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gorejo · 7 months

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▸ you want to fuck my girlfriend? here, take a listen, scrub. - GOJO SATORU (forbes30!gojo au)

your boyfriend isn’t too fond when you speak so highly of your coworker, especially when he sees right through their motives — he thinks. so what does your boyfriend do when your coworker calls while fucking you? well, have him listen so he can fuck off.

content: 6.5k words (unedited bc i can't deal with this rip). afab!/fem!reader, she/her pronouns. minors do not interact. blowjob, and cunninlingus. you swallow his cum. he calls you pet names (girl, baby, sweetheart, angel, princess), he gets jealous of your coworker. fingering. satoru cums in his pants oopsies haha. breeding. he calls himself daddy one part for a joke. he cums inside you. he manhandles while his coworker hears you both doing the naughty naughty ◡̈ satoru gets nervous when you call him by his full name.

How did things turn out this way?

You were supposed to be enjoying your dinner with Satoru. You should’ve helped clean the dishes with him by now, maybe even put the plates back into the cabinets.

Usually, he’ll cling onto you like a koala from behind, arms loosely wrapping around your waist while his hands were placed at the base of your tummy. lightly kissing the back of your neck, complaining about how stressful the day was with Ijichi up his ass as you hummed back sweet affirmations.

And maybe by now, you were supposed to be having some dessert while cuddling with him on the couch, cozy and under the soft blankets as he played with your fingers, grazing around your promise one while watching ridiculous rom-com movies, murmuring under his breath something undecipherable with a smug look on his face.

“What,” you queried without taking your eyes off the screen, biting your lips as you intently rooted for the couple to finally get together, “ugh but Satoru how can she be so dumb!” frustratingly rolling your eyes, pouting as you slumped into his chest, “like the man is practically spelling it out he’s in love with her!”

“You tell me,” your boyfriend groaned, “because baby this feels like déjà vu.”

“What?” you intently looked back at him, “sorry… can you repeat that?” you cheekily smiled, clueless at what was going on in your boyfriend’s head, completely forgetting about the torment and the eight years of suffering (he liked to exaggerate) he had to endure just to be here with you today, not even adding the months it took for you to even date him during college — he liked to always add.

“Nothing,” he softly responded, pulling you closer as he rested his chin on your shoulder, “just thinking, that’s all,” he murmured before placing a kiss on your shoulder.

This was supposed to be the ritual for Thursday evenings — wind down and relax while shitting on the cringy plot as you both giggled about the unrealistic romance, completely delusional just how you both got back together…

And as most couples do, while peacefully lying together things happen to lead to another, a simple kiss becoming something more, wanting and needy, resulting in occasional sexual favors when you both are up for it.

occasionally.

“Nothing too strenuous,” he’ll smile while looking up at you, his hair softly covering your breasts as he kisses your perked nipples.

“Satoru… w-we can’t, we need to get up early.” The irony in your words almost made him laugh.

Can’t? Oh… how you underestimate him. Have you not learned already that there was no “can’t” in his dictionary?

“No no, princess, we can,” he tenderly seduced as his lips brushed against your skin, looking up at your needy face with his cheeks a faint rose, “we always make it work.”

“But ‘Toru! Ngh,” you whined, grasping his wrist as you arched your back. The way you sucked in a harsh breath when you felt his mildly calloused fingers inch their way down into your panties, gently stroking your sensitive clit made his cock painfully throb inside the restraints of his briefs.

“it’ll be quick, so relax,” your boyfriend coaxed, his tongue swirling and sucking against your breasts, his ego satisfied when he feels you succumb to his touch. And when he releases with a pop, a coat of his saliva glistening on your areola, he can’t help but salivate when he thinks about how pretty your cunt will also glisten with his spit as your cum drips down his chin.

“You’re such a liar.” you tugged on his hair, bucking your hips to get more friction against his hands.

“Don’t you know me so well,” chuckling as he placed tender kisses to your chest, reaching up your collarbone and to your jaws, watching your expressions change from expectancy to frustration as he teased to put his finger in, “baby, yes or no?”

Glaring at him, you pulled him closer, “I hate you—” your voice hitched when he pushed two fingers in, slightly opening his mouth to release a moan as he watched your head being thrown back and chest huffing at the sudden penetration, immediately placing his vacant hand behind your head so you wouldn’t get hurt.

“Aw, you’re going to hurt my feelings,�� a sly smile crept over his face, his mellifluous voice making you clench on his finger. his hand brings your head down to see his fingers connecting with your pussy, the slick of your erection making erotic noises behind the muffled voices from the movie.

“but you hear that?” His long fingers slowly entered frustratingly in and out of your hole, twisting as the tip of his middle and fourth fingers arched to brush against your sweet spot, the gushes of your viscous juice being embarrassingly loud as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, arms thrown around him, “heh you love me so much.”

It’s always just to get the edge off from the day’s stress.

