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#the way you talk or dress or move feels wrong and everyone can tell

treedaddymcpuffpuff · 19 hours

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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine

TW: little bit of nsfw, BDSM mention, angst

You shouldn’t be googling ‘how to tell a guy no in a nice way’ at the nurse’s station, but something has to be done. You thought after you left Julian’s place that there would be a mutual understanding of “this isn’t going to work out, we’re too incompatible”, but he didn’t seem to get that memo.

The gifts just keep coming:

A pretty black silk dress in your exact size by Prada. Two crescent thin golden bangles for each wrist from Tiffany & Co that come in a robin’s egg blue box wrapped in a white satin ribbon. Upon close examination, you make out that they are subtly engraved in slanting script, JM. Really? His initials? You almost chuck them out the window just for that.

An expensive lunch from the fancy bistro that you can never afford, though you would have preferred a gourmet sandwich to an artisan salad.

A bouquet of fifty fucking red roses for Christ’s sake. They take up so much room at the nurse’s station that they’re a nuisance. They’re addressed to you, not signed—but you know exactly who they’re from. Then you have to field all the annoying questions about who’s your secret admirer? You hear Karen grumble that it must be that Officer Romeo and didn’t know cops got paid that good.

If only they knew. It would serve Julian right, if you just ratted him out to everyone.

This has to stop.

“Julian?”

He looks up from his mountain of paperwork. “Hey, look who it is. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine. How are you?” Yeah, great, egg this on a little bit more instead of getting to the point. When will you learn?

“I’m spectacular,” he says. “I was wondering if you were alright because you called off for the first time yesterday?”

Yeah, so I didn’t have to face you after receiving the expensive ass jewelry…

Your smile feels forced enough to induce a migraine, but at least it gives you an idea for an excuse. “Yeah, I had a really bad migraine.”

“Oh, that’s not good. Do you get them frequently?”

“Yes.” It’s not exactly a lie, although these migraines you’re admitting to are actually just mild caffeine withdrawal headaches when you don’t have enough time to drink your coffee.

“Have you talked to your primary care provider about it?” He asks, standing up to flash his penlight in your eyes and dilate your pupils. He grips your chin and turns your head to check lateral eye movement, but you stop him.

“Julian, I’m fine. I didn’t have a stroke.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fine if you’re not fine,” he orders. “I can see there’s something wrong. You're pale and clammy.” He pulls out his big leather chair and guides you to sit in it. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

You look up at him, at this kind eyed, two sided man, and can’t do it. You can’t tell him to stop sending you gifts or buying you food, because you don’t want to be an asshole and you don’t want to hurt his feelings. Your nerves die along with your resolve.

“There, see, you look like you’re feeling better already. I’ll go buy you some water.”

“No, you don’t-“ he’s already gone halfway down the hall with those mile long legs.

You decide to take all the expensive gifts and shove them in the bottom of your closet to avoid feeling guilty when looking at them. But that doesn’t change the fact that you still have to look at Dr. Mercer and endure his caring, golden retriever persona.

This is what happens when you lie to yourself. You swear off relationships, move to a different part of the country, and then decide to go on a date—idiot—and these are the consequences for it. You feel like you have absolutely betrayed that girl that packed up her whole life to come to LA for a fresh start, and you’re sure she’s not forgiving you this time.

“No more,” you say to yourself, pushing the gift boxes to the back of the cobwebby closet. “No more dates, no more men. No more heartbreak. You stupid bitch. Yes, that includes Tom Ludlow. Shut up. I said. No. Tom. Ludlow.”

You end up screaming into a pillow, then calling your sister. She doesn’t answer, which is typical—probably on the road or using again or even dead in a ditch for all you know.

“Hey, Aggie, it’s me, gimme a call.” You play the voicemail back and then decide to delete it and hang up. You’re not exactly on speaking terms, but that ebbs and flows from one year to the next, so you’re not sure what she’ll think or do when she sees your name on her phone screen.

Your friend, Sheila, doesn’t answer either; she’s probably at work.

It sucks. You could really use some reassurance and comfort that you’re not alone or unwanted in this fucked up little world. Maybe that’s why you end up with your finger hovering over Tom Ludlow’s number while you sit on the floor of your bedroom. You stare at those digits for a long time, then tuck your phone away and cry.

You only get a chance to dive a little bit into this self pity session before your phone rings from your pocket. It’s not Aggie, nor Sheila, but a number you’ve unintentionally memorized nonetheless.

Now, you really have to fight with every piece of yourself not to answer Tom Ludlow. The lecture you just monologued becomes irrelevant next to the burning, awful fucking desire to hear him talk. You almost pick it up. Almost.

Watching your phone ring and ring, his name emblazoned on the screen, without answering feels like cutting out your heart and crushing it under your heel.

It goes to voicemail, but he hangs up before leaving a message.

A part of you that you didn’t even know that you need dies.

Good. Good riddance. Your heart only gets you into huge fucking trouble anyway.

You wait for your inner strength to return over the days that go by afterwards. Tom continues to call. You keep declining to answer. For some reason, you feel worse and worse every time the phone ceases to ring.

Where is you fucking girl power now?

All you really feel, is empty, and that is the vulnerable state Julian finds you in one late night at the nurses station.

“Y/n,” he greets you, leaning on the counter, looking down at you with a glimmer of something dangerous in his dark eyes. It’s a look he almost never lets out of the box while at the hospital, and suddenly your heart is in your throat.

“Doctor.”

For some reason this causes him to smile down at you, a slight curl of lips that unleashes a handful of fluttering butterflies in your belly.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

You recall the massive bouquet of pure white lilies he had sent to your door yesterday, and believe him.

“Julian…”

He comes around the counter, smooth as a dark lake, reminding you of when he jumped over the couch and chased you like he was a wolf rather than a golden retriever. Your pussy gives a timid little throb at this, almost as if she’s asking for permission to come out after days of being punished, locked away in her gilded cage while you dealt with other, more pressing emotions, like the one that stabs you repeatedly in the chest while you let Tom Ludlow’s number go to voicemail.

“I can’t stop-“ he clears his throat, chin up as if he’s trying not to be nervous, and brushes some wispy, rogue hair off your neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” You can tell by the black matte of his eyes he means more than just platonically.

Every hair on your body stands at attention for that hungry, eat you alive look on the handsome Doctor’s face. Part of you, and it’s a bigger part than you’d like to admit, wants to have a gag stuffed down your throat and a tight slip knot holding it in place so that he can do whatever he wants without you ruining things with your fat mouth again.

“We’re just. We’re really not—Fuck.” You slap your forehead into your hands, and he takes it out, ever so gently with a big, shiver-inducing palm at the back of your neck, gripped softly in your hair, not exactly pulling, but lifting your face up to look at him nonetheless.

“Please, just hear me out.” It doesn’t sound like he’s used that first word very often—maybe not ever, or at least not for a very long time. Dr. Mercer’s picture is in the dictionary under the word ‘Polite’, but he practically runs this hospital, and with that responsibility comes a certain authoritative entitlement.

“Julian, we’re at work.” You don’t know how he manages to get you on the desk without alerting anyone around. The way he can just lift you easy and gentle has a familiar desire bubbling hot in your hips, and you can’t decide if you’re glad that you chose to chart in a more secluded area of the floor tonight or not.

“I can’t help it.” It sounds like he’s honest about that, voice splintering and needy as he presses his hard torso between your soft thighs. “I know that I fucked up, but if I don’t get a second chance to at least try and rectify this…” He’s not usually a man that doesn’t know what he wants to say.

This whole swearing off men thing? How is it supposed to fucking work if the men look and act like Julian? How are you supposed to do the whole proverbial keep it in your pants bit when a sexy, tall, beautiful doctor wants—desperately—to string you up to his bed and do horrible things to your body?

You can’t believe these words are coming out of your traitor's mouth as you bend under his will: “what kind of a second chance?”

He kisses you in response, long and slow, tongue slipping teasingly against the sensitive inner sanctum of your mouth. It leaves your toes curling, your chest rising quick and rapid, your white knuckles clutching the polished counter. He’s not exactly nice about it, pressing you back into the lip of the granite, holding the entire side of your face in his hard grip, turning your mouth red and swollen.

You’re going to have to bleach wipe this desk after all of this is done, because the insistent need of his mouth is making your comfy cotton underwear damp and warm like a humid summer night back at home.

“Let me take you to the club. Let me show you…let me help you understand.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Isn’t that the fucking understatement of the century? It sounds like a terrible idea. But, you were the one that wanted to understand him better. “When?”

The thrill seeker, she’ll never die. She needs blood, she’s thirsty, she doesn’t want a boring life of reading and watching the news. She wants to go to a BDSM club in Venice with a fine ass doctor and probably ruin your—her life in the process.

“When are you off next?” The grin on Julian’s face is all Mr. Hyde.

#Julian Mercer x Reader #tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow #street kings #keanuverse fic #keanuverse #something’s gotta give #Sorry spooky more Julian 🙂‍↕️

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cleo-fox · 6 months

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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.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #tva loki x reader

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buckyalpine · 11 months

Text

Modern Bucky

This wasn’t even supposed to be smutty but I took it there. I was just thinking it’s so attractive to think of Bucky as being perfectly adjusted to the modern world and most of the time he just acts like he’s still figuring stuff out. Without a doubt, he’s been through so much but no one realizes just how smart he is and how quickly he picks up on things.

Like people forget he is a trained assassin and he’s Sergeant Barnes, he moves with ease and stealth just about everywhere. He knows how to blend in and It didn’t take him long to figure out technology. Didn’t take long to pick up on the culture. He walks around with some shitty burner but has a proper phone few people know about.

It catches you off guard when you expect him to be seated in the corner of the bar, nursing on a whiskey while talking to Steve but hes nowhere to be found. Everyone else is on the dancefloor, which definitely wasn’t Bucky’s scene. Your body doesn’t stop moving while your eyes scan the crowd, where would he-

You gasp when he suddenly appears in front of you out of nowhere, damn his ability to move from place to place without being noticed until he wanted you to see him, dressed in all black from head to toe, biting his bottom lip while he eyes you up and down.

