development, speech patterns, and mannerisms, which can also propel the plot forward.

Often, authors employ realistic dialogue that captures how specific people speak.

Sometimes they use direct dialogue (showing what a character wants), and other times they are rich in subtext (illuminating depth beneath the surface of the exchange).

How to Format Dialogue Dialogue formatting can show verbal exchanges between two characters effectively.

Consider these guidelines on how to punctuate dialogue:

Quotation marks. Writers should use double quotation marks to encase a character’s spoken words. Single quotation marks may appear within dialogue when someone is quoting another.

Dialogue tag. Writers typically insert a comma at the end of a sentence as a dialogue tag to denote the speaker (such as: “Let’s eat,” Travis said.). The comma should appear comma before the closing set of quotation marks.

Closing punctuation after quotation marks. An exclamation point or question mark may also appear before the closing quotation marks.

New paragraph. When characters talk back and forth to one another, start a new section each time another character speaks a line of dialogue.

How to Write Dialogue

Consider the following writing tips from Judy Blume on how to craft strong dialogue:

Dialogue breaks up your text. Writers can use dialogue to enliven long blocks of text. “I'll flip through a book, and if it's dense, dense, dense, dense, no paragraphs, no dialogue, I don't want to read it,” Judy says. “But dialogue lightens up your book on the page. You want white space on the page. Dialogue gives you that: playlets, I often put in little playlets in my book; it's like a little play within a scene.”

To write better dialogue, read more of it. Authors write great dialogue by reading great dialogue. “Reading and reading and reading, you will find what's good dialogue, what you think is good dialogue, and what you think is wooden and not very good dialogue,” Judy says. “And you will learn from that just by reading it and reading it and going to the next book and finding it because it's there. It's in every novel. There's dialogue.”

Keep your word choice simple. In a few of her earlier works, Judy did not use the word “said” when writing dialogue. “I decided that I would write this whole novel without ever using he word ‘said,’ that said was such a boring word,” she says. “‘He said.’ ‘She said.’ I had my thesaurus by my side, and my characters did everything but say. My characters exclaimed. They beguiled. And they did everything but say. Throw away your thesaurus when you’re writing.”

Write realistic voices. Developing a character’s voice requires observing real-life exchanges and using smart word choices. “It’s a question of capturing the way people talk when they're talking to each other on the street, you know, in the workplace, wherever,” Judy says. “Your characters should each speak as themselves, meaning they are believable and recognizable.”

[blocksgame]

Tips on character voices when writing fic

This is written in mind for people writing fic in MCYT/QSMP/DSMP/Life series/etc kind of fandoms. But if anyone finds it useful for anything else, well then, hell yeah.

Character voice is big in all, uh, fiction, and mimicking it in any fanwork is big. But I think it’s especially big in these fandoms where the voices are so distinct – it’s usually how a Real Person Somewhere (the streamer) talks, versus something very scripted that you’d see in a TV show or novel. And it can be a big difference in your character sounding generic versus really feeling true to the original.

Listen to a bunch of your subject talking. If you want to write a character well, watch vods from their point of view, or episodes where they show up a bunch. Take note of what they say and how.

2. If you don’t know how to start doing that: try literally writing down what they say. Transcribe an actual exchange in fic-format. You probably won’t want to publish a literal exchange from canon, but it will give you a sense of how to physically write what they say.

3. If you do this (or just pay attention to how they talk), you will get a lot of: Stumbling, pauses, repeating words, filler words, weird sentence constructions, fragments, etc. I love em! Here’s something that comes through in improv much more than in novels or movies: Most people, even very charismatic people, are not very eloquent when they speak. Writing out conversations or sentences will give you a sense of the unique and delightful way in which your subject is not eloquent. vvvvv way more under cut vvvvv

(People use a LOT of filler/etc when they speak. It’s reasonable to cut back on this if it’s interfering with a nice-looking or readable result. I believe this is the eternal struggle of people who write transcripts – you want the transcript to be accurate, but there are also a lot of things you can obviously simplify and not lose the meaning. So you’ll end up falling somewhere on this spectrum either way. But I do think a lot of mediocre/generic fic dialogue is very stylized – it doesn’t sound like your guy because your guy literally wouldn’t say that. They would say it worse and more confusingly.)

(I’m serious, if you’ve never sat down with a short non-completely-scripted clip or real conversation or whatever and just written out exactly what was said, do it. It will make you better at writing.)

4. Wonda-cat made a really incredible list [link] of characterizing speech patterns for the Dream SMP members. But you can also do your own reconnaissance and come up with your own patterns, common phrases, etc.

5. You do not have to get EVERYTHING right. You’re not going to, like, get so deep into the speaker’s brain that you can produce “exactly what they would have said if they were somehow in your fic.” That is impossible. You’re just trying to evoke a character, and if you get a few turns of phrase to ring true, you’re doing great.

6. A lot of these people are popular because they are hilarious. Include jokes. Yes, even if your thing is angsty or serious. A lot of the most serious lore I can think of from, e.g., the Dream SMP or 3rd Life or the QSMP - the really story-defining, life-and-death moments - were absolutely hysterical. If you’re writing characters who are usually funny, then add some humor. It can heighten angst via contrast and a sense of realism. Ask yourself what a funny streamer would make jokes about if they were possessing a character in this situation.

7. Some people have the mystical ability to “hear” character voices in their head, and read things in their voice. If you can, do this with all of your dialogue during the editing process. This won’t always get you there, but sometimes it can catch things that sound wrong by invoking "that's really hard to imagine them saying". If you don’t have this power, try recruiting a friend who does.