And it’s never quick with Satoru unless it was the risque office sex he liked to have recently or when he thrived off a fast run in goddamn random places. But mostly it was a couple of rounds at a minimum.

Other times, you were kneeling in between his thighs, your fingers linked under his waistband, pulling down his gray sweats — his bulge deliciously accentuated in it. A soft whine releases when you feel a knot in your stomach and a familiar aching in between your thighs as you lick your lips while palming his clothed member.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured, scanning down from his face to his pelvis.

your boyfriend worked hard for his body, proven by the thousands of pictures he sent you while at the gym or during his free time. mostly unsolicited photos that he strangely knew exactly when to send — during your meetings, during lunch, or just when you’re about to leave the office.

“Yea?” he murmured, kicking his sweats off his ankles, “or do you just like seeing me half naked in my sweats you love to eyefuck me with?”

Satoru had a talent, gifting to be exact, for looking so pretty — especially when his lids were half opened, his pink lips mildly caved open while his hands desperately touched you. With his defined adam’s apple bobbing, expectantly swallowing a wad of his spit as you kissed down his neck, tongue gently tickling his collarbone while you made your way down his firm chest, placing soft pecks on his skin as your hands soothed out his clenched abdominals.

“Hmm,” blowing on his member and placing a sweet kiss on his inner thigh, “both,” you hummed.

He’ll hiss when the cool air meets his semi-hardened cock, looking intently down as your small hands wrapped around his pretty shaft. His cerulean eyes lasciviously looking down at you while you played with his member, licking at his tip and stroking his length. His eyes soon roll back, his toned arms flayed while his hands clenched onto the back of the couch, his lids fluttering while he desperately rasped, feeling your sweet mouth sucking at his balls, “fuck, just like that angel… such a good girl.”

Usually, you’ll draw out his high. Hearing his hitched breaths and wonton moans as you swirl your tongue around his pulsing head, placing soft kitten licks and butterfly kisses down his length, holding his shaft and putting it against your cheek to have him see just how big he was.

And only when you see his brows furrow, his hand making its way to the top of your head to gently yet impatiently push you down his length, that you’ll expand your mouth, and pull him in deeply to the base of your throat.

He’ll guide your pace to just how he liked it, hips bucking into your mouth as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat and his neatly trimmed pubes tickled your nose. Hissing at how warm, soft, and just so right your tongue felt around his dick as his thumb gently massaged your jaws, cooing at how perfect you looked — satisfied that no matter how many times you’ve done this for him, it was still a struggle for you to take him in all three holes.

And on most Thursday nights, it doesn’t take him long to cum into your mouth. With his head thrown back as he gulped down his spit, the vein of his cock bulging more as you felt his shaft twitch in your hands. He’ll relentlessly shoot his warm seeds down your throat, his body hovering over you as he groans while gluttonously calling out your name — breathy and close to whimpers as he rode out his orgasm.

You’ll release his softened cock with a little pop when his chest starts to calm and you hear his graveled chuckle. tiredly smiling as you sweetly looked up at him, his eyes fucked as he gazed at the corner of your mouth still covered with remnants of his cum.

“here spit,” he’ll kindly offer his hand, voice groggy and deep.

Satoru is a simple man when it comes to you. Because when you open up your mouth, showing him there was nothing left, he’ll feel his cock twitch again as he smiles. Groaning with his one hand wrapped around your jaw, just large enough to hold your face to easily maneuver. With your cheeks lightly smushed by his grip, he’ll arch down to praise you just before landing a kiss, “that’s my girl.”

And on other occasions, he’ll have you laying on the couch, his fingers delicately spreading out your pussy while he swirled his tongue around your clit, his finger prodding inside you — one, two, occasionally three when you were really feeling it — his salacious eyes watching your body squirm and lip spread like an angelic ‘O’ as you moaned out ‘Toru’.

Call him a masochist but he loves the sharp pain of your fingers pulling at his hair as you come into his mouth. It makes his dick twitch to know he’s doing a fine ass job pleasing you. He’ll go on his hands and knees if it meant he could endlessly make you cum — in his mouth? Well, that was a cheeky bonus.

He groaned as he lifted himself up, swiftly looking at the drops of your juices traveling down his forearm before he caged you back into his arms, his lips kissing you loosely while your hand immediately found refuge in his briefs.

It wasn’t a surprise you still felt him hard — one round was never sufficient for a guy like him.

And in between kisses, as he tugged onto your lower lip, “did you feel good?” he’ll breathily mutter, being careful not to use his soiled hands to touch you, yet he’ll press further into your body wanting more of you.

“Mhm, always,” you’ll affirm as you breathe out, feeling him slightly tremble in your hold, “you okay, Satoru?”

“Baby…” as he slightly pulled away to look at you, “I never came so fucking fast in my life,” he groaned while looking down, his enjoyment proved by the dark circular outline on the groin of his sweats, “i’m still fucking hard.”