“Buck- What are you doing” You whispered, your skin growing hot, feeling his hands move down from your waist to your hips, turning you around and pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Well if you’re gonna be moving around like that...” He smirked against your ear, pressing his erection against your ass. “What did you expect, doll”

His body moves with yours, hands placed firmly on your hips and waist, guiding you the way he liked. You nearly lose your rhythm with the way he grinds against you because how and when did he learn to dance like this. Your body wines with the movements of his hips, you can’t think straight with how perfectly he moves with you.

“You’ve been giving everyone a real show, tonight baby” Bucky whispered in your ear, nipping your neck, “You just wanted me to sit and watch the entire time?”

It’s sexy enough to get others around you hot and bothered between the way he alternates between keeping his face pressed into your neck to whisper the filthiest things in your ear and bending you over to his hearts content, just to pull you back up and turn you around so he can rock your hips on him.

“Is-is this what it’s like to be into voyeurism” Sam mused from the side where everyone gathered one by one, needing a solid minute to take in what was unfolding before them.

“Shhh, I’m watching something” Tony half assed smacked his hand over Sam’s mouth, watching you and Bucky still on the dance floor. “Holy shit...”

“He has a big dick, I just know it” Nat cocked an eyebrow, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the growing tightness of Bucky’s jeans each time he brought your ass to grind on him.

“They should get a room...but also I don’t want them to get a room just yet”

“What the hell is wrong with you”

“You’re telling me watching them right now didn’t give you a hard-on?”

“Please stop”

“I don’t think it’s fair that he can look good and also know how to dance, shouldn't he be tripping on his own feet or pouting in the corner cause this isn’t old music, when the hell did he learn that”

“Big dick energy”

“Oh God” Steve covered his face in his hands while everyone else continued to watch you both in awe and tinges of jealousy because again. When. How. HOW.

“What baby” Bucky smirked at the needy whimper you let out when he held you firmly against him, swaying in place, letting you feel exactly how badly he wanted you take you apart.

“Let’s go” You turned around to clutch onto his tshirt, squeaking when he effortlessly carried you up with your thigs wrapped around his waist, going straight to his floor.

“What’s wrong princess” Bucky loved how flustered you were as he dropped you on his bed, your legs squeezing together. You stared at him with wide eyes because where was this side of Bucky coming from, where was your precious sweet baby who only danced to 40′s music in the kitchen in between dorky Hobbit references. “Need something?”

“Need you” you nodded with a whisper, confused over the new dynamic that was happening, your body screaming for more of whatever was happening. You took your time when it came to intimacy with Bucky because you didn’t want to over step a boundary, keeping things tame.

“You need me baby?” He crawled on top of you, smirking to himself; ready for you to have all of him, every part he’d been holding back on. He wasn’t sure before but after catching a glimpse of the books you were so into, why would he hold back what you seemed to love so much, what he needed himself, “Need daddy to take care you?”

Take care of you he did.

He tore you dress off before throwing his own clothes aside. You didn’t even have time to process what was happening when he grabbed your ankles and pulled you off the bed, man handling you and wrapping your legs around his tapered waist, walking you to the floor to ceiling high windows of the bedroom. He slammed your back against the cold glass before nudging his tip against your sopping hole, shoving it in with one stroke and fucking into you like a ragdoll.

All you could do was desperately cling onto him, scratching and biting his shoulders while he pounded you relentlessly.

“You like this baby, like when I fuck you hard like the needy slut you are for me?” He grunted, muscles all pulled taut, loving the way your arousal squirted out, getting his shaft creamy. Before you could beg for more, he pulled out and turned you around so you faced the window instead, slamming back into you and letting his hips snap against your ass. “Bending this cute little ass over, grinding on your friends, what did you think would happen doll, you wanted to tease daddy, is that it?”

“N-no” You sobbed out, your pussy quivering when he spanked your ass, fucking you till the window panes nearly shook.

“Why’d you hide what a little slut you are babygirl, reading all those horny little stories by yourself. You think I didn’t know about that pathetic little toy you have tucked between the shelves, hm? Thought I wouldn’t know how to fuck your pussy raw till you were crying all over my cock?”

“Oh God, Fuckkkk” You had no idea what monster had unleashed itself while Bucky tugged your hair back, his other hand still snaked over to strum your clit.

“C’mon, scream for daddy baby, I want them to hear how good I make you feel”

“D-DADDYYY” You wailed as he railed you, his fingers to rubbing and playing with your swollen clit, hitting that spot only he could reach.

“Y’know they were all watching baby, let’em all see” He growled against your neck, “N’hear how much you love daddy’s cock, go a head and cum baby, make a mess, make a mess all over my cock”

There was no doubt most of the compound could hear your salacious moans and cries as your orgasm started to pulse through your body, your cunt clenching and milking his cock making it hard for him to move.

“Choking my dick you little slut, make room for my cum baby” He jackhammered into you before stilling, groaning loudly letting his seed fill you up till it dripped between your thighs. You expected him to gently pull out and carry you back to bed but no.

“Bucky? Bucky what are y-ooh fuckkkk ” Your eyes rolled back as he sunk down to his knees, spreading your ass apart as he dove in between your folds, nursing and lapping at your sensitive nub, his beard getting messy in the process. “Fuck Bucky, What-Oh God, Don’t stop”

“Oh doll, theres so much more I’m gonna show you”

Anyway. Modern Bucky seems pretty cool.

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daycourtofficial · 1 month

Text

Like he’s just your understudy

Summary: based on this request - Can Azriel tamper down his jealousy over you going on a date?

Author’s note: have some fun, level headed jealous Az. 😘

“Is your whiskey that bad brother?”

Cassian’s chipper voice grates on Azriel’s ears. He looks down, unaware of the intense grip he had on his glass. His shadows were tight around him, turning him into a ball of darkness.

“Cass, leave him alone. You know why he’s upset,” Rhys’s voice floats over to the two of them before picking up his wine glass.

Mor looks confused, looking to Cassian or Feyre to explain.

“(Y/n)’s out on a date right now,” Feyre says softly, trying not to add fuel to Azriel’s state.

Cassian chuckles, hitting his brother on the back. “Not happy for her? He was quite good looking-“

Azriel’s head whips towards him, “you saw him?”

Cassian smile falters just a tad, “uh, yeah. He came by to pick her up - even came in and talked to Rhys and I for a minute.”

Azriel’s shadows go wild at this news - searching frantically around the house for someone who wasn’t there.

“And why wasn’t I told?” His grip tightens again, fingers straining against the glass.

Rhys waves a hand, an amused smirk on his face. “You were up brooding in your room.”

Azriel’s eyes snap to Rhys, deciding then that maybe he didn’t need two brothers. “I was not brooding-“

“Then what were you doing?” Mor’s amused voice interjected.

The eyes of his family were watching him as he met her question with silence.

Azriel couldn’t take it - their knowing looks, their smirks, their laughs, as if what he felt for you was some joke.

He couldn’t stand watching you, a beacon of light, trail off to light up someone else’s night.

He scoots his chair back, slamming his glass down. He gets up, about to leave his family and their insistence on family dinners, when Amren speaks up.

“They asked about you before leaving.”

His head snaps over to the newly turned fae, unsure if he can trust anything coming from her.

“It’s likely because I wasn’t here,” Azriel dismisses.

“Feyre and Mor weren’t here - they didn’t ask about them.”

Azriel looked at Nesta, the one person who saw through everyone else. Nesta, the person you were closest to besides Azriel. Nesta, who would never lead Azriel down a path of heartbreak.

Nesta returns his gaze before saying, “they’re down at that new restaurant on Third Avenue.”

Azriel gave her a quick nod before moving past everyone, walking through the foyer, and out the door.

The male that had asked you out at Rita’s was incredibly nice. He was tall, fit, and had the cutest dimple next to his mouth.

He was currently telling you a story about his younger sister, who was only eight years old. He seemed to care about her a lot, as he told you that he spends every Thursday night with her playing dress up.

He checks all of your boxes, he’s incredibly swoon worthy, and you two even share the same sense of humor.

But his eyes are the wrong shade of hazel, his jaw cut in just the wrong way, no wings adorn his back, no shadows skitter about him.

You knew pining over Azriel was a fruitless endeavor by this point. You were being so obvious about your feelings - it was clear he was ignoring every glaring sign you sent his way in favor of keeping you from further embarrassment.

Your date had excused himself to go to the restroom. He was gone for approximately fifteen seconds before someone else slides into his empty seat.

“Make up an excuse to leave. Let me take you out instead.”

You had no idea where he came from, or what he was saying as you look up to find Azriel, his hazel eyes molten gold in the candlelight.

“What?” You ask, noting the irriated look he was donning as he sniffed the air.

“Look, I - just end your date early, tell him you’re sick.”

Your eyes widen at him, looking around to make sure he hadn’t come back. “Az are you nuts? Why?”

He blows out a breath, leaning forward on the table.

“Because I am a selfish fool of a male who thought you didn’t feel the same way I feel about you. Now, if I’ve completely made a fool of myself, do tell me now so I can at least throw myself in the Sidra and die with dignity.”

Wide eyes peer back at him, “what do you mean ‘the way you feel about me’?”

Azriel sighs, looking in the direction your date went off to.

“Fuck it. I yearn for you. I want you in any conceivable way. I’m in love with you. And if I’m too late, I’ll just live with that for the rest of my life.”

Azril sighs in defeat as you stare blankly back at him. He looks up to see your date coming back to the table, a bit confused by the new presence.

He starts to stand, his wings drooping, all his determination gone as he says, “have a good night.”

He starts walking away when a hand gently wraps around his wrist, holding him in place.

“What’s going on?” Your date asks as he approaches the table.