8. So there’s dialogue and then there’s narration that’s still from a character’s point of view. I’ve mostly given you tips about dialogue, but a lot of this is also true for narration. IMO, narration is less about phrasing things the way the subject would, and more about recreating the way they think. I don’t have concrete rules on how to do this, but here is my wisdom:

You can get eloquent again - narration is more of an abstract and artistic process than dialogue.

Spend time with your subject’s source material.

Pay attention to what they notice and care about. How do you think they think?

Don’t be afraid to get weird with it.

That last one also applies to all art ever.

9. MCYT tends to give you a great boon you don’t see in other media: what the speaker says to their chat/audience when nobody else is listening. This can be incredibly characterizing even if you’re writing a story where people don’t have chats. It’s your person talking about their thought processes and feelings! Mine that shit.

10. Some questions that might help guide both characterizing narration and dialogue (that you’d get from dialogue):

How open are they about their feelings?

How often do they lie? What do they lie about?

What kind of metaphors do they use, if any?

How quickly does their mood change?

How can you tell when they’re in different moods?

What kind of things do they pay attention to?

How formal is their speech?

11. Finally, this is a little odd, but I find it’s much, much easier to write a character that sounds good if I, the author, like them and am rooting for them at least a little bit. If a character needs to be there who you don’t love, try to love them. Or at least get a sense of what other people love about them. It just makes everything else easier. I swear to god.

Happy writing out there!

[slayingfiction]

How I push through writing when I don't feel like writing.

Here are some of the techniques that I use to help me write more often or more consistantly when my laziness/depression/anxiety starts to take over.

I watch TV. I don't do it with the purpose of zoning out though. I watch something popular and well-liked such as the LOR or Harry Potter to get new ideas on how I can develop my story and apply their in-depth world-building ideas to help develop mine. Without plagarizing of course!!!!

Zoning out and daydreaming. As I have mentionned before, daydreaming is a huge part of my story outlining and world-building process. I'll stand in the shower, or take a walk and think about how my charcaters would act/react/behave in situations, mundane or not. Doing this gives me a better sense of my characters, and sometimes gives me ideas for scenes I use later on.

Work on writing related projects. These work well at keeping me distracted while still being productive on my writing goals. Example, I have one story I am working now, I made a new language (alphabet and numbers included) to include as a cool and fun component for the book. So, at times when I don't wan't to write, I continue creating the dictionary (very fun, 8/10 would recommend). Also, for the same book, my characters don't work off the Georigian calendar and 24 hour clock, so I've been working at creating a new calendar (harder than it seems, 2.5/10 dont recommend). These are side projects that help my story, without having to write.

Reading. You saw this one coming, I know. Reading is great, especially when you're editing, your writing style will unconsciously change to be more similar the author you were just reading. Also, most importantly, I'll be reading and think, "this story is really good, but you know what story I like even better? Mine." then change to writing.

This one is my biggest life saver!! I learnt about a year ago that sometimes I'll get bored of writing a story, and have difficulty keeping on track. That's why I finished my first book in 2016 and just started editing the first draft last week. The solution for me was to work on multiple projects at once, because it was much harder to be bored of multiple stories. I stick to 2, but will sometimes add a third. This is easy for me, because I have a list of over a dozen series I want to write. Don't abandon one project for another, use them as a distraction/ motivation for each other, so you're always furthering at least one project. I've never heard someone say, "oh no, i accidentally worked on this other writing project for three months instead of the other writing project I was doing. Dammit." No, we're just happy we have written something. Be sure to have well outlined story lines before starting, don't just start writing randomly or you'll reach a point where you don't know where to go from there.

Author/ writer projects. Maybe this is building a following, or community to share your projects and engage with. Tumblr, Insta, Reddit, whatever it is. My hope this year is to start up my website to offer publishing services (editing, graphic design, short writing courses) and build a following as a writer. (See what I did there? Never a bad time to self-promote ;) ) Having your own projects like this will help you in the future when you're going to try to publish and sell your books!

Talk with friends and a writing community. Never underestimate the passion that will burn inside you when talking about your story, or when others are talking about theirs. Surrounding yourself with a positive writing community can be the best thing for you as a writer.

Write or read (your story) every day. I'm not going to be one of those people that say you need to write 1000 words a day, that's a lot. But maybe try for 100? That could maybe only take 5 minutes, and at the end of the year that's still over 36 thousand words of a novel. Or just read your story, and I've always found it helped me get in the creative mood.

Make a playlist of songs that remind you of your characters, your story, or just puts you in the mood to write. Then play it ONLY when you're having trouble writing. Playing it while writing will not help, you'll get annoyed with the songs.

Just really can't do it today? That's okay, take a break. You deserve it. There's always tomorrow.

Does anyone else have ways they push themselves to keep writing? Let us know in the comments!

Happy Writing!

[shalotttower]

Equations

Title: Equations Characters: L Lawliet x Reader (female) Summary: A short snippet of Reader and L moving places. Probably can be counted as imagine. Word count: 990+ Notes: yandere L, kidnapped Reader, captivity, L and Reader were together at Wammy's House, Stockholm Syndrome, L is being a shithead gremlin.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it keeps no record of wrongs.

You're not religious at all, but those words glimpsed once on a bookshop wall stuck in your mind when Wammy's House stayed behind, somewhere in-between the pages of your journal, so carelessly flipped through by a boy with a blank expression, who had and still has no idea what those verses mean.

"What is it?" you ask, when Watari enters your room with a suitcase.