Aside from sex, Thursdays were supposed to be a routine. Get home, eat and wash up, enjoy a glass of wine or dessert, and warmly talk in each other’s company as you both looked forward to the next day after work — the weekly date night that Satoru thoughtfully planned.

Key word: supposed to.

This was supposed to be the usual for a typical Thursday night.

So, how did you end up here — naked and sticky, with his hands pushing down your thighs to your chest, his long fingers pressing into your plush skin with eyes dark and carnal as his cock stretched you out fully in his bed with his hips pounding into you as his phone obnoxiously buzzed.

Well, it’s probably when you mentioned you would have a work meeting with a coworker after dinner, completely neglecting him — his Thursday routine with you.

“With who?” clenching his chopstick as he silently chewed on his rice, knowing just who you were about to say.

“Well,” cleaning your lips with a napkin, “Tanaka-san wanted me to go over the presentation with him for tomorrow.”

Satoru was sure he felt a vein pop when he heard his name. He was already upset that you were partnered with him for your upcoming project, he couldn’t possibly show his disapproval when you were so excited telling him all the little details you needed to prepare for. So he bit his tongue and let it bypass, forcing down his complaints because, “it’s just work, nothing more,” you cheerfully responded while combing through his hair, his arms wrapped around you as he pouted, “you’ll be with a guy?”

He usually didn’t care who you were partnered with, just with fucking Tanaka-san he did — anyone but him.

The Tanaka-san that you talked so highly about. The one that always brought in an extra cup of coffee, because it just so happened that your favorite cafe near work would always mess up his order and give him a drink for free.

He’ll quickly text you, clicking his tongue in annoyance in his car, angrily shaking his legs as he stared daggers into the man.

>> baby! coffee and pastries are on me for you and your team ( :

>> and don’t drink that.

<< satoru… go to work, he’s just a coworker.

<< … and you bought lunch for us yesterday.

>> what? :p can’t spoil my princess? Damn the world is such a heartless place now, my girlfriend won't even let me love her.

<;< Gojo Satoru.

>> heh… yes? That’s my name!

<< go to work, Ijichi-san is calling me.

>> a thank you will be nice. or even a kiss, i’m still here ( :

Or when Satoru texts or calls during your lunch hours, the stupid Tanaka-san will always be in the photo or facetime, somehow always being mentioned that you were getting lunch with him.

And fucking god, whenever he would pick you up from work, he’ll see right through his actions, when Satoru catches Tanaka-san’s eyes linger on you a little too long for just a normal co-worker basis.

Fucking scrub, Satoru mentally cursed, the audacity of the guy to think he even had a chance with you. It took him eight years of pure agonizing delay, and there was no way he could top that.

Satoru noticed your phone was set on the table. Vacant and unused as you absentmindedly walked off to get some water. You made it so easy for him.

“Babe, I need to check something real quick, can I use your phone?”

“Sure,” you mindlessly nodded away.

Your phone recognizing his face, he quickly scanned through your messages to send a text.

>> Tanaka-San, sorry but my phone is dead. Can you text this number instead? 03-xxxx-xxxx

>> thanks ! ( :

<;< sure!

And before you came back, Satoru quickly pressed the messages with his thumb, quickly deleting any evidence.

“O-oh god,” panting while your fingers gripped onto the sheets, anything, to steady yourself as he rammed his cock into you.

“that’s the spot, yea?” throwing his head back, his hands now pressing at your waist, pulling your hips upward, allowing his cock to hit that very deep sweet spot only he can reach.

“you like it here right,” he growled, watching you with sweat dripping down his temple, his stomach deliciously flexed with every thrust he mercilessly pistoled his cock in.

“s-slow down! Youre gonna make me cum again,” you cried out, tears fanning your view.

Of course, he was, multiple times in fact.

Most times, he’ll gently cradle you in his arms, fucking you gently before picking up his pace. Prepping you fully while you impatiently writhed in his arms, your pussy wet as he slapped his cock on your hardened bud. He wasn’t one to shy from being too rough, nor was he hesitant to be soft. He’ll always stay tuned to your emotions and place you before his own release, but today… the sight of you crying solely because of his cock gave him an ego boost — especially knowing a certain brat was waiting for your attention.

Chuckling as he gave you a lascivious smile, the one that wasn’t his usual flirty nor sweet — the one that was onset with hunger and annoyance.

“Then cum,” he mockingly ordered, the slapping of his hips meeting your ass harshly echoed.

“it’s too much!” You cried out, your breasts bouncing with every thrust he made, barely making the words through the thick smell of sex and humidity in the room.

You weren’t sure if the sheer length of his cock entering deep inside you was stripping you of air, or the sudden match of his swollen lips on yours that made you feel suffocated.

“Satoru! ngh” you gasped in between his passionate kisses, “I-it’s too deep!”

“Angel,” he whispered, his breath closely fanning over your hot cheeks as the rhythm of his hips firmly pressed in, his thrusts unforgiving as he watched you ricochet at the force. His hand now placed a little over the base of your tummy, “don’t you feel me? I’m right here, silly.” Emphasizing his last word with a taunting smile.