You start to stand, the table clattering as you do so. “I’m so sorry,” you say, and Azriel can’t look at you, can’t watch your mouth form these next words. “There’s a bit of an emergency situation, and I have to go. It was lovely meeting you.”

Before Azriel could process that you rejected someone who wasn’t him, you were pulling your coat from your chair, tugging him out the door of the restaurant, and you didn’t lighten your grip until you were out in the street.

“So, about that date? Does now work?”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #acotar writing

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erwinsvow · 7 days

Note

I ACC LOVE UR ACC SMMM

Btw, can you pls do a bsf!rafe (who's low-key a little perverted) with shy, innocent!reader??

haha i feel like everyone looves pervy best friend rafe. this is like maybe if kook trio reader was actually shy reader

the boys were so nice, such good friends to you. you hadn't expected that a friendship between parents would lead to them inviting you into their exclusive boys club, the fourth in their trio.

but all of you got on surprisingly well—you could tell they were censoring themselves sometimes, maybe a couple less inappropriate jokes, drinking a little curbed because you weren't quite comfortable yet handling three drunk boys.

topper and kelce were nice, if not a little too polite. they never really bothered you, though they tried to include you in their conversations and make an effort.

no, it was rafe who really included you. he was everything a good friend should be—picking you up and dropping you off, never letting you walk home alone even if you guys were just hanging out at tannyhill down the road. he would get you your drinks and make sure you were a part of the conversation, never letting you sit alone or feel ignored.

he was being a great friend.. if not a little too much, too posessive. he didn't like when you talked to other boys, sometimes even if you were entranced in a conversation with top or kelce. sometimes it felt like he found reasons to drag you away.

and sometimes, though you thought you were imagining it, that rafe wouldn't actually do such a thing, you felt like he was touchier with you than others. he would often rest a hand on your knee at lunch, keep you on his lap at a party when you were too drunk and giggly to know better, to know this wasn't normal.

"that girl was looking at me.." you tell rafe, seated next to him on the couch. he'd just had you in his lap, but you'd crawled off to go freshen up, returning to the spot next to him. his arm is swung around your shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"who?" he asks, glancing around. he doesn't see anyone.

"over there. she's been looking at you all night. i think we gave her the wrong idea, rafe-"

"wrong idea?"

"she's gonna think.. y'know. that we're together, or something." he doesn't even turn to look around, to see who it is.

"who cares, kid? let 'em think what they want." you look up a little confused, and rafe leans in to talk into your ear. "lions don't care about the opinions of sheep, right?" the way he says it, though any other day you'd smack his arm and laugh, makes your whole body shiver.

"yeah," you agree, not wanting rafe to think you disagree with him.

he spots kelce and top in the distance, walking closer, and he scoops you back into his lap with two strong hands on your hips. "gotta make room," he says while you squirm.

you settle in though, making yourself comfortable. he has to try hard not to keep staring down the front of your dress or moving too much—doesn't want you to know he's hard for his new little best friend.

yet, that is. no, he's gonna have you folded in half on his bed that he keeps telling you is perfectly fine to sleepover in, bent over in the back seat of the truck he picks you up in, pushed against the wall in the bathroom at the club where he takes you to show you around.

he's playing the long game, and he's enjoying it, a hand on your waist while you sip on your drink and talk to him about something, not kelce or top.

#sorry this isnt smutty or anything ugh im so bad at that #i hope u like babe ty for requesting #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

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sociorafe · 3 months

Note

Wait okay could you do a smut with Rafe, where like topper or kelce have been eying you all night(despite being rafey's gf) And he notices then after he's fed up with it he takes you up to his room and yk 😝 making you be loud then comes back down with a smirk glancing at topper or kelce before walking away leaving you with hickeys all over your neck and a fucked out expression 😭?

rafe is somehow soft with reader in this lol i was meant to make him angry but oh well

Rafe saw red.

He knew he shouldn’t be angry because surely his friends wouldn’t even try making a move on you, right? His friends wouldn’t even dare to think of you other than a friend— not even a friend— Rafe’s girlfriend.

“She’s hot, y’know?” Kelce tilts his head in your direction. You’re standing with a couple of your friends laughing, wearing the dress Rafe laid out for you.

Rafe shifts in his seat, sniffing roughly to show his discomfort in the fact his friends are talking about you.

Topper nods, “Yeah, dude. She’s a catch. I would’ve swooped her up myself if it wasn’t for Rafe.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Rafe abruptly stands and turns his back on his friends, ignoring their calls and apologies. He shakes his head as he makes his way over to you, arm already reaching out to grab your arm and pull you away from your small giggling group of girls.

Your body gets pulled roughly in the direction of the backdoors, your feet struggling to keep up with your boyfriend. “Rafe? Hey, slow down. I can’t keep up.”

He ignores you until you reach his room. The door slams behind him and you stumble forward, knees hitting the edge of his bed. “What’s wrong? I behaved downstairs, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Rafe frowns, his hands cupping your face. “I know, baby, I know. You were so good, that I gotta show you how good you were for me.”

“O-oh…” your cheeks heat up and you bite your bottom lip. Rafe tsks and you look up into his beautiful blue ones.

“No getting shy on me now.” Rafe gently eases you down on his bed, his lips sliding into a mischievous smirk. “Imma need you to relax and scream or cry or moan whatever you need to. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Mhm, whatever you want me to do Rafey, I’ll do it.”

Your hands claw at his back, leaving nail marks all along his smooth skin. Your eyes roll back with each deep thrust he gives you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

“R-rafe, oh my fuck!” You cry out, your nails digging deeper in his back. “Keep going. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

Rafe grabs your neck between his fingers, gently squeezing every time your cunt squeezes around his length. You know he struggles to keep his composure when you clench around him, but you can’t help it from the way he abuses your wet hole.

“Go on, my girl. Cum for me. I know you want to.” Rafe continues to squeeze your neck, his fingers leaving small marks on your soft skin. “Fuck, baby. Squeeze me like that again and I’ll make sure everyone here knows who’s fucking you this good.”

You moan out, eyes rolling as his cock fucks against your g-spot deliciously. Your thighs shake around his waist as you feel your orgasm building up too quickly for your liking. “Rafe, Rafe, oh my god, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah, I know, baby. Go on. Cum.” Rafe pushes his tongue into your mouth when you start to cry out his name on repeat, legs clamping around him as he rocks into your pussy helping you ride out your high.

His hips stop but he stays inside you. “Oh, look at you, my girl.” You can tell he’s fighting back a chuckle. “Come on, let’s get you dressed and you can go back downstairs to your friends. Okay?”

You nod your head, your lips puffy and eyes glossy. “Okay, Rafey.”

Rafe walks you back down and into the garden, your friends eyeing you suspiciously and gasping when they see your neck. You wave them off, explaining quietly that it was fun and they shouldn’t worry.

“You had fun up there?” Topper asks, his eyebrows raising as he watches his older friend sit back down opposite him.

“I sure did.” Rafe keeps his face stoic, not showing how proud he actually feels that his friends know who fucks you best.

Kelce coughs. “We didn’t mean to piss you off. We were just admiring her.”

Rafe shoots him a death glare. “How ‘bout you just keep your mouth shut. Don’t even look at her anymore. She’s mine, yeah? Not yours. Understood?”

“Understood.”

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miniwheat77 · 11 months

Text

Mean!141 + König.

I read this blurb of König being mean to reader while fucking her and now I’m running with it.

!CW! NSFW, Smut, slight dark themes, overstimulation, spanking, cockwarming, blackmail, cnc, non-con, coercion, oral sex, unprotected p in v sex, sorry if I missed any

König:

“So pathetic.” He breathes. His hips are hammering into yours, the edge of the desk is digging into your hips and you’re crying. He’s stretching your pussy out, the sheer size of him was too much, he smirked when he seen your eyes widen at seeing him, and now. Body lurching forward with every hard thrust he takes into you, allowing you to cry out. He doesn’t care who hears. He doesn’t care who comes in and sees you split on his cock. Crying for him. He’s got both of your hands behind your back. Holding them there with one hand. The other abusing you in other ways. Pinching your nipples, rubbing your sensitive nub, slapping your ass. Anything to hear you crying for him. He takes a tight grip on both of your wrists, holding you tightly as he fucks into you. “You won’t disobey me again.” He growls. “Say it- erbärmliche Heulsuse.” His hand clapping against your ass has you crying out again. “I won’t disobey you again König!” You cry. “Wrong.” He growls. You lurch forward at his abuse, hand slapping your ass again. “I won’t disobey you a-again Colonel König- I won’t!” You cry.

He grasps a handful of your hair, pulling you back into him. “Now cum.” He growls. His warm breath against your ear. So you do, with a cry, leaking around his cock. Fluids mixing with his. He cums with an animalistic growl. Filling you to the hilt with his cum. When his thrust finally halt, he holds you still, cock still buried deep inside of you. He loves cockwarming, and you’ll obey him. He loves the way you cry. “You’ll be back tomorrow after chores.” He growls. You nod your head. “Yes sir.” You pant. He slides out of you, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel him spilling back out of you. You know better than to move away, knowing how much he loves to watch his seed leak down your thighs. He redresses himself, standing behind you with a stern glare, arms crossed over his chest. Admiring your bare ass as you lean over the desk. His slick still wet between your thighs. “Stand up, turn around.” He growls. You do, turning to look at him. He grasps your chin, kissing you hard. It’s sloppy and he can still feel your drool from him fucking you dumb. “Get dressed, you’re excused.” You nod your head. Reaching for your clothes.