"We're leaving in an hour," he says. "Get ready, please."

You don't argue.

L doesn't have many rules, and most of those existing are unspoken. Some can be bent, some can be bargained and twisted into an illusion of freedom until it snaps. But if Watari comes in and tells you to get ready, you obey. It means you're moving somewhere else, another place unknown. So you pack: clothes, shoes (just two pairs, there's nowhere to wear them anyway), hygiene necessities which fit neatly inside one single bag.

When you get in the car, L is already there, looking through the window. The glass tints everything a tone darker.

Watari starts driving.

The first time you used it as a chance to understand where you were, memorize the road signs, the turns. By the eleventh you stopped caring, because it didn't really matter ─ even if the whole world map was imprinted inside your head, what would it do?

So you lean against the seat and watch the cows in the pasture on the right. Everything is green and yellow outside. Some rural town probably ─ a happy little world tucked away. A small part of you wishes to exit this car right here and now, just to see what happens. Intrusive thoughts are like that sometimes. They pop up and disappear without a reason or logic behind.

The sun is bright.

There's a church up ahead, with freshly painted doors and windows which have a stained glass pattern of white lilies among golden rays of light. A beautiful work of art put onto display for whoever cares enough to look.

You wonder: if God existed, what would he think of L's fingers curling over yours. The touch is barely there at all, yet you feel it down to your bones.

Love is patient, love is kind. His thumb brushes over your knuckles.

"What are you doing," you ask flatly, not expecting a reply. It's a reflex, like the knee jerk reaction, to ask him questions, because otherwise who knows what's there in that shaggy-haired head of his.

"Holding your hand," L says.

"I can see that. Why?"

"Why not?"

"That's not an answer."

"Then ask a better question."

You turn to look at him and immediately regret doing so, because his eyes are wide and focused, and you can see your own face reflected there. Between his bony fingers and yours are lifelines crisscrossed together by a forceful hand.

"Stop that," you tell him without much heat behind.

L doesn't look away, nor does he stop staring.

"Stop what?"

"That."

"If I knew what you're referring to, I'd probably have better chances of stopping it."

L tilts his head to the side. So that's what it is. One of those times when he feels a tad more playful, a bit more nagging, and tries to drag you into a verbal game that doesn't end until you surrender and let him have his way.

The church is long gone by now, and the cows too. Just empty space surrounded by trees which line up along the sides of the road.

You wish you were tired enough to nap through the rest of the ride, but since Watari brought a humidifier for your room, your night sleep has never been better. That leaves reading, and you pull an e-book from your bag to continue the novel started a few days ago.

You feel his head lean closer to your shoulder halfway through chapter six. His hair has grown a bit and tickles.

"Find your own book," you murmur and flip to the next page.

L hums and stays in place.

Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, he doesn't move and you wonder ─ when. His fingers are linked loosely with yours and you haven't tried to pry them off yet. Why haven't you?

When did you start tolerating his presence to this extent?

It's quiet save for the tires noise. Your index finger taps a pattern against the screen. Tap-tap-tap.

"The killer is-" L begins right when you get to the chapter nine.

"-male-" he continues despite your elbow hitting his side.

"-mid-thirties, dark hair-"

You slam your palm over his mouth, and the e-book falls from your lap onto the car floor. L blinks once before licking your hand like he's five years old instead of twenty three stepping into twenty four. You yelp and wipe it off against your jeans while Watari coughs in the front seat.

"You-" you catch yourself mid-sentence, then take a deep breath. "I would appreciate if you didn't spoil the books I'm currently reading."

Or movies you're watching; or games you play; or anything at all really whenever it catches your attention long enough to become invested. He doesn't do it often when he's on a case, but off those L tends to get very bored very quickly and finds entertainment in your reactions.

His lips twitch, and you know 100% percent that he's going to do it again until you give up on reading altogether and spend the rest of the ride talking to him instead, though "talking" is a loose term here. More like indulging whatever topic L decides to fixate on this time around, because if you ignore him, he will be just as content with staring at you for hours on end with nothing but silence between you both.

[rainwalker-dragonblade29]

I started reading puzzle house, and I noticed something. There seems to be an age mismatch... In S6, soren looks about 6 ish. Claudia about 4... in the flashback that Lissa leaves. Which is preceded by kppar's disappearance. Soren is shown that young when Viren saved him. (Image credits : @raayllum and @stuck-in-jelly ) look how young soren is! And claudia is teeny weeny!

BUT IN PUZZLE HOUSE.... there's a scene between King Atticus (What a lovely man) and Viren.... he asks Viren how he is doing out of genuine concern!

(Pardon the picture quality my camera is not so great)

THE FOLOW UP OF THE SAME INCIDENT THAT IS IN VIREN'S FLASHBACKS!!!! BUT SOREN LOOKS ABOUT 10ISH AND CLAUDIA ABOUT 8ISH!

Now it is very much possible that the puzzle house happens very much later. Like after a time skip.

Also to note: claudia was given kppar's spellbook. Tge kids had been to his house multiple times atleast to mention "he never let us enter his tower". Also Atticus asks the question as if it all happened fairly recently. Means tge flashback of s6 happened pretty close to the time of puzzle house no? But soren and claudia look older to me...

Wouldn't it make more sense if soren and claudia were a little older than how they are shown in s6 flashbacks to have known kppar! If soren is saved at an older age it would still work.

I don't know if it was a mismatch between the two departments handling the production of the season and the graphic novel. But their ages don't line up... like if all of those flashbacks of s6 happened with a little older claudia and soren, they would remember that incident much more strongly, and that is fitting for character!