“but ‘Toru —”

It was almost impossible but Satoru made it happen — he always did. Because within a split second, you felt his ass clench and balls slap firmly against your ass, groaning as his breath slightly hitched, “fuck you feel so good,” he rasped as his toned arms caged you in, leaving you no room but to face him, “you feel me, baby… this is how far I can go when I’m inside you, crazy isn’t it?”

Buzz! Buzz!

“fucking shit,” he cursed as his eyes shot to his phone, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Despite the little prank he pulled with your coworker, Satoru himself forgot who the recipient was as he mentally cursed at whoever was disrupting his time with you.

Quickly switching positions, flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you down with his weight as all 7.2 inches of his cock throbbed inside you, he hooked his arms under your, clenching his ass while rutting in.

Buzz! Buzz!

“Y-your phone,” you moaned out as you felt your boyfriend swiftly pulsing in, the slapping of skin muffling the sound of his phone, “it keeps ringing fuckkk,” you pulled out a moan, “maybe it’s important ‘toru!”

“i swear if it’s Suguru,” Satoru spat through gritted teeth, “im gonna kick his ass.” his hand reached over to his phone, immediately rolling his tongue against his teeth. Squinting from the harsh light of his screen, nothing could tick him off more than seeing his name.

Scrub — aka Tanaka-san.

<< scrub (27 minutes ago)

hi! you asked me to text this number so I did!

let me know when you’re free

<< scrub (15 minutes ago)

Hello, are you still up to facetime?

<< scrub (8 minutes ago)

Let me know when you’re free! (:

Also, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something…

<< scrub (2 minutes ago)

Are you there? Let me know if you’re okay.

I’m getting a little worried now…

<< missed call from scrub (10 seconds ago)

“Why the fuck is he over-exaggerating,” Satoru’s voice laced with venom, clearly pissed when he feels his phone vibrate again in his hands, the caller ‘Scrub’ not knowing when to quit.

“dumb fuck doesn’t know when to stop does he?” he hissed, throwing his phone to the side before giving him your attention again, pressing his member further in as he grunted at the weight of your walls falling plush to his length — fluttering and warm.

“w-who — ah!” you gasped when the tip of his head teasingly grazed against your sweet spot, struggling to breathe with the weight of your boyfriend on top of you.

“It’s no one,” Satoru chuckled, cupping your sweaty face as he pulled on your lower lip, “aw guess i’m not doing my job correctly,” his arms quickly moved to cage your legs to rest on his shoulders, making it so easy for him to breed you right then and there, “if you can think while i’m fucking you.”

“—ngh! It feels so so good, ‘Toru! More more!”

“Yea, you like that?”

Managing to get your arms around him, despite the pressing of your thighs on your chest, you whimpered while pulling him even further down, “mhm I love it, makes me so full…”

Buzz! Buzz!

“I fucking swear,” Satoru mentally chimed as he grasped for his phone, standing on his knees as he ran his wet hair through his fingers, showcasing his forehead as you watched his features highlighted through the screen light.

“Hurry…” you cooed, running your foot up his chest to play with his nipple, smirking as you seductively bit your pinky when he hugged your thigh with one arm while he scrolled through his phone. His biceps perfectly curling against your calves.

The veins on his forearms bulging as his grip tightened against his poor device that he could easily break with how pissed he was getting.

At this point it wasn’t even the fucking scrub that irked him, it was the simple fact that this prick managed to get on his nerves.

>> scrub

Please pick up, I hope everything is okay.

“Turn around for me, daddy’s got some business,” his voice laced in humor yet his actions said otherwise. Before quickly sending a text, he ordered, “and get on your knees for me baby.”

“O-okay,” your obedience was so cute. Normally you would’ve picked a fight, not letting him get what he wanted so easily, but today you were rather submissive.

Getting on your knees, you felt his thighs spread out your legs further, his vacant hand kneading your bum as he ran the tip of his head against your wet cunt, pressing himself in slowly when his dick was felt nicely lubricated with your slick.

“Fuck…” he hissed through his teeth, watching his girth perfectly stretching you out from behind.

Buzz. buzz. His phone vibrated in his hand.

“Good girl, let me take this call real quick, it’s really important,” quickly pressing a kiss to your back.

Fastidiously looking back, your eyes round in panic, “wait Satoru are you serious right —”

He rammed his length into you, stifling you as he almost knocked the wind out of your chest.

“be quiet for me, yea? We’ve done this before,” he smirked, “just think it’s suguru on the line.”

“B-but this is different,” you panted while grasping hold of his pillow. It felt nice with Satoru’s scent covered all of it. Despite knowing this was wrong, how improper this was, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of eroticism in all of this — fucking while he was on a business call… what devil came over you.

And he, the epitome of the devil himself had the nerve to send you a wink as he flashed his canines in a smile, his cock bullying your cunt, “shhh,” he mouthed while placing a finger on his lips, “just be good for me and just take my cock, yea? Don’t want nobody hearing my baby.”