Soap:

The deep chuckle that leaves his lips sends shivers down your spine. He’s tormenting you and you hate it. “Oh come on, pouting now?” He rolls his eyes. “You need my help with the Humvee, I want something out of it.” He looks over at you. He told your Captain that he was just showing you the ropes with the Humvee, you were newer than everyone else, he was helping. That’s all. Oh how wrong your Captain was to let you go with him alone. “Soap- not like this.” You grit your teeth, tears filling your eyes. “You’re driving us back, and you’re not going to tip one thing over while doing it. Or I’ll tell Captain.” He smiles. “No!” You cry. You get so frustrated so easily. He laughs, still taunting you. He’s just being mean, making fun of you. “Than you know what I want.” He smirks. “Oh come on, you’re being such a bad girl right now. Do you want me to tell Captain Price just how bad you’ve been?” He’s reaching across the seat, hand gliding over your thigh. “Back talking me when I’m just trying to teach you, disobey me.” He clicks his tongue. You stay silent, avoiding his gaze. He starts the Humvee, and you jump. “No! Okay- I’ll do it.” You breathe, “that’s a good girl, now get in the back seat.” He smirks.

A few minutes later, he’s pounding you. He’s already made you choke on his cock, making fun of you and taunting you the entire time. Belittling you until you were sobbing, now, he’s fucking you into the window. Your face is up against it. Your hands are clutching onto the seats of the Humvee, you’re crying and drooling, pussy soaked. “Why are you crying hm? Just give into the way my cock makes you feel.” He clutches. “Please- can I ride you? You’re being too rough!” You whimper. He laughs at you, taking a few more deep thrusts into you before finally letting up, sitting in the seat and letting you climb on top of him. “You like my cock baby?” He looks up at you. Wiping your tears away for you. You nod your head, sliding down onto him and lifting your hips up. You’re holding onto the back of the seat, using it to help lift yourself up. He groans out. “Yes- you’re just too rough.” You whimper. “You’ll learn to take it rough, don’t worry.” He smirks. “You’ll learn to be my perfect little fuck toy, won’t you?” He smiles. He grasps your hips, starting to thrust up into you. You start squirming and crying. “Such a fucking crybaby.” He rolls his eyes. “You’ll take my cock however I want to give it to you, and you’re going to thank me. No more complaining.” His hand claps against your ass, making you cry out. “Thank me.” He growls. “Thank me for my cock.” He growls, thrusting up into you harder. “Thank you for your cock Johnny- thank you thank you-“ you’re chanting it, tears spilling from your eyes. “Good girl. Such a quick learner.” He smirks.

Captain Price:

Captain Price was always so mean. Even since you first joined the taskforce. His punishments were always rough. Getting sprayed with ice cold water, making the entire task force do laps for your mistakes. You walked on eggshells around Captain Price and even the entire task force knew it. One day though, that all changed. He started being nice to you, at least that’s what they thought anyways. He was nice and kind and never punished you. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them though. Because late at night. When you’re laying on your stomach and he’s fucking into you from behind, his body weight forcing you down. The first time it happened, it was the heat of the moment. You kissed him in anger, apologized profusely. He was angry with you, livid even. He was your Captain, you could get him into trouble. He didn’t realize it until you pissed him off the next time around, that this could be your new punishment. So to everyone else, he looked kind. But in private. In his room alone late at night. They had no idea.

Since you’d had a crush on him before, he caught on pretty quickly. He was already mean but in bed he was just a bully. Talking down at you until you were sobbing into his hand as he fucked into you. You did anything he told you too. Let him fuck you any way he wanted to. He’s pushing your face into the mattress with a handful of your hair, hips clapping against yours, but your sounds were muffled by the mattress. “Such a bad fucking girl-“ he groans, tilting his head back. “I know you like this. Know you like being degraded by me.” He chuckles. Your cheeks are burning but he can’t see it. “Always get so fucking wet when I’m mean to you, my dumb little crybaby.” He smirks. “Got to give you the benefit of the doubt though, even though that’s not what you want. This fucking pussy is so sweet and tight.” He growls. “How am I supposed to teach you a lesson when you love your punishment huh? You want me to stop fucking you, little crybaby?” He chuckles, lowering himself. His chest was up against your back, and he can hear your shallow breaths. You’re crying. He tugs your head back by your hair, a cry leaving your lips. “You want me to stop?” He growls. “No- no! Please-“ you gasp. “Please don’t stop fucking me Captain Price. I’ll be a good girl from now on, I promise. P-please don’t stop.” He’s smiling. You’ve done so good, maybe he’ll even let you finish. He’s got you right where he wants you. Beneath him.

Ghost:

Ghost is by far the meanest, especially when it came to you fucking up. You found that out the hard way when the two of you were alone on a mission together and you did something risky, something that could’ve gotten yourself killed. He was furious. You didn’t even get a chance to explain yourself before he was shoving you back into the brick wall behind you. He was yelling, and when you started crying, he froze up. His eyes darkened, face was stone cold. He walked away from you mid-sentence. You didn’t understand why. You were alone in the showers, and when you heard the door open you expected another girl, but it quickly set in that you were the only girl on base. When you looked up and seen him approaching you. Massive man with a skull mask on. You were intimidated. He pushes you back into the small lockers for your items and you made an attempt at covering up your naked body but he pushed your hands away. He had your face pressed up against the lockers in no time as he hammered his hips into yours, the completely lewd sounds being made should’ve been what was egging him on, but it wasn’t.

It was your cries, he loved hearing them. He hated to admit it but he loved seeing you cry, and now. Crying out of pleasure, crying because of him overwhelming you. It was pure bliss. His fingertips will surely leave bruises, your body will show the aftermath of Ghost for at least a week. He’s doing everything he can to hear those pretty sobs, and he’s so mean. Such a bully. He’s bullying your nipples and sensitive clit, overstimulating you so that he can hear those pretty cries even if you’re telling him that it’s too much. You can take it, he reassures you that you can. “Ah! Simon please-“ you tilt your head back. He inhales the scent of your hair, fingertips rubbing furiously at your clit. “You can take it. We both know you can.” He breathes. “This is what you get for being such a stupid girl, putting yourself in danger like you did.” He clicks his tongue, tight grip on your hips, one of your legs raised slightly as he had the perfect angle to fuck into you. When he spins you around, pushing his mask up to the bridge of his nose, taking your nipple into his mouth and being so mean. Bullying your poor sensitive nipple and sucking it until it’s swollen and red and you’re crying so much. When he cums, it’s a little unexpected. But it’s the perfect amount of time for you to let out the perfect mewl. Finishing around his cock. He can’t help but pinch your nipples between his fingers, fucking you through your orgasm. He overstimulates himself in the process but he’d do anything to hear you cry. Anything.

Gaz:

Since Gaz was the closest to your age, he knew exactly what to say to get under your skin. He reminded you a lot of a high school bully. When you first joined the task force, he harassed you constantly. You were quiet, never talked back. You took his harassment. It went on for months and months. It was annoying and he was just a jerk, a bully. One day during dinner in the mess hall he said something and set you off, and you finally fired back at him. You embarrassed him a little bit in front of the other members which pissed him off. You stood up and hurried off to your room, mad and upset. He rolled his eyes, told a lie about how he was going to go after you to apologize. He went after you but for not the reasons he said. He barged his way into your room, locking the door behind him. In no time he had you sprawled out on your bed, bullying your pussy with his tongue and fingers. He was edging you until you couldn’t handle anymore, crying. He told you to cry into the pillow, but you were being loud, which only made him meaner. He was growing annoyed with you being so loud, pushing the pillow into your face more as he nudges your clit with his nose, abusing your pussy even further. “You’ll learn not to talk back to me, you fucking crybaby.” He growls.

He pulls you close to him, forcing you to lay on your stomach. “Put your face into the pillow, if I hear one cry from you that isn’t muffled, you won’t get to cum.” He growls. You nod your head, gasping into the pillow when he thrusts inside of you. He was huge and you weren’t ready for him at all. “Just cry into the pillow sweetheart, be a good girl for me and I’ll make you cum.” He pants. Your bed is only squeaking a little bit, thank god. But he’s not really making any attempts at being quiet. His groans are loud and even though your cries are muffled, they’re still audible. You’re clutching the sheets so hard and he can’t help but smile. You were being so good, he wants to praise you. But he knows you like it. You like when he picks on you. The tip of his cock bullies it’s way through your folds, nudging up against your cervix and he’s getting close. “Kyle?” You whimper. You look back at him, teary eyes and messy hair. He nearly busts right there. “Yeah honey?” He groans. “I’m close” you whimper. He smirks. “You can cum. Since you’ve been so good.” He breathes. He continues thrusting into you, covering your mouth with his hand because he knows the pillow won’t help. Your scream is muffled when you finally cum on his cock. Tightening down around him so perfectly. “Oh fuck- fuck I’m going to cum so fucking deep in this pussy.” He groans, his voice is unsteady and desperate and a growl leaves his lips when he finishes. “You’ll learn to be a good girl for me.” He mumbles into your ear, cock still buried inside of you.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #könig modern warfare #könig x you #könig cod #könig smut #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #ghost cod

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sugurusdiscordmoderator · 5 months

Text

Sukuna one shot

inspired by @rinhaler’s plug sukuna that has been living in my brain rent free

mdni 18+

cw: age gap, oral (f and m), face fucking, hickeys, daddy kink, praise kink (way too many ‘princess’s) , hint of possessiveness at the end

Everyone when they’re first on their new college campus feels like hot shit. And you’re no exception. You graduated high school with a 4.0 moved away from your home town and broke up with your boyfriend so you could have fun.

You show up to your first day of astronomy class, a stupid course you have to take as a liberal arts college even though you’re a business major. You thought it would just be freshmen in your introductory core classes, but oh you couldn’t have been more wrong.

You sit towards the back of the class, not too far back that you won’t seem like you’re not paying attention, but not close enough for you to seem like you’re trying too hard. You got there about 5 minutes before class started to be punctual but a lot of the seats were taken. You took out your notebook, pen, and the syllabus the professor emailed you ahead of time to have printed out.

Within the last 60 seconds before class started one particular student walked in. He had to have been a senior, or even a fifth year, with tattoos, pink hair, and a not-too-excited to be there expression. Just your luck, the last seat available was to your left which was like awkwardly close between the wall and your seat. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows as if saying “hey” in a fuck boy way. You can’t help but look at the way his red tshirt hugs his biceps as he pulls out the chair and sits down. He doesn’t attempt to take anything out of his book bag, and you think to yourself ‘there’s no way this man is a freshman’.