I see three possibilities...

A) This is truly a mistake and there was a mismatch between the teams that made the season and the novel.

B) This is deliberate! They showed the flashbacks through Viren's POV. And maybe its the "to parents their children are always young" or this is just how he is seeing them in the memory of that incident now. Memories become distorted over time... we don't remember details and when we recall, we fill their place with details of how we felt that incident to be like, which is sometimes not what it actually was.... Viren's guilt makes him look at himself like the terrible man who hurt his two innocent children. And what better way to make a child look innocent than to literally age them down! Look at this image of claudia from one of the short stories... here she looks about her puzzle house age, seeing Lissa leave.

So it is true that the puzzle house ages are reality and the flashback ages are Viren's projections of his children as how innocent they were when he hurt their family. I AM ONTO SOMETHING HERE, I REALLY WANT THIS TO BE TRUE!

C) I could be wrong at judging character ages too (in that case it would be a bummer cuz what sort of animation student am I then?)

But what do you guys think? I am leaning towards the ages being shown that way is deliberate...

[munson-blurbs]

Hi darling sister wife! I have a request for a bookworm!reader who always has her nose in a book and has a huge crush on Eddie, but thinks he doesn’t even know she’s alive. And maybe they run into each other somewhere in town and he’s like “oh hey y/n!” and she’s dumbfounded lol

Love youuuuu - @corroded-hellfire

Anything for you, bb 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff <3

WC: 3.8 k

--

There’s a lump in your throat as you approach the wooden door marked “DETENTION” in scolding letters. You’ve never been in trouble before, always keeping your head down and doing the right thing. 

But that was before you’d started reading The Handmaid’s Tale. You’d picked up the novel in the school library that morning, curious to see what all of the fuss was about. It was so gripping, so eerie, so chilling, that you didn’t want to put it down. And so you didn’t—you read it in the halls when walking between classes, during lunch as your friends talked about their prom dresses, even faking cramps during PE so you could sit on the bleachers and continue devouring Margaret Atwood’s words. None of that posed any issues. 

You were nearly finished with the entire book by the time last period rolled around. Mrs. Click was droning on and on about the Enlightenment and its influence on European culture. It wasn’t anything the textbook didn’t already explain. How bad would it be to quickly read the final chapter in an incredible book while she yammered about a continent you didn’t even live on?

As you soon discovered, it would be pretty bad. Mrs. Click marched over to you as you tried to hunch down inconspicuously. She plucked the book from your hands and frowned. “Tell me, Ms. Y/L/N,” she’d snapped, never breaking eye contact with you, “what makes you so special that you can select your own reading material during my class?”

You could only shake your head, heat rising in your cheeks. “‘M sorry, Mrs. Click,” you mumble. Other students snicker around you, and you hear someone whisper, “what a nerd.”

“Well,” your teacher starts, placing The Handmaid’s Tale on her already-cluttered desk, “maybe you can come up with a better answer after detention this afternoon.” You nodded dumbly, too humiliated to protest the punishment. 

The worst part? She never even gave you back the book. 

Fingers trembling, you push the door open and take a seat all the way in the back. You’re the only one there; maybe you can avoid any further embarrassment if it stays that way. You take out your math textbook and start on the first problem, barely able to concentrate. Detention. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but you hate getting in trouble. Hate having people mad at you, even if that person is your uppity history teacher. It’s why you’re such a goody two-shoes, a people pleaser; you just want everything to be peaceful. 

“Honey, I’m home!” a familiar voice calls out. Your head snaps up to see Eddie Munson burst through the doorway. There’s a loose cigarette tucked behind his ear, almost completely covered by his mess of curly hair. His grin widens as he spots you. “Hey, Y/N! What brings you to my home away from home?”

Your mouth goes dry. Eddie Munson knows who you are? The handsome, charismatic, sometimes scary-seeming metalhead knows your name? You clear your throat when you realize he’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for a response. “Oh, um, nothing. Jus’ something stupid,” you manage, picking at your fingernails anxiously. 

“Yeah, well, I’m the king of doing stupid things, so, lay it on me.” He sits on top of the desk in front of you, leaning his forearms on his thighs. 

The blush creeps back up through your body. “I got busted in Click’s class for reading.”

Eddie furrows his brows in confusion. “Reading what?” he questions. “Like, a nudie magazine or somethin’? That happened to me once, and Click was pissed. Never did get that magazine back either. What a shame.” He tuts gently at the memory. 

“God, no!” You shake your head. “It was a book I was reading for fun. And not that kind of fun,” you add pointedly. “It was, um, The Handmaid’s Tale? The novel by Margaret Atwood?” It comes out as a question, and you could smack yourself for your timid disposition. “It’s about a group of women—the handmaids—who are essentially forced to be these birthing machines for their owners. Their entire worth is based on making healthy babies. And if they try to escape, the men of Gilead will hurt them.” Shut up, you scold yourself silently. He didn’t ask you for a damn book report. 

But Eddie looks intrigued. “Well, that’s no Playboy, but it sounds really good. I’ll have to read it when you’re done.”

“That might not be for awhile,” you reply somberly. “Much like your Playboy, my book has been confiscated, unlikely to ever be returned.”

Eddie smacks his palms on his knees, startling you, but he pays this no mind. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “If Higgins comes in, tell him I had to take a leak.” And with that, he’s out the door. 

What is going on? You thrum your fingers against the desk, considering your circumstances. You’re in detention with Eddie Munson, having a conversation about The Handmaid’s Tale. Never in your wildest dreams did you think this would happen. 