Quickly losing any resolve when he knowingly pushed deeper inside. “You pervert — Ah… just right there…” you softly mumbled, your body moving forward when he retracted back to meet him in the middle for a harsher impact.

Satoru loved to spread your ass, he swore he saw stars when he saw your wet cunt, your cute little hole, wrapped so tightly around him, his sheer size stretching your rim.

“You love me,” Satoru cheekily responded before lightly biting your shoulder. And in that you did, no denying. And he knew that — fully, most entirely well.

With adrenaline pumping through his blood, nothing could stop him from tearing this man up into pieces for even glancing at what was his.

“Hello,” Gojo’s voice was calm, his dilated cerulean eyes locked to the crevice of your ass where his cock slowly pulled out and entered back in to disappear.

“Gojo-san?” the other man questioned, briefly taking a second to respond, “Oh, I- I hope you’re well, Gojo-san.”

“I am, you seem rather disappointed it’s me,” Gojo joked, voice laced with sarcasm.

“No, never! I just didn’t expect —”

“Expect me to answer?”

“well yes…”

You could barely hear the other line. You knew it wasn’t Ijichi-san, his voice was much higher in pitch. And it wasn’t Suguru, or else Satoru wouldn’t be so tense… nor would he give two fucks if his best friend could hear.

“‘Toru,” you moaned, “who is it?” you softly muttered.

“Shhh, angel,” Gojo soothed, “ keep going just like that,” he guided with his free hand placed at the small of your back to pace your hip movements, “she’s a bit occupied right now.”

“Oh.. I see,” the man on the other line awkwardly responded, “do you know when she’ll be free?”

“Not sure,” your boyfriend hummed, though his voice was calm, his lower portion of his body wasn’t. Because when he felt you intentionally clench on his length, looking back with your face smushed on his pillow — so delicate, so needy — he felt the insufferable knot in the bottom of his stomach start to burn and his balls twitch.

Suddenly thrusting in, making your whole body jolt, shaking at the force of his head bumping against the familiar gushy spot, “Is it something I can help you with?”

“Are you sure? I’m sure you’re a very busy man and all —” Tanaka trailed on stating how grateful he would be, an honor if the Gojo Satoru could help, but it went through one ear and out the other for Satoru.

“Mhm,” he mindlessly responded, “if you present that idea as your last point, giving multiple sources and data to prove it, i don’t find a reason why your boss won’t further finance your project.”

Looking at his phone to see a pdf file sent, quickly scanning over the details, “tidy up the numbers, I think your calculations are off on slide twelve.”

“Thank you, Gojo-san… uhm i-if i could ask one more question —”

“ ‘toru,” you mewled — you shouldn’t, you absolutely shouldn’t but you did knowing he’ll cave. Your boyfriend looked hot seeing him doing his work, talking in verbage that seemed so knowledgeable. And he was readily available — always.

“i wanna see you.”

“Hold up, can I keep you on hold for a brief moment,” Gojo stated, mindlessly pressing the mute button before he heard his response, throwing the phone to the side.

“Oh sure, that’s alright —”

His tongue swiped up from the base of your back as he grasped hold of your cheeks with one hand, pressing you down again into his favorite position. his hot breath seething to your ears as the only sounds aside for you both was the slapping of wet skin hitting eachother.

“Missed me?” he grins when he sees you nodding, “aren’t you a little naughty for distracting me.”

Normally you would scoff at his teasing banters, rolling your eyes as you listened to Satoru try with his questionable choice of words. He still had a childish habit of thinking you both were still young, freshly in your late teens as you both explored your sexual fantasies.

It was laughable, really. A man calculative and deemed honorable to society was nothing but a child that whined for your attention.

And this same man did rather unexplainable things to you. Like leaving you breathless with his love and how he served you as his lover, to the way he fucked you senseless, leaving you babbering and writhing for more.

The wonton groans echoed in the room fuzzies your mind, oftentimes making it hard to expand your lungs to inhale.

“breathe, focus on me,” he guided you — noticing you were struggling, noticing you were awfully close.

The familiar clench of your inner walls wrapping against his cock as he pushed deeper in, his breathing halts for a brief moment while his feet dug into the mattress, his ass clenching with every thrust.

“I’m so so close, ‘toru—‘m gonna….gonna—”

“I know, me too,” he groans while biting your shoulder, letting out a sweet gasp that leaves you shivering in his arms, “just give me a little more, yea?”

“Yes! Yes, more — need m-more!”

“Squeeze a little for me,” he gathers your thighs to create more friction for his cock to pass through your entrance. And immediately you clenched your thighs, knowing just how he liked it.

“just like that, squeezing me so tight,” he murmured while kissing your back.

You know he’s close. It’s in the way his sloppy thrusts, and his pace lacked his usual tempo. The girth of his voice stammering as his thumb firmly pressed against your clit, shoving his hand underneath you to rub circles like it was the most imperative thing for him to do besides holding his high just until he could spill his seeds into your dripping cunt after you reached your high.