The attendance sheet gets passed around and you sign your name and pass the paper over to him. Of course he doesn’t have a pen or pencil so you clear your throat to offer yours to him. He says “thanks,” under his breath not making eye contact but taking special consideration to look at your name written above his.

This professor is pretty annoying and asking people questions off the syllabus so you decide to be nice and place yours between the two of you. He finally makes eye contact with you and you smile, like a little naive freshman that you are. God, dressed all nice for your first day of class wearing that cute little dress he would love to just ruin you. You watch his eyes go up and down your body and you just sit there and take it. Watching his Adams apple bob as he swallows. The sexual tension is thick, and you don’t even know his name. But you know that you want him, regardless of his age or grade or how little he cares about school.

Class was soon over and you found yourself looking forward to the next time you had class with him, as it was a Monday Wednesday Friday class.

Wednesday you get there just a little bit earlier and grab the same seat but you don’t get your hopes up that pink hair-big bicep-mystery man will sit next to you again. As you’re unloading your things out of your book bag you hear someone sit down next to you. You look up to see the same guy from the first day of class with a book bag this time, sitting down in the same spot.

“Hey!” You decide to speak up with a blush on your cheeks.

“Hi,” he says quietly wondering why you are talking to him.

“I’m y/n, I just wanted to introduce myself if were going to sit next to each other!” You say a little to enthusiastically.

“Are you a freshman? Most people don’t do this kinda shit.” He says smirking at you and you can’t tell if he’s being a dick or flirting.

“Uhh yeah. I just wanted to make a friend in this class, sorry for bothering.”

“Not bothering me Princess, just giving you a hard time. I’m Sukuna.” You blush at the pet name he calls you and he makes a mental note to call you that when he fucks you over the desk eventually.

“Nice to meet you, maybe we can study together some time once we actually learn new materials?”

He raises his eyebrows at you smirking, “Sure. How about I get your number then?” You write your phone number on a corner of your notebook paper and rip it off and hand it to him.

“Cute handwriting.” He says as he slips it into his pocket. And that was all for your interaction the second day.

On Friday you both happen to walk into class together and smile at each other.

“You didn’t text me.”

“So needy,” he smirks at you as you settle into your regular seats. “My frat is having a party tonight, do you and your friends want to come?”

Oh god your first college party and you’re getting invited by this guy?

“Yeah that sounds great, will you actually text me the details though?” Pulling out your best flirty-ness.

“Sure princess.” He says pulling out his phone. You see your name saved as “ y/n - astronomy 🥵” and pretend you didn’t. He sends a text with the address of the party and class gets started for the day. You decide to walk out of class together and small talk about how boring the professor is. He suddenly interrupts you -

“Hey would you be interested in showing up early to my house to pregame for the party? Ya know just cause you probably don’t have a fake ID yet and don’t have any alcohol.. and stuff.” He scratches the back of his neck.. is he.. nervous?!

“That sounds fun yeah sure.”

“My little brother will be there. He’s also a freshman so maybe you guys can be friends.”

“Yeah I haven’t really made a ton of friends yet so that would be sick.”

—

Later that evening you head out of your dorm around 8 o’clock. You’re wearing a frilly crop top and a tight light denim skirt with cute platform white sneakers. You shaved your whole body in anticipation and decided you’re going to walk the few blocks to Sukunas house. You show up around 8:30 and sweetly knock on the door. A smaller more kind looking version of Sukuna opens the door. The same pink hair but no tattoos, less muscle, and a friendlier smile. Almost the exact opposite.

“Hi! Are you Sukuna’s friend?”

“Yeah I guess that’s one way to put it, yeah,” you laugh nervously, “I’m y/n”

“Welcome in I’m Yuji. He’s in his room if you want to go up. It’s the first door on the right.”

You thank Yuji and start going up the stair. You feel so nervous like a little high schooler as you get closer to the door. Like there are a thousand butterflies between your stomach and your pussy that can’t wait to see him. You knock gently on the door and hear a muffled “come in” and turn the door knob.

You see Sukuna sitting on his futon shirtless rolling up a joint on his little coffee table. “Hey princess,” he mumbles not looking up from his work in progress as you walk in and sit on his bed adjacent to his futon. As he finishes rolling he smiles up at you. You feel a little awkward sitting here as you’ve only seen him a few times and know nothing about him.

“Do you smoke?” He asks knocking you out of your thoughts.

“I haven’t ever tried but I’m willing to” you say all too innocently back.

“Hmm okay we’ll I guess you came to the right guy.” He motions for you to come sit next to him on the little futon couch he has and lights up. He hits the joint a few times and passes it to you once you look confident enough. You hold it in between your pointer finger and thumb and inhale and exhale just like sukuna did. “That’a girl” he says as his hand finds a home resting on your exposed thigh. You squint your eyes and smile at him.

Sukuna calls for Yuji to come upstairs and a few seconds later the cute brother opens the door to the bedroom. “You wan some of this?” He asks the younger brother and sticks out his hand with the joint in it. “I don’t want to finish it all and sweetheart here has never smoked so I don’t want her to do too much.” Yuji sits where you were on the bed taking a huge rip of the joint and your eyes widen at his lung capacity.

“I’ve done it too much. Maybe some day you’ll have a tolerance like us.” Yugi says with kind eyes. You notice him look down to where his brothers hand rests on your thigh.

“So how’d you guys meet?” Yuji asks smiling only looking at you.

“We have astronomy together,” you smile back before Sukuna could retort some smart ass answer.

“Hey Yuji, can you go get stuff ready downstairs for the party? Mhm thanks” Sukuna says and shoos his younger brother out of the room before he can get another word in.

He smoothly walks back over to the couch you’re sitting on, putting a piece of hair behind your ear. “Princess will you let me try something with you?”

“Mmhmm sure what is it?” you bat your eyelashes at him.

There’s only a little bit of the joint left and Sukuna takes a large rip of it, as he sits back down next to you. His left hand moves to your jaw, his thumb i opening your mouth as he leans in to kiss you. Oh god you’ve seen this at parties before but never done it. As he opens his mouth against yours you inhale, trying your best to impress him. He backs his lips off yours just enough for you to exhale the remaining smoke.

“Gooood girl,” he mutters looking into your red eyes. His lips collide with yours again, passionately. You can hardly even think straight he is dominating you even just kissing. His tongue slips past your lips and makes it way through your mouth. You hear people talking downstairs now as it’s about 9 pm but neither of you could care. His lips continue their assault on your jaw to your ear, down your neck. Pecking, licking, assaulting your tanned skin that smells like innocent girl perfume and a cute little necklace that you probably got from a high school boyfriend, sukuna thinks.

Without warning he pulls down your top, exposing your bare chest without a bra. “Hm a little risqué? Maybe not quite the good girl that you act like?” He smirks up at you before taking one of your hardened nipples in his mouth. He uses his other hand to run the other, twisting and twirling it in between his thumb and pointer finger, the same ones he was just holding the joint with. You can’t help but let out a little moan and roll your eyes back at the feeling. You run a hand through his hair, spreading your legs with your skirt on so we can see your panties. There’s a little wet patch that’s growing on the white lace that he so desperately wants to tear to shreds. He starts trailing down kisses from your cute nipples down your still covered stomach.

You try to reach down to rub the growing bulge in his pants, being so greedy and horny. “No,” he responds grabbing your wrist and moving your arm back up by your head. You’re confused but don’t care as long as you get touched soon. Just then sukuna tugs your soft lace panties down your legs, admiring them before stuffing them in his pocket. You produce a slight gasp at his actions but try to be patient for what he’ll do next. You feel the cold air of Sukunas bedroom against your newly exposed delicate cunt. He bends down to start leaving messy kisses around your inner thighs and pubic area. He teases you getting close to licking up your folds but ultimately enjoys watching you writhe in how turned on you are.

“Please” you whimper looking down at him, trying to give your best puppy eyes

“Please what?” He asks before placing a gentle kiss on your clit.

“Please S’kuna” your voice cracks you are begging and whining for him so much, looking like you are about to cry.

He latches his mouth around your clit, sticking his thumb inside your warm hole. “fine” he mumbles as if he isn’t about to give you the most life changing head you’ve ever had. Sukuna thinks you look like a portrait of a goddess, your cute skirt bunched up at your hips, pussy out, and shirt pulled down exposing your tits, the way your mouth makes a perfect “O” while your eyes scrunch shut.

You let out something between a deep breath and a moan a few times before Sukuna stops licking your cute button. He waits for you to open your eyes to look at him “louder f’r me”. He takes his thumb out of you, holding it up to your face for you to lick clean. You use your tongue to swirl around his thumb, sucking on it like your life depends on it. He pulls away once he is satisfied and hears you whimper “thank you” quietly.

“Pretty girl, did you just thank me for tasting your juices on my finger?” Your face heats up getting redder each word he says. “I didn’t know you were so obedient…good to know” he says almost to himself instead of you. He switches to use his ring and middle finger inside you, lapping around your hole and clit fucking his hand into so quickly you can’t help but let out a loud moan. At your reaction he moves his free hand down to palm his erection through his pants.

By this time the music is bumping pretty loud downstairs and you assume no one can hear you. Sukuna seems to enjoy eating your pussy just as much as you’re liking it, muttering to himself while licking at you things like “pretty little freshman pussy” and “begging for me since the first day of class”. Your legs start to close as you feel yourself getting closer to your high, but his pumping into you doesn’t slow. He now uses one hand to finger you and the thumb of the other hand to rub your clit, spitting on it. He wants to watch you cum for him. He wants to see every second and can’t risk getting carried away tasting your cunt.