Eddie returns triumphantly. “Ta-da!” he exclaims, holding up the novel in his left hand. He places it on your desk and smiles. “Now you can finish it.”

“My hero,” you put your hand over your heart and grin back at him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Like the Robin Hood of books.”

“Robin Hood, huh?” he smirks, sliding into the chair next to yours, “I’ll take it. Better nickname than ‘The Freak,’ anyway.”

You frown, averting your gaze as you say softly, “I never called you that. And I never thought you were a freak, either.”

“‘Course not,” Eddie chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. “‘Cause you’re a freak, too.” He laughs harder when you scoff. “C’mon, Y/N. Who else gets detention for reading?”

“Fair enough,” you concede. “Why are you here?”

“Besides this basically being my permanent residency? Um, I got caught cutting class? Or smoking in the bathroom? Or maybe it was because I flipped off Jason Carver in the cafeteria? I can’t remember what this one was, honestly. They all just kinda…blur together.” He waves his hand nonchalantly. 

“One more question,” you start. “How do you, um, how do you know my name?” You took all honors and Advanced Placement classes, and Eddie…well, he certainly did not. 

He gives you an astonished look. “You really don’t remember?” He continues when you shake your head bashfully. “You interviewed Corroded Coffin for the school newspaper last year! I invited you to come to the Hideout and see us in action, but you never showed.”

“Oh, yeah.” It comes back to you now. You’d been all dressed and ready to go, but your mom went ballistic at the thought of you in a dive bar. “I tried, but my parents are really strict.”

“So then don’t tell them!” Eddie says simply. “Just say you’re going to the library or something.”

“At 10 pm?” you raise your eyebrows. “If this is your idea of being clever, it’s no wonder you keep failing senior year!”

His jaw drops at your teasing. “And here I thought you were nice. Y’know what?” He scrunches up his face and eyes your desk. “I’m takin’ my book back!” And with that, he swipes it and clutches it to his chest. 

“Eddie!” you shriek, giggling as you grab at the paperback, only to have him jerk away in response. “Stop!”

“Hmm…nope!” Eddie shakes his head, unruly curls brushing his cheeks. “This is a lot more fun for me.” He stands up and holds the book above his head. 

You jump up a few times to try and snatch it back, to no avail. As a last resort, you jut out your lower lip in a pout. “Please?”

He uses his free hand to tap his finger on his chin. “What’s the magic phrase?” 

“What?”

“Fine, I’ll help you out,” he sighs, feigning exasperation. “It’s ‘Eddie Munson is the smartest, most handsome man in the world.’”

You begrudgingly repeat the sentence, grumbling it under your breath. But Eddie still doesn’t hand over the book. “I said it!” you groan. “You gotta give it back!”

“Oh, did I forget to mention part two?” There’s a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes. “Now you have to say, ‘And because I heartlessly ditched his concert last year, I will make it up to him by letting him take me out tonight.”

“Me?” You can’t hide the shock in your voice. “Are you joking?” Why would Eddie Munson want to take a shy little bookworm out? He probably had outgoing, boisterous girls fawning all over him at his shows. Girls who didn’t care whether or not they got mommy and daddy’s permission to go to a bar. 

“‘M dead serious, sweetheart.” Eddie gives you a soft smile. “Don’t say anything, because it’ll totally ruin my reputation as Hawkins’ evil cult leader, but I also love to read.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a tattered copy of The Hobbit. “This one is my absolute favorite. I re-read it, like, once a month.”

“I should’ve known you were a nerd,” you muse, looking up at him through your lashes innocently. “Honestly, the whole Dungeons & Dragons thing should’ve given it away.”

Eddie gently bops you on the head with his book. “So, whaddya say to that date?” He’s trying to sound confident, but you catch him nervously playing with the rings that adorn his fingers. 

“I’d love to,” you answer honestly, heart fluttering as he takes your hand in his. 

“Great! Let’s go!” He tugs you out of your seat, but you shift your weight so you sink back down. He looks at you, puzzled. 

“We can’t just leave!” you gesture to the detention room. “I don’t wanna get in more trouble.” The last thing you need is another round of Click-induced humiliation. 

“Why not?” Eddie asks. “No one comes in here. I usually just use this time to work on my lyrics, even though I’m supposed to think about what I’ve done.” He lowers his voice an octave and wiggles his fingers at the last part, making you giggle. 

“You’re a bad influence, Eddie Munson,” you say, but you oblige. You tip-toe behind him, keeping a watchful eye out for straggling teachers or—God forbid—Principal Higgins. Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach his van, opening the passenger side door with a quick bow. 

“Ladies first,” he grins, shuffling to the driver’s side and starting the car. It backfires at first, startling you, but he gets the engine to turn over on the second try. “Sorry, my Jaguar is in the shop.”

“Of course,” you reply in a posh accent. “They just don’t make cars the way they used to.” You lean over to turn the radio dial, spinning past Eddie’s favorite station and straight for your own. Stevie Nicks’s voice wafts from the speakers as a Fleetwood Mac song plays. 

“You’re really lucky you’re cute,” he tells you, flashing his signature smirk, “or I’d be totally pissed that you changed Ozzy for this.” If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t think that you could do anything to anger him. You watch as his strong hand grips the gearshift, throwing the van in reverse. He reaches behind your seat as he backs up, tongue poking out in concentration. 

You can’t stop the smile that blossoms on your face at the compliment. Eddie Munson thinks I’m cute. The thought buzzes through your body like a hyperactive bumblebee. You try to push it away, mumbling, “Where are we going?”