“s— ‘toru.” youre close too. He can feel it in the way you call out his name. The way your walls fluttered and your slick made his cock every so easily penetrate inside you.

You were perfect — just like this, with no interference, with no Tanaka san — just you and him connected as one.

Was it naughty? Hell yea, and he loved every second of it.

But was keeping your coworker on hold while he fucked you a good idea? Probably not. You’ll most likely chew his ear off if you ever heard of this.

But, maybe it was the hormones raging inside him talking or he seriously didn’t give two cents about that scrub, but he thinks he heard something muffled through the covers, the culprit being his phone.

Maybe it was the notification for your period tracker? Guess it would be around this time it alerted him.

It could be Ijichi begging for him to respond to his email saying it was urgent — nothing was more urgent than this.

Oh well, whatever it was guess that’ll be future Satoru's problem.

“Please —’m close, ‘toru l-let me hold you,” you whined.

“Kay turn around for me,” quickly lifting himself, just enough so he could angle his cock swiftly in without much effort.

“You okay?” he lets out a chuckle when he sees your messy state — it’s beautiful, makes him want to bother you even more.

“Satoru, i think you literally fucked a baby inside me this time —” instead of finishing your statement, you ended up gasping. Pulling him closer, back arching and eyes rolling as your boyfriend ignorantly drove himself in, bullying your pussy while splitting you in half as the coil in your stomach inevidenatly snaps with his force.

This time? Well… it’s laughable — your innocence.

“Oh sweetheart,” firmly pinning down your hips, pushing down with his chest pressed down upon your breasts, his arms securely caging you in — locking in his prey, licking his lips just ready to devour. It was easy to miss the intent of his words, his voice for a moment tender and sweet contrasted to his cock pistoling mercilessly into your abused cunt, “that’s the point of fucking.”

The familiar pain he felt on his back, mildly stinging from a sweat, felt all too euphoric and sinful, yet his eyes ran to the back of his head in pure bliss.

The tugging of your arms against the ends of his hair, pulling you closer to your body despite the desperate cries requesting that he slow down… he knew you all too well to do anything else but listen to you.

Because just as he predicted, you gasp. Your walls spasm and your body shivers. The heat in your tummy that’s been threatening its release finally fires. With your eyes rolled back, you cum — hard with a warm liquid leaking out of your swollen cunt.

Nothing can send him off the edge more than him watching you reach your high. So when he sees you tensing and murderously clenching on his cock, the heat of your high running down his inner thighs, his bedsheets drenched in fluid, a similar gasp befalls his lips.

His voice cracks while muttering something incomprehensible as his arms tighten their grip around your body, his hips rutting desperately into you.

“Cum for me pretty,” you purred — eyes dazed and tired, yet holding on till the end.

And then he snaps. Hiding his face into the crook of your neck, desperately holding onto you as he pulls in a final thrust, his hot seeds shooting straight inside and his balls coiling inside the sac.

His voice was filled with so much desperation. His moans echoeing, verberating through the halls.

“Shit this pussy does wonders,” he groans with his jaw clenched, “keep it all in, all of it for me,” he rasped before smothering his lips with yours.

Satoru moans while kissing you. Rocking his hips loosely back and forth into you, your mind feeling dizzy — maybe at the thought of his cum being pushed further in, or that he fucked you so full.

He shivered a bit, he always did post-cum. Clinging onto you without any resolve to get down.

“You’re heavy,” giving him a hug while placing soft kisses against his cheeks.

“I’ll get off in a minute,” he whined while placing your hand on his head, “little more like this.”

Giggling as you scratched at his scalp, “can you wash me up —”

“Hello? G-gojo san…” there was a muffle in between his sheets.

What the hell was that? Until you remembered — “Oh my fucking god Satoru!” you panicked, immediately pushing him off you, your partner immediately groaning when his clock slipped out of your warmth. He couldn’t help but take a peak if it’ll spill out — and it did, a shining puddle of his cum slowly pooling in his sheets… drip by drip out of your pretty cunt — god he wanted to stuff it back in.

“Your phone!” you whispered while quickly wrapping yourself with his sheets — as if that’ll undo what he did.

“you left him on hold!”

“It’s your fault,” he groaned as he shifted his body to lie on his back, pulling himself up to lean against the backboard. It creaked a bit. Did he fuck you that hard? Impossible.

“What?” you stupidly looked at him, brows furrowed at his audacity to blame you.

Well if your pussy wasn’t so good, he thought while begrudgingly picking up the phone, maybe he wouldn’t have completely forgotten about the prick that was on the other line.

“hey sorry, bout that,” Satoru grunted while wiping off the excess cum on his dick with a tissue.

He couldn’t remember if he pressed the unmute button, but couldn’t care less if he did.

“T-that’s alright,” the other line sounded off, almost uncomfortable.

“You need anything else?”