You reach to grab some of his pink hair, begging for release. “C’mon princess you can do it”, “cum for me”, and “goood girl” he groans as you begin arching your back off the sofa. His fingers are reaching a place yours never could and you begin seeing spots and close your eyes again. Your ab muscles flex and you start pulsing on his fingers. He slows down his pace once you start your orgasm, rolling his eyes back and groaning when he hears you moan “Sukunaaaaa” loud enough that anyone on the upstairs floor could hear it.

He stands up and cleans his fingers off in his mouth and wipes them off on a tshirt that was on his bed which he proceeds to now put on (yeah he was shirtless that whole time). He walks back over to help you up, pulling your top up to cover your tits, just barely, and pulling your skirt down to where it belongs but he still kept your panties.

As you regain your senses you ask “Is that it? What about you ‘kuna?”

He chuckles a bit mocking you “‘is that it?!’ Was that not enough? Sorry but you have to earn more.”

“No” you groan walking up to him, “I meant ‘is that it’ as in ‘are you going to let me take care of your massive bulge?’”

He kisses your forehead then responds, “hmm sure princess were already late for the party night as well.

You willingly get down on your knees right in front of him like he is your king. Maybe that’s why he calls you princess so much. He uses his clean thumb to wipe off a little bit of smudged makeup under your eye “so pretty on your knees…” he starts unbuttoning and zippering his pants, “might actually have to keep you around.”

You don’t even react to what he’s saying as he pulls his pants and underwear down revealing a massive cock. Larger than the average man for sure, but also a pretty color and the perfect number of veins. You can’t believe he wasn’t in pain keeping an erection that big in his pants. It was going to stretch you out for sureee. Your pupils grow at the sight of him gripping the base of his manhood and and putting one hand behind your head.

You know what this means, you’ve deep throated before but god you’ve never gotten facefucked. Let alone a dick this huge?

He lets you make the first move, opening your mouth and letting his tip fall on your tongue. You taste a tiny bead of his precum and become insatiable for more. Sukuna watches the lust in your eyes grow as you begin licking up and down his shaft.

You then begin to bob up and down, hoping that your head is good enough for him. You can only reach about half of his dick before it starts to go down your throat, but you’re desperately trying to take as much as you can. His hand still gently resting on the back of your head, not testing you yet.

You remove your mouth and look up to the handsome man asking, “daddy, can you help me?”

Sukuna can hardly believe his ears and is taking everything in him not to cum on the spot from hearing your sweet voice call him that. As soon as he realizes what you were asking he responds “sure, princess.” His grip tightening on the back of your neck, using the free hand to slap his cock on your tongue and face. He still doesn’t want to be too rough with you, delicate little freshman. But you did just call him daddy … so …

He begins to use your mouth to fuck his cock, slowly at first making sure you adjust, pushing himself down your throat until you tap his leg for air “mmm good girl you’re mouth is great” he says as you replied your air. As he sticks himself back in again he goes faster this time. Hitting the back of your throat with each stroke but not forcing himself down like the last time. He moves his free hand to grab the front of your throat squeezing so even less air can come through.

Fuck this is turning you on so much you can feel your slick dripping down your leg. Your vision goes a little blurry from lack of oxygen before he releases his hand, still continuing his praise and moans. He lets you breath again for a minute, making you jerk him off while you catch your breath as his head is thrown back “fuck y/n, pretty face, pretty pussy, and a pretty mouth” followed by a grunt/moan. You are determined to make this man cum on your tongue and begin sucking at a faster pace. You feel the tip going down your throat and just let it keep going until you find your nose touching his well trimmed hairs against his pubic bone. You stay there and wiggle your tongue around the part you couldn’t reach before as he looks down at your pretty eyes tearing up. You come back for breath and decide to suck the top and jerk the bottom because you were pretty sure guys liked that too? Sukuna looks down at you moaning “fuck, fuck, fuck” and you watch his hips twitch knowing he is getting close. He pulls your hair a little harder than he means to while you’re finishing him off, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he lets out a last “shit y/n” and releases on your tongue.

He recovers rather quickly compared to you, putting his now soft penis back in his boxers and jeans. He looks up to see you sticking out your tongue with his cum on it. Without warning he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and takes a picture of you with the flash on. “Swallow princess” he tells you after he groans at how sexy the picture turned out.

You both get ready to finally attend the party now around 9:30 with what sounds like lots of people downstairs. Sukunas tries to get you from looking in the mirror so you don’t see the 4 not-so-subtle hickies he gave you. He runs his hands through your hair because it looks like… well it looks like you just had sex. Grabbing your ass under your skirt, still panty-less he opens his bedroom door.

“Be a good girl and I’ll let you come back up here after the party is over” he whispers seductively in your ear.

He lets you go down the stairs first, keeping his hand on your shoulder as you go.

He’s not letting you leave his sight tonight.

—

A/N it took everything in me not to have someone barge in on them like yuji or someone looking for the bathroom. Happy to write a part two or series of these if anyone likes them. Also feel free to leave requests in my inbox. Thank you sweet cheeks 🫶

#ryomen sukuna #jjk #jjk smut #sukuna smut #sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #geto suguru #gojo satoru

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feasibilities · 2 months

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Sight and Smell - Tom x Married!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: Tom has feelings for you and won't let anyone stop him from telling you how he feels. Warnings: Drug Use, Infidelity, Allusions to Cuckolding, Sex as Punishment, Choking, Pining, etc. Author's Note: Readers need love too! I did some research on luxury hotels in Dublin as well (because I want a late-night rendezvous with Cillian in one of them). Also, thank you @mothhball for tagging me in the prompt that spawned this insane story. I hope you enjoy it!

The sight of your beautiful smile and the smell of your redolent perfume were mainstays of Tom’s psyche. He knew your husband, Seán, since they were kids. You came along during secondary school. He knew it was wrong to lust for any woman who wasn’t Marianne, but you were different. For the first time, he felt a deep-seated jealousy toward his friend. Knocking on the front door, Tom was finally prepared to tell you how he really felt. This party would go down in history.

“Hey, Tom. Seán will be here soon. Won’t you come in?” You smiled sweetly. You noticed that he looked disheveled and restless.

“Of course.” Tom replied. While you led him to the kitchen, he admired how your black dress hugged your figure. He hated that Seán got to see the treasures that lie underneath.

“Where’s Marianne?” You inquired, going back to cleaning the champagne flutes.

“U-um, she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed back.” Tom faltered, taking quick peeks at your cleavage.

“Ah. Well, I hope she feels better soon. How have you been?” You asked.

“Fine.” Tom answered plainly

Walking toward him, you placed the back of your hand on his forehead.

“Are you feeling okay, hun?” You asked innocently.

Taking your hand away, Tom hurried to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. You heard him lock it shut shortly after. You stood there stunned before continuing to prepare for the party.

After separating the thin white powder into lines, he gummed what was left over on his fingers. Snorting each line was like a hard reset for his body. His heart felt like it was clawing its way out of his chest. Collapsing near the bathroom sink, he trembled and cursed himself. He sat himself up in a corner and breathed deeply. The palpitations of his heart subsided.

Hearing offbeat jazz come from the living area, Tom jumped up and gathered himself. He had to get this out of his system before guests arrived. It was now or never.

“I need to talk to you.” Tom blurted out, watching you arrange hors d'oeuvres on multiple platters.

“Fucking hell, Tom. You scared me half to death.” You jumped.

“Listen, it’s very important-“ Tom started.

“Can it wait until after the party, hun?” You corrected.

“It can’t.” Tom said, growing irritated by the second.

“Fine. What is it?” You said, exasperated.

“I have loved you since I met you all those years ago. I think about you all the time. I hate that Seán got to you first.” Tom confessed, staring into your eyes.

You stayed silent and stared back at him. You felt a mix of panic and curiosity. Seán would kill Tom with his bare hands if he heard this conversation. Tom’s advances made sense—especially since you felt the same way. You loved your husband with all of your heart, but you can’t say you never thought about leaving. He was away for work way too much. When he was here, he wasn’t present emotionally. Intimacy was poorer than it had ever been. You yearned for something different—rather, something electrifying. Tom was the closest you could get.

“We can’t do it here, Tom. I can meet you in a hotel after the party. Now, take these platters into the dining room. Be careful to not let anything fall.” You ordered.

Tom’s eyes widened at your proposal. You’ve never seen him move so fast in the time that you knew him. Guests, including Seán, began to arrive. He kissed you deeply and gave you an embarrassingly hard smack on your ass. It felt like he was putting on the show of a happy couple in front of everyone. Tom was left to brood angrily as you gave him sympathetic glances throughout the party. Shortly after everyone’s departure, you got a text from Tom about your impending rendezvous.

Room 427 at The Westbury. Hope you’re still up for the challenge.

“Challenge?” You murmured as you applied your makeup at your vanity.

“Where are you headed, love?” Seàn slurred, toying with your hair. He was too drunk to notice you flipping your phone over.

“Out with friends. I’ll be back late.” You replied.

“You know, I want to spend more time with you. I miss you.” He said, kissing your shoulder and starting to untie your house robe. This was another empty promise. You politely moved his hands and went back to finishing your makeup.

“We can spend time together when I get back, Seán. I need some time to myself, ’s all.” You said. Finally getting the message, he stumbled to the bed and fell asleep.

—

“Fuck, right there…” You moaned as Tom thrusted into you at steady pace. You raked your nails down his back—marking your territory for the time being. He stared down at you with the same admiration earlier. He loved the way your breasts moved with each thrust. He loved the resplendent noises you made when he bottomed out. You clenched around him as your legs began to shake. Your eyes fluttered shut before you felt his hand grab your throat. He squeezed enough to limit your blood flow. You were lightheaded, but still conscious.

“Open your fucking eyes. This is what you wanted, right?” Tom hissed, speeding up his movements. This time was much more brutal.

“Yes.” You whimpered, feeling like you were about to break in half.