“D’you trust me?” He threads his fingers through yours, and you feel yourself heat up despite the coolness of his metal rings. 

“Not in the slightest,” you tease him again, offering your sweetest smile. “After all, the last time you did something nice for me, it ended with you holding my book hostage. Which you still have, by the way.” 

Eddie squeezes your hand affectionately. “Fair enough.” But he doesn’t give you any further information, just sings along with the radio despite his initial protests. It’s melodic and relaxing, and you find yourself staring at the way his soft lips move as he recites the lyrics and uses his forefinger to keep the tempo against the steering wheel. “Okay, y’caught me.” He breathes out a small laugh. “I kinda like their stuff. I mean, I wouldn’t spend money for their concerts, but I don’t mind it if there’s nothing else on. Or if a pretty girl wants to listen to them.” This time, he notices the way you hide behind your hair at his words. “C’mon now; don’t get all shy just because someone called you ‘pretty.’”

But he’s not someone; he’s Eddie. He’s the guy you’ve had a crush on for far too long, and he stole your book back from Mrs. Click, asked you on a date, snuck you out of detention, held your hand, and complimented you repeatedly—all within the span of thirty minutes. 

“I was really upset earlier about getting detention,” you confess, steering the conversation away from your timidness and relentless crush on Eddie. “But you cheered me up and, um, that meant a lot to me.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he says, tipping an invisible hat. “But take it from me—detention isn’t the end of the world. Especially since you rarely ever get it.”

“Never,” you correct him. 

“Huh?”

“I’ve never gotten detention. Until today.” You feel childish admitting it. Senior year of high school and this is the only time you broke the rules—and in such a geeky way, too. 

“Well, it was an honor to witness you pop your detention cherry.” The phrasing makes you burst out with laughter, and you clap your free hand over your mouth. “Don’t do that,” he says softly, letting go of the hand he’s holding to nudge the one that’s pressed to your lips. “You have a nice laugh.” He pulls into a parking lot, finding the nearest spot before killing the engine. 

“No way,” you whisper, gazing at the building. You’d figured he would take you out for pizza or s movie, but this is even better. “Eddie, did you bring me to a bookstore?” 

He nods proudly. “This one has a little café inside, if you want a coffee or something.” He takes your hand again as you both stride towards the shop. “Pick out a book—it’s on me. Paperback, hardcover—whatever you want.”

“Hardcover? You really know how to spoil a girl, Munson.” Your tone is joking, but there’s truth to it. You normally only splurge for hardcover books when you have a gift card. You peruse the aisles, trying to quickly scan the spines for something that catches your eye. It wouldn’t be out of character for you to spend hours searching for the perfect book, but you didn’t want to drag Eddie along on a boring date. 

“Let me grab us something to drink,” Eddie says as you start towards the ‘thrillers’ section. “How do you take your coffee?” You give him your order and promise to meet him by the café in a few minutes. “No rush,” he assures you, and he kisses your cheek quickly before ducking away and heading for the barista. 

There’s a whole display dedicated to Stephen King, and you check out the offerings before settling on Firestarter. You’ve been meaning to read it, and now is the perfect chance to snatch it up. Before you go to the café, you wander over to the fantasy section. If Eddie likes Lord of the Rings, you’re sure to find another book he’ll enjoy here. Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire stands out; it’s dark and gothic and seems perfect for him. Pulling off the shelf, you make a stop at the cash register before joining him at the café. At a quick glance, you can see he’s chatting with the barista, so you sneakily pay for your gift to him, promising the cashier that you’ll be back to pay for Firestarter. He doesn’t seem too worried, and you flounce over to your date with a wide smile. 

Eddie’s sitting at a table for two. There’s a steaming cup of coffee in front of each place setting, with a slice of chocolate cake and two plastic forks in the center. “Figured we could use something sweet,” he says nonchalantly, as though he didn’t just have a small panic attack trying to decide between flavors. His brows furrow when he notices the bag in your hand. “Hey, I said I was treating you to a book!” he whines. 

“Don’t worry, I have my choice right here,” you tell him, flashing the paperback. “This is from me to you.” 

He takes the bag curiously, sticking his hand in without looking. The tip of his tongue brushes against his upper lip, much like it did in the van, as he dramatically rifles through, conveniently ignoring the fact that there’s only one item in there. After a solid ten seconds of that, he fishes out the book. 

“Have you read it? Like, do you already own it? Because I can return it right there,” you blabber, motioning to where the bored cashier is twiddling his thumbs, “if you don’t want it. And you can pick out something else.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says softly, cupping your chin with his left hand. “I love it, okay? I haven’t read it yet, but I want to.” He plops down on the chair as you slide into yours, relieved. “In fact, maybe I’ll read it right now.” He opens to the first page, and you giggle as his eyes scan the words. “Oh, I’m being rude, aren’t I?” He fakes innocence, making you laugh harder. “My apologies. I’ll read aloud so you can listen.” He starts speaking in his deep, dramatic Dungeon Master voice. Although he’s trying to be silly, there’s something comforting about having him read to you. You almost don’t want him to stop, sipping from your mug and drinking in the sound of him. 

He slams the book shut and gently places it back in the bag. “So, besides read and piss off Click, what do you like to do for fun?” he asks, digging his fork into the cake slice and taking a bite. “Holy shit, this is delicious.”

You take another swallow of coffee. There’s still a hint of bitterness to it, just the way you like it. “I write for the school newspaper. Mostly just reporting on school events, student council budget reports…” 

“And entertainment?” Eddie finishes. 