“Uhm… no, that’s okay, uh… have a good night, sir.”

Sir? What the fuck was with the honorifics all of a sudden…

“Well you too, good night. And oh, don’t bring coffee anymore, that’s my job.”

— next morning.

“Remind me the next time you decide to fuck me on a work day” the ache in between your legs causing your voice to be laced with venom as you swirled your instant coffee, “that I cut your dick off.”

“But it felt good no?” your partner scoffed through the line, “and aren’t you the one that, I quote, ” sarcastically clearing his voice “‘toru harder! Harder, satoru harder! I’m so full! Cum inside —”

“Gojo satoru,” your voice panning, “yes maam,” your boyfriend immediately straightened after hearing his full name.

“So… i’ll pick you up later tonight —” Satoru tested his waters only to be cut off when he heard a familiar voice on the other line.

“Hello —”

What the fuck.

“Oh! Tanaka-san,” you chirped, “good morning! Coffee?” you offered to make him a cup.

“No thank you…”

“Well, I was waiting for your call last night, how come you didn’t call?”

“Sweets?” Satoru called out successfully getting your attention.

“Oh sorry, one moment.” apologetically smiling to your coworker, “hey baby, call you later! I’m with Tanaka-san! Bye!” you ended the call before hearing your boyfriend’s response.

“Uhm…” your coworker nervously played with his thumbs, “yea… about that… c-can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yes, is everything okay?” you worriedly asked.

“Of course, I —” letting out a frustrated sigh, “I think there was a little misunderstanding.”

“Of?” you questioned, pursing your lips in confusion.

“I… I think your boyfriend —” catching himself with his error, “sorry… Gojo san misconstrued my actions for something else,” the poor man murmured.

“I’m sorry, Tanaka-san, I don’t seem to follow…”

“I called him yesterday while —” stopping himself from continuing with the thought, “and I promise it wasn’t because of what he presumed it to be, and I won’t tell a soul about what happened,” the man continually stammered, his face becoming increasingly pale while anxiously rubbing his hands together, “i..i — i thought it would be nice to get some tips about how to pursue a lady, b-but I think I overstepped my boundaries.”

“You called him?” unsure when they both exchanged numbers — maybe it was when Satoru picked you up a drunken night from a company dinner.

Tanaka-san was kind. He always held these gentle eyes that always seemed to calm anyone’s soul from just being around him. He would shyly pass you a morning coffee while he held another for someone else — Yamada-san, the one he’s been secretly crushing on since the day of her transfer two years ago. The Tanaka-san that would walk two steps behind you just so he could see if his crush dropped anything from her purse — a tendency she can’t quite fix because he’ll always be mindful of her.

You knew of his crush, and you wished to help him all that more.

But right now, his eyes were filled with embarrassment and anxiety as he talked to you — it was unfamiliar and cold.

“Do you want to talk this through over lunch?” you cheerfully invited, trying your best to fill the awkward tension between you both — more so, the guard he had with you.

“No!” flinching as he walked back, “Sorry, I think I should go,” Tanaka-san looked away, gulping as he started to walk in the other direction, “I-I think I’ll get lunch on my own today, sorry.”

“Wait — tanaka-san!” you called out, your surrounding coworkers oddly looking at you while passing by.

“Well that was weird,” you murmured, crossing your arms while leaning against the breakroom wall. You couldn’t say his actions hurt you because you couldn’t understand why he would be so suddenly defensive with you, but it did leave an unshakeable impression that you knew one person would have the answer to.

Confused, you decided it was best to ask the potential culprit himself.

>> So… why did Tanaka-san just apologize to me about you misunderstanding something? Saying that he shouldn’t have called you last night?

<< oh… about that?

>> oh god what did you do?

<< well…

<< i might’ve forgotten to click the mute button :p ….

author's comment: idk what comes over me when i write smut for him. it just fleshes out to long fics when they weren't meant to be this long. But anyways… I hope you all enjoyed as much as i love writing for him!!!!

#ae.writes #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader #darkmode.#forbes30!gojo

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rinhaler · 7 months

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MY CABINET IS FINALLY HERE

#🧚🏽‍♀️ — luxe chit chat #I just had some cereal I’m so bloated #but I’m gonna put my cabinet together soon bc I want a break from doing requests #I’ve done 2/5 so far today #feeling very motivated and having fun!!!#also I have some fic ideas I’m excited to write but I wanna get requests done first hehe #HOPEFULLY I will finish the rest of my requests today #n I’ll just queue them up for the next few days 🥺

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jammyjen26 · 4 months

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Disclaimer: I remember seeing a post that was just like this and it was like a few months ago and it inspired this post.

____________________________________________

König is tall. He’s 6’10. He knows it, he’s tall and muscular, thick thighs that can crush your head while you deep throat his large cock.

König’s the type to use his height against you whenever he has the chance, finding it funny when you furrow your eyebrows and get angry at him when he raise his hand up above his head so you can’t reach your phone in his hand.