Tom kissed you harshly and watched as you fell apart. Unintelligible praises came from you as he pounded you into the plush mattress. Your walls spasmed frenetically as you came. He wanted to make sure that you thought of him every time you fucked Seán. To his own perverse wish, this was payback for not choosing the better man. Flipping you on your stomach, Tom yanked your hips backward and started taking you from behind. He put a pillow underneath you to soften the blows, but to no avail. He was reaching depths that your husband dreamed of. You weeped quietly and

“Would be fucking sick if Seán came in and saw me nailing his wife, eh?” Tom teased, panting in your ear. A cruel part of you got off on the thought of him listening in on you two. Maybe he would give you the attention you deserve. A faint “Mhmm” emitted from you in response.

“Cum inside me.” You cooed, looking back at him with heavy eyes. You bit your lip and clenched around him once more. His thrusts staggered as he came with a loud groan. You sung his praises as he came down from his high. Pulling out, he saw his seed beginning to spill out of you. He caught some with his fingers and pushed it back inside. He pumped himself mindlessly before laying next to you. His stark blue eyes studied your features. He traced his fingertips along your back. You looked back at him lovingly before drifting off to sleep.

Grabbing your lace underwear from the floor, Tom huffed them desperately. Similar to cocaine, he felt a sense of euphoria. He took in the sweet, earthy scent as he grew hard again. He didn't want to disturb you, so he walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He finally got what he wanted.

#tom #the party #cillian murphy #tom x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #fanfiction #love #marriage #my writing #2017

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dumblilb · 8 months

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I’m Losing It Lately ˚⋆୨୧⋆ ˚

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

(Synopsis: Ellie thinks you’re the prettiest girl she’s ever seen. And that terrifies her. So when you hint at liking her back she can’t help but think the worst. Inspired by the song Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo. )

(Warnings: Loser!Ellie, a coming out scene, mentions of anxiety, making out, angst, fluff, lesbians 🤯 )

(Words: 2037)

Ellie has know you for years. You have been one of her best friends since she moved to Jackson. So it was exciting when you were paired as roommates once you both headed off to college. That was till recently.

Ellie had been feeling uneasy around you. Entering a room and immediately leaving if she saw you in it. She just couldn’t help the butterflies that swarmed her stomach when she looked at you. And it was making her sick. Watching you get ready in the morning. Applying lip liner making her wonder what your lips felt like. Or helping you with the little bows you would tie on your hair and your bags. Or the way you rested a hand on her thigh when you would have movie nights. Sometimes how you looked at her when you couldn’t sleep and needed someone to talk to, would send her into overdrive. Your eyes would be all sleepy and and your lips all puffy after biting them subconsciously. You would wrap yourself in fluffy throw blankets and hold that stupid teddy bear she got you when you were 16. And she just thinks to herself-

“How could someone look so beautiful?”

She wanted to crawl into a hole every time she noticed you staring at her plain outfits or the boxers she wore to bed. She wished she could dress well like you. Maybe you would like her then. It made her so insecure knowing you had seen her grow up. Seen all her awkward phases and nerdy interests. You had always seemed so put together and cool to her.

One night you were eating take out and watching her play a video game on the tv when you started messing with her hair.

“Ellie…”

“What’s up? Do I need a hairbrush or something?” She says turning her attention to you. Chuckling awkwardly as she starts to flatten down her hair.

“Oh! No you’re fine. You look great. Um… can I ask you something?” You question bringing your knees to your chest. Making her put the controller down nervously to fully face you.

“Anything…”

“You like girls right?” You ask so scared it almost sounds like a whisper. Ellie’s body flinches, straightening up. She never expected to have this conversation with you. It always just seemed like unspoken knowledge.

“Yeah I do..”

“How did you know?” You ask, eyes glossy.

“Well, I personally was just never attracted to men in that way. It’s different for everyone, but for me when ever a man would try to get romantic with me I would run. It just never felt right…” Ellie says eyeing you down. You were trembling. You looked terrified.

“Ellie…”

“Yeah…”

“I think I like girls.” You sob and she brings you into her arms. Holding you, rubbing your back softly.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” She whispers.

The entire night she talked to you about old flings and answered any questions you had. But her stomach had dropped from the moments your confession left your lips. Cause it made what she was feeling all to real. It it was scary. Knowing that you like girls means that if you do reject her is cause you don’t like her personally. And not just because she was a girl. Cause how could someone so pretty and kind, like someone like her? So she started avoiding you.

You started to beg Dina to tell you if Ellie had said anything.

“Is she mad at me? I mean Dina please, I need to know. She’s acting like the sight of me disgusts her. I’m worried I did something wrong.” You plead sitting down on her couch.

“She’s not mad at you I promise.” Dina sighs grabbing a bottle of water and sitting down next to you.

“Then why is she avoiding me?” You say and she puts a hand on your shoulder.

“You really need to ask her yourself. How about this, I’m gonna have us all over here tomorrow night for a little party, get together, whatever you wanna call it. And since I’m forcing her to be here you can talk to her.” Dina says and you smile at the plan. The not knowing was killing you and this was the perfect way to get answers.

Later that night while making dinner you look over at Ellie who is finally taking off her headphones.

“Hey are you going to Dina’s tomorrow?” You ask and she lets out a groan.

“Yeah, she said if I don’t she’ll break in and steal all my weed. So…” Ellie explains and walks to her bed.

“Not hungry?” You ask concerned.

“No I’ll eat tomorrow. Night.” She says and turns off the little light above her bed before leaning over and shutting the door between the main room and the bedroom.

You finish up and sit down on the couch. Not wanting to go in there and bother her anymore. Your mind was wandering. You had been friends for 6 years. Little fights had happened before. But this wasn’t a fight. It felt like she was evicting you from her life.

She didn’t want to talk to you. Or look at you. The sound of your voice would make her shiver and if you accidentally brushed her leg on the couch she would scoot so far over she was almost on the arm rest. It was embarrassing. You felt almost disgusting. Like some parasite invading her space. She wouldn’t play her guitar for you anymore. And you wouldn’t find the little drawings she had done of you scattered on her walls.

It hurt. Cause you had finally bucked up the courage to ask her out when this all started happening. Maybe she knew you liked her and that was why she was avoiding you? Cause she didn’t like you back. The thoughts made you feel uneasy as you laid down and quietly cried.

The next morning Ellie would find you laying on the couch passed out with tear stains covering your cheeks. She felt horrible knowing she was the reason. She was your best friend and staying away from you was probably really hard on you. But she needed to get over her crush before you could go back to normal. So she rushed out of the dorm that morning and headed straight to class.

You felt groggy and out of it when you woke up but it was okay cause you didn’t have any classes today. You spent the day trying to hype yourself up for tonight.

“I have to look perfect.” You thought as you put on your everyday jewelry and slipped on your shoes. You tried to go for a model off duty kind of look, remembering when you wore a similar outfit and she said you looked nice. You did the finishing touches on your makeup and put on a perfume you knew she liked.

You took a deep breath before making your way to Dina’s. You knocked and the door swung open.

“Oh good! You’re here!” Dina smiles and you can tell how the party has been going. She was already tipsy. Jesse was in the corner dancing to disturbia by Rihanna. And some other friends were doing shots at the counter.

Then you saw her. Sitting on the windowsill. Joint resting between her fingers as she looks outside. You walk over and sit next to her causing her to squirm a little.

“Hey.” You breathe out and she sighs.

“Hey.”

“So… I was wondering if we could talk?” You ask fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. They seemed a little much now looking at how casual everyone else had dressed. I mean Ellie was wearing some jeans, a hoodie, and her converse. And she still looked like the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.

She blew out a puff of smoke turning to look at you. Visibly uncomfortable with the conversation already.

“I- yeah I guess.”

“Ellie. I really like you. I do but……“ you start to say when she cuts you off and stands up.

“Please don’t. It’s just mean. I don’t want your attempt at making me feel better.” She says getting worked up.

“What?” You say shocked as she looks down at you. People start to stare.

“I have been in love with you for years. And I never complained when you would talk about other people, because I knew I’d never have a chance. But now I know I could have and it’s the worst feeling in the world. And I can’t sit here and listen to you try and let me down easy. You’re my best friend but I can’t do this anymore.” She says pointing between you guys, hot tears streaming down her face. The party had gone quiet. Everyone staring at the sight in-front of them.

“Ellie please, that’s not…” You say reaching a hand out to hold hers and and she pulls it away.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” She says and walks out the door. You quickly get up and chase after her.

She practically slammed the door in your face as she went inside. You go in and shut it behind you.

“I’m serious I need to be alone right now. God this is so embarrassing!” She yells at herself.

“Ellie I don’t care what you think. I need you to listen to me right now!” You say and shove her down on the couch making her go wide eyed.

“I was trying to tell you how much I like you. And how Ive wanted to be with you for a long time now. And every time I try to tell you, you push me away. And I do care about you. I care about you so much and it’s killing me to know that you’ve felt this way all this time. You are the most perfect and beautiful girl I have ever seen and I would do anything for you to understand that. We have been friends for so long, I didn’t want to ruin that at first but it was torcher. Because just the sight of you gives me butterflies and I can’t take it anymore.” You sob.

The hours of work you had put into your appearance seemingly was for nothing. Because as you kneeled down in front of her and grasped her hands she just stared at you. Your makeup was smudged from the tears and your hair was disheveled. But even in the moment of chaos and confessions all she could think about was how beautiful you were.

“I didn’t want to lose you.“ Ellie whispers placing her forehead to yours.

“You shouldn’t have pushed me away.” You choke out and she wipes a tear from your face making you took up at her.

“I’ll never push you away again.” She smiles softly. Tilting your chin up she brings your lips close. You can feel her breath on your face. Closing the gap slowly you press your lips to hers. It was gentle and sweet. Ellie had always wanted to know what your lips felt like, and it was better than she could have imagined. You tangled your fingers in her hair pulling her closer.

You could feel her smile into the kiss. Her hands gripped your waist as she pulled you both up. Stumbling backwards into the bedroom. You fell back onto her bed as she started to lift your shirt. You lift your back for easier access, when you feel her stop.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, nervous you already screwed this up.