“Huh?”

“Writing the entertainment section? Isn’t that why you interviewed us last year?” he adds, pushing the cake towards you as an invitation. You oblige, answering his question before eating. 

“Oh,” you mumble, keeping your gaze trained on the confection. “I don’t normally do that, but I asked Nancy if I could cover it that week.”

“Oh?” He’s intrigued, and you’re grateful for the mouthful of cake when he follows up with, “And why is that?”

You chew carefully, probably more times than necessary while you consider your response. Fuck it; we’re already on a date. “Kinda had a crush on their lead guitarist-slash-vocalist,” you say shyly, “and I always wanted to talk to him but couldn’t work up the courage to do it, like, normally.”

Eddie crosses his arms and leans back, smiling proudly. “So you hid behind the guise of your work to flirt with me?” He lets out a soft whistle. “And here I thought you had journalistic integrity.” He puts his hand over yours once again, rubbing his thumb over it rhythmically. “S’okay, because I totally have a crush on this reporter.”

“Fred Benson?” you joke. 

Pouting, Eddie pulls the slice of cake directly in front of him. “Y’know what? You’ve lost your dessert privileges for being such a mean date.” To emphasize his point, he takes a giant bite while glaring at you. Chocolate frosting smears on his lips. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks when he catches you staring at his mouth. 

“Actually, yes.” You start to lean over with a paper napkin in hand, but decide against it, bringing your lips to his. He tastes like sugar from the cake, burnt caramel from the coffee, and clove from his cigarettes, and your stomach flip-flops when he brings his hand to your cheek and deepens the kiss. “Mmm, my favorite,” you manage when you break away. 

“What? Me or the chocolate?” Eddie asks, eyes blown wide just from a simple kiss. 

You smile, biting your lower lip. “Right now? The cake, because you still haven’t given me back the book you stole in detention.”

He throws his head back and sighs. “But if I don’t hold your book hostage, how can I secure that second date?”

You brush a lock of hair out of his face. “What if I told you that you already have?” He looks genuinely astonished, so you elaborate. “Eddie, this is the best date I’ve ever had. I can’t think of the last time I was this happy.”

The handsome metalhead reaches into his worn backpack and takes out the book. “You probably already figured this out, but flattery works with me, so…” 

You grab it victoriously. “Thank you,” you chirp, stowing it away before he can take it back. Eddie grins at you, just enjoying being in your company. 

“I kinda have a little confession of my own,” he says quietly. You pinch your eyebrows together in confusion. “I, um, I didn’t have detention today.” 

“Then why—” 

“Saw you sitting there alone, and I wanted to talk to you. I keep lookin’ for you in the cafeteria so I can ask you to eat with us, but I never see you.” 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I-I like to eat in the library. It’s quieter there.” And you don’t have to deal with Jason Carver and his posse picking on you, but you withhold that information. 

Eddie looks at you inquisitively. “I thought you couldn’t eat in the library.” He raises his brows. “You little rebel. Sneaking food in the library, reading for fun during class…” He trails off and chuckles. “You’re always welcome at our table. I’d really like it if you sat with us, actually.” 

“Okay,” you agree easily. “I’d really like that, too.” You kiss him again and again, stopping only to indulge in coffee or cake. 

Maybe getting detention isn’t so bad, after all. 

--

[writers-block246]

What a Lazy Day in With Jason Todd Would include (x reader)

• Reading together - sometimes reading your favorite quotes to one another

• He WILL get excited about parts of his books and will eagerly explain any hidden meanings to you

• It’s super cute because he unthinkingly gesticulates to express himself and his pretty eyes start to twinkle

• (I 100% believe he has little post-it notes in his books to document his thoughts and I think it’s so adorable)

• He will make you your favorite drink before indulging in this activity, and it’s so peaceful lying cuddled up together sipping on your beverage, letting your eyes take in the words on the pages

• Legit can’t imagine anything better than laying across his broad chest, feeling his warmth seeping through his clothes and his large hand cupping the back of your neck

• He will cook for you - I hc that he’s a pretty good cook, probably the best of the brothers tbh

• Sets you on the counter (HOT)

• Steps in between your legs to nuzzle into your neck

• Let’s you move his hair out of his eyes when his hands are busy

• Playfully nudges you as he cooks

• Keeps a hand on your thigh as much as possible

• Let’s you taste test

• He will watch you and make sure you like his food - will take it personally if you don’t

• He provides for you, even on days where he’s relaxing he has to offer his help - plus, it makes him feel good knowing he’s taking care of you

• I really think that, while Jason does love excitement and adventure, he prefers to stay in on his days off, relaxing with you

• I feel like he’d complain about movie adaptations of his favorite novels, but would watch them with you just to make snarky comments about them

• You can’t help but giggle at him, even though you try not to encourage his melodrama

• Lazy kisses interspersed throughout the movie coupled with featherlight kisses across your shoulders

• Just an all-around nice relaxing day with your man

[m4rs-ex3]

so i finally finished the book 1 novelization. after owning it for 3 years. .............................................i've been busy. anyway, let the thoughts commence!

also i only started marking sections at like ep 5 don't ask why

even CLAUDIA could tell that rayla was a cinnamon roll

stop she's incredible

a) he's a dork b) i think they should kiss

"this freckle-faced goof [gren] was going to be the easiest prisoner he'd ever encountered." is he right? yes. am i still taking offense to this? yes

"'i didn't kill anyone,' Rayla said. it surprised her that she was so proud of this fact." YAS YOU GO GIRL

these additional details are incredibly necessary thank you so much Book

"Viren blinked twice, amazed at the folly of his own offspring." i know that it's incredibly sad but goddamn that is so funny