He loves it when you ask him to grab something from the cabinet, pressing his bulge against your ass and whispering filthy things and what he’s gonna do to you later that night.

He finds it hilarious when other men try to get your attention, and the moment he stands behind you and glares down at them. They all tremble and run away.

He loves to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder and smack your ass, loving the way it bounced and jiggled. He’d always have you on his lap no matter what, loves the feeling of your body pressing up against his, loves to smell your scent, and gosh he loves the way he can feel your panties quickly get wet the moment his hand touches your inner thigh.

When you guys first got together, he’d always be angry about the fact he couldn’t sleep in the bed with you due to his legs hanging off and the blanket not being able to cover the both of you. You offered to lay blankets down on the carpeted floor so you guys can sleep together but he refuses. He’ll lay down in uncomfortable positions just so he can cuddle you.

He loves you so much, the day you moved in with him he knew then and there. “I’m gonna propose to that woman..” He thinks to himself as he stared at you trying to put the Californian king bed frame together alone.

#könig x reader #könig #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig x you #könig fanfiction #call of duty #cod x reader

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fairy-hub · 6 months

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𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮; 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, assistant/sugarbaby!reader, playfully mean(to you)!sugardaddy!ceo!geto, ceo!gojo, taped on vibrator, small butt plug (no anal), edging, window sex, masturbation, squirting on the window, control orgasm, calling suguru sir, service sub!reader, bdsm hints, light begging, dirty talking, heavy praise/light degradation, hints at sharing you, spanking, biting

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Suguru squeezing the ass of his cute little assistant. He loves hearing her soft squeal when he does it

Oreo: I’ve been fighting a headache trying to get this one done because I have a night need to be fucked like a whore against a window while gojo watches

Suguru looks past Jin, rock hard beneath the desk. You’re beautiful struggling to maintain your composure. Holding up his hand Jin falls quiet. “Bring me a glass of water.” Smirking when you stiffly stand, clenching your thighs together.

Clenching your thighs together, keeping eyes casted down, clasping your hands in your lap. Biting your lip, fighting for your life not to moan when the vibrator taped to your clit pulses faster.

You’re so close to cumming on Suguru’s sofa with one of his employees explaining their concerns. Soaking your underwear, your cunt clenching nothing. Your ass squeezing the small training plug.

“Yes sir!” Your voice is shaking, your whole body burning, cunt throbbing and tingling from the immense pleasure.

Turning away from Jin’s curious gaze. “As you were saying Mr. Jin.” The vibrations stop, the reprieve is welcoming and disappointing. Your sensitive clit twitches from getting worked up so close and the sudden lack of stimulation.

Opening the fully stocked mini fridge built into the wall, pulling out the bottle of water and a chilled glass from the cabinet beside. The toy vibrates on your soft clit, slapping your hand over your mouth, fighting yourself not to moan.

Ignoring Jin’s drawl, purely focusing on maintaining your slipping composure and not spilling the water. Throwing the plastic bottle into the recycle, grabbing the chilled glass of water, trembling. Getting lost in the sweet pleasure, it vanishes.

Taking a deep breath turning around to face your sugar daddy and his employee. Suguru isn’t looking at you, smiling at Jin. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention, I’ll see to it that’s taken care of, please see yourself out.” Pressing the button under his desk for the doors to slide open.

Jin nods his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “Yes sir, thank you.” Stiffly walking past Jin, grateful he finally leaving. Going around Suguru’s desk. Holding out his glass of water, his warm thick fingers brush your’s.

Pushing himself away from the desk. His thick bulge in his black dress pants, “Good girl, thank you for the water.” Squeezing a handful of your soft ass, you softly gasp, glancing over to where Jin stands on the elevator peering with wide eyes through the closing office doors.

Suguru massages your cheek. the toy vibrate on your soft clit. “Don’t cum, not yet.” Standing up, grabbing your jaw, gently prying you mouth open with his thumb. Taking a sip and spitting it into your mouth. “Swallow, but you can’t cum yet.”

Setting the cup down, unbutton your dress shirt. “Please! I don’t know how much longer I cannnn!” Clenching your trembling thighs together, knees buckling, legs weak. You grab onto Suguru’s hard, thick bicep.

Getting off on his massive height, unable to stop thinking of fat cock he has for you underneath his pants. Stroking his cock through his pants. “A little bit longer, you’re so hot squirming, struggling not to cum just to make me happy.” Tugging your skirt down, for you to step out of.

His phone buzzes, whining when Suguru answers, “Nasty pervert, I’ll fuck her against the glass for you to watch.” Putting his phone on speaker on the desk. “She such a slut she will get off on seeing you stroke your cock to her.” Slipping your shirt off, unclasping your bra, he can’t get them off fast enough.

Tears trickle down your face, Suguru wipes away one with his thumb. “Aw my sweet little slut is crying cause she can’t cum yet.” Turning to face the window, grabbing your leg lifting showing Satoru your sloppy wet cunt