“No, nothings wrong. It’s just… I’ve wanted this to happen for so long, trust me. But you’re not just some girl I met at a party. You’re you… and I want to do this right.” She says laying next to you now, propping herself up on her arm. Running her fingers through your hair.

“Let me take you out.” She says and you give her a playful smile.

“Like a date?” You grin. She places a small kiss you your lips. Parting with a soft whisper.

“Yes, like a date.” She smiles.

“Well I can’t wait for this date then.” You whisper back pulling her in closer.

#ellie x y/n #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #joel and ellie #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams angst #the last of us #loser ellie #ellie williams oneshot #Spotify

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thegettingbyp2 · 8 months

Note

hiii!! could we pls have an anthony bridgerton fic? please please him getting into a duel for you and starting as comforting him (emotionally or if he's injured) and ending in romantic smut? ty!

Defending Your Honour

The moment you heard the door slam shut, you knew that something was wrong. You walked into the entrance of the Bridgerton household to see Anthony already storming up the stairs; what alarmed you the most was the bright patch of red that was blooming on the white sleeve of his shirt. You and Anthony had been best friends since you were little, however, as the both of you grew up, you’d developed deeper feelings for each other but were both too scared to admit it, too scared that the other person wouldn’t feel the same way.

‘What happened?’ you exclaimed, meeting him halfway on the stairs, your hands coming out to stop him, being careful to avoid his shirt sleeve. Anthony’s almost instinctively came to rest on your waist, almost as if he was trying to make sure you were there. ‘Anthony, talk to me, what happened?’ you pressed, reaching up until his eyes met yours.

‘Never accept anything from Lord Darlington, do you hear me?’ he said frantically, his fingers tightening on your waist. ‘I don’t care what it is, you don’t accept, promise me, (Y/N).’

‘Okay, okay, I promise,’ you said, trying to calm him down, ‘come upstairs and you can tell me what happened while I patch you up.’ You gave him no room to protest, linking your hand in his and pulling him up the stairs until you walked into his study, knowing that was the one room the two of you wouldn’t be interrupted. You gently closed the door and walked across the room to where Anthony had sat on the sofa against the bookshelves. Lowering yourself to sit next to him, armed with all the supplies you would possibly need, you gently took hold of his injured arm and pulled it carefully towards you. With his free hand, Anthony reached up to loosen his shirt, allowing you to pull the shoulder down, revealing a nasty gash on his arm. ‘Anthony, what happened?’ you asked as a breath rushed out of you at the sight of the injury.

‘I overheard Lord Darlington telling everyone that you had been difficult when he asked for your hand in marriage. He said that he was going to have a word with your father and make it clear to him that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer and that you weren’t going to have a choice; he was going to make you marry him. I overheard and I couldn’t let him get away with talking about you like that so I stepped in and challenged him to a duel.’

‘You didn’t have to do that!’ You protested, still being careful as you patched him up.

‘Didn’t have to? (Y/N), he was telling everyone that you were his! I couldn’t bear the thought because you’re mine,’ Anthony said, his voice rising slightly. As soon as you both realised what he had just said, you both froze, not knowing what to do next.

‘Done,’ you said quietly, gesturing to his arm and looking down at your hands that you were now wringing in your lap. Anthony quietly muttered his thanks and you stood up to leave. A hand wrapped gently around your wrist stopped you from walking away and you looked down at Anthony to see him looking up at you, emotions warring in his eyes.

‘(Y/N), I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. Just the thought of you marrying him, it drove me insane and,’ you cut him off by stepping closer to him, your hands gently cupping his cheeks as his hands moved to clutch at your waist, holding you in place.

‘You should know me better than that. I’d never marry someone else. Not when the only person I want to marry is you,’ you spoke softly as your lips hovered over his. Without another word, Anthony yanked you down into his lap as he pressed his lips to yours. You gasped against his lips, allowing Anthony to deepen the kiss as he held you as close as possible, the skirts of your dress, settling over the two of you. ‘Anthony,’ you whimpered, your hands sliding up the back of his head as your hips began to rock against him. ‘Need you.’

‘You have me. Forever, you have me, (Y/N),’ he mumbled as his lips began to press kisses to your neck and shoulder. Your hands slipped underneath your skirt as you tried to pull Anthony’s trousers down his hips, only to be stopped by his hands wrapping around your wrists, putting a halt to your movements. ‘(Y/N), we can’t,’ he breathed out, his breath heavy against your shoulder.

‘Why? Anthony, I need you,’ you insisted as you tried to move your hands out of his grip, letting out a huff of frustration when you failed.

‘We can’t. (Y/N), I can’t do this to you. If anyone were to find out that I’d had you before your husband, you know what would happen and I won’t put you through that.’

Instead of replying, you crashed your lips against his again, smirking when you heard the groan form in his throat, his hands loosening their grip on you. As soon as you could, you pulled your hands up to rest on the side of his neck as you looked at him. ‘Anthony, the only person I want to be with is you. Please.’

Anthony looked at you, his eyes full of adoration as he just looked at you for a few seconds. ‘And you’re sure? Because once we do this, once I have you, I won’t be able to let you go.’

‘You’ve had me for years, you just haven’t realised,’ you said and that was the only confirmation he needed as his hands made quick work of pushing his trousers down his legs and hooking your panties to the side.

‘Next time, I promise I’ll be gentle and I’ll take my time with you but I can’t wait.’

‘We have all the time in the world,’ you reassured him. A gasp left your throat and tears pricked in your eyes as you felt the sharp pain of him entering you. Anthony’s hands were gentle as he cradled you against his body, trying to be as still as possible as he let you adjust to the foreign feeling.

‘I’m sorry, it won’t hurt for long,’ he soothed, kissing away your tears until your hips started rocking again and he took that as his sign to move. You weren’t expecting the rush of pleasure to course through you as he started to guide your body against his and you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder to steady yourself and muffle the cries that he was pulling from you.

In that moment, everything just felt right. And you knew that Anthony Bridgerton was the only person that you wanted.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgeron imagine

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hughes86-43 · 26 days

Note

"Wow, just wow. They had the audacity to ask you if you were single even though I had my hand wrapped around your waist." "You're jealous?" "Fuck yeah, I am." - jealous/posessive!Nico pleaseee it’s what I live for

“Wow, just wow. They had the audacity to ask you if you were single even though I had my hand wrapped around your waist.” “You’re jealous?” “Fuck yeah, I am”

It was a Friday night, and to mark the end of the hockey season, you and Nico went out with the other teammates and their significant others to a local rooftop bar. You dressed up in your favorite wide leg pants paired with a black skin tight long sleeve. Knowing that you would be doing a lot of standing and moving around to talk to people, you wore your comfy black boots.

Nico had one arm wrapped around your waist as he was talking to Jasper on the other side of him, and you were sipping on your drink talking to two of your girl friends. You were missing quality time talking to the other significant others of the team as you have been busy with work lately, so you were glad to be able to catch up with them.

All was going well until a random guy came up to you. You weren’t even paying attention to someone coming up to you, until he was basically right up next to you. “Um, can I help you?” You weren’t trying to be rude with your response, but it probably did sound that way.

He eyes your body up and down, says confidently, “Hi, I’m Dustin, I was wondering if you were single? I definitely want to buy you a drink.” You can feel Nico’s arm become stiff around you, but you knew that he was going to let you handle the situation before he needed to step in. You could feel the eyes of the people you knew on you, waiting to see what you would say or if they needed to step in as well.

“Oh, no, I’m not single! I’m totally fine buying my own drink, so no!” Your nervous response makes him drop his smile and confident demeanor.

“Well, okay, you’re loss!” You stand there for a second shocked at what he just said before letting out a laugh and taking a sip of your drink.

You turn your head left and right to see everyone looking at you. You speak out, “Okay, that was weird! Let’s go back to what we were doing!”

You turn to face Nico as he loosens his grip on your waist. When he lets go of you, you ask him if he was okay.

“Yeah, I’m just going to go the bathroom real quick.” He walks to the bathroom after you give him a nod and a quick kiss.

Turning back to the girls, you hear Jack come up next to you. “You better go check up on him, that vein in his neck was about to pop at the sight of that guy asking you out.” You give him a nod, tell the girls you’ll be right back, and head to find Nico.

He was standing down the bathroom hallway when you found him. He looked like he could punch something.

“What’s wrong? Is it about that guy? We both know that he was crazy to ask that.”

He looks at you and responds, “Yes, that guy!” He throws his hands in the air. “I mean, wow, just wow! They had the audacity to ask you if you were single even though I had my hand wrapped around your waist.”

You could tell that he was jealous over it, and Jack was right, that vein looked like it was about to pop. “You’re jealous? Aren’t you?”

He looks right into your eyes as he says, “Fuck yeah, I am!” He sighs before walking over to put his hands on your hips, “I mean have you seen how you look tonight? You’re freaking smoking hot, and you could easily get with any guy, but you’re mine so they can’t have you.”

You let out a soft laugh while moving your hand to run it through his hair. “Yeah, I’m yours. Always.” You lift up on your toes to give him a kiss. “Let’s go back to talk to everyone and then we can head out because I’m loving this jealous side of you.”

He raises an eyebrow at what you said. “Oh, really? Why don’t we just head out now?”

You gently push him out of the grasp and turn to walk back to your friends, “Hmm, you know that’s tempting, but I want to talk to everyone so you’ll have to wait.” He groans as you throw him a wink.

#nico hischier #nico hischier fics #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier imagines #hockey imagines #hockey fics #nhlhockey fic

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cleo-fox · 7 months

Text

Fic Preview: Overtime

Full fic now posted

@sarahscribbles convinced me to post a preview of my TVA office romance fic. It doesn’t have a proper summary yet, but the text of the preview is kind of a good summation of the setup.

Warnings: None in this excerpt. There will be smut in the full fic.

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.”

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.