STOPPPPPPPP I CANT 😭 the use of the word "adored" no one fucking talk to me

them

"Rayla and Callum didn't know how easy they had it, what with their long legs and no heavy dragon egg on their backs."

the way that even back then ez was already thinking like a king, even when the subject was so "not of a king's concern," for lack of a better term (why am i rhyming)

what can i even say about this oh my god

"'no, not really, dummy.' sometimes, Rayla could barely believe the denseness she had to put up with."

god i love him god i love him i l obe him i love him i love hiom oi love hiojm and everybody clapped

sometimes these slight dialogue changes mean the world to me

his autistic ass 😭

"he turned and spoke only to her." i am dying

"i've always been different. it's hard for me to make friends with other kids. i just feel like i don't fit in." -> "i've always been different. i don't really 'get' other kids, and it's... so hard for me to fit in." this is AUTISTIC CODING he has AUTISM that is IT we have autistic claudia try and tell me that this child does have the tism and that they don't fucking know that

LMAO LITERALLY KICKING ROCKS HE'S SUCH A PISSBABY I LOVE IT

this is Everything to me. i. a moment of all time. behead me

i think they should kiss pt 2

STOP THEY CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS TO ME THE SIBLINGS OF ALL TIME ISTG

"Callum lingered" "for some reason, she wanted to share what she had seen with Callum, even is she didn't tell anyone else" i. think. they. should. kiss.

"Callum glared at his brother. there was a ginormous spider in their way. many things about this situation weren't right."

SHUT UP WHAT DO I EVEN SAY ABOUT THIS. OH YOURE TELLING ME THAT RAYLA IS IN A WHOLE NOTHER CLASS FROM ELLIS AND AVA?? THAT SHE IS SO MUCH MORE THAN A "FRIEND"??? BOTH IS THE SENSE THAT HE IS MADLY IN LOVE WITH HER AND THAT HE JUST GENERALLY MEANS MORE TO HIM????? IM THEOWING U _P (hey guys i think they should kiss)

shut the fuck up. buddy. i am gagged

oh Him

damn girl's always had a problem with Layla 💀

dear christ. the matter of fact "no, this is not your fault" (4x06 "Rayla. don't."), "he couldn't let Rayla carry that burden alone" (5x04, anybody?) also i am 100% reading way too far into this but it's still callum's pov so he is the one who described her "violet eyes" and i just would like to state this for the record

and oh yeah i think they should kiss

[egcdeath]

hello hello how are u!!?

i’ve been rereading a few of ur fics hehe i just wanna say that i love ur writing omfg like yes plz i wanna eat the words

ok ok so i’d love to know ur thoughts on a bully!patrick x reader?? he’s just so cocky and i’d love to see what would happen if he pushed *juuuuuust* a bit further…

maybe it’s their college years and he is practically jeering and ragging at the reader while she’s at her sports practice. i think patrick would like the way her face scrunches up in anger, but she ignores him because she knows better than to go back and forth due to his quick wit. he’d act like a schoolboy. i think he’d also like getting real up close and personal w her, but never touching. and maybe he’d even go as far as to pull at her hair. “accidentally”. hooooooo boy, and the sexual undertones within it all. reasons seemingly unknown, but i believe he just has a crush on the reader, he’s being a hellish brat about it.

and reader enjoys is cuz patrick has a certain charm and he’s just so irresistible xxx but sometimes she wishes he was nicer to her but also where’s the fun in that?? and at certain times maybe he shows that he cares about her…like omg my heart

…ok i am so sorry for rambling i did NOT expect to go into such detail and also sorry if it’s a little corny😭😭😭 anyway, you don’t necessarily have to write headcanons or a fic, i more so would just love to hear ur thoughts on it, the whole bully aspect is really interesting (and hot) to me 🫢 ok again sorry for writing a whole novel in here hope ur having a good day! ur most recent fic was [chefs kiss] and im excited to read what u have cooking up x

omg i absolutely LOVE this concept!! what i immediately thought of was patrick and the reader being in very similar tennis circles (idk how tennis works so lets just assume that they're playing at similar events and reader is obviously playing w women) and like, at first, you cannot stand this man at all. like he always seems to find you before you play, or at your hotel after you've played, or at parties for the players, and he ALWAYS has something to say. a comment on your technique. a snide remark on how you played that day. a taunt about how you're never gonna beat the opponent you're playing against that day.

but the thing is... in a way, his bullying kinda helps you perform better? like he gets you so riled up and feeling so spiteful that you goes out onto the court and demolishes whoever you're playing against. so in a way it's kinda helpful... but also fucking annoying.

and like, at first you try to go back and forth with him but you literally never win the verbal spars so one day you just give up. and also part of you knows that he doesn't genuinely mean it?? maybe he even knows that his pestering is helpful to you and maybe thats why he does it?? but he is being an annoying pest regardless and you can't deal with him buzzing around your ear all the time and getting in your head before you play. so you just stop entertaining it.

but once you stop entertaining it, he gets kinda worried. like you've had this thing going on for a while and now suddenly you just don't care anymore. so now his gibes turn into questioning you CONSTANTLY. are you seeing someone? are you planning something?? what changed?? and when that doesn't work out for him he starts being nice to you. and thats when you start getting worried. i think this would make them have to admit their feelings to each other then BOOM happily ever after!!

i loveee this idea and it was so fun to think about! i'm usually a little iffy about bullying stuff buttt i could totally see it working in this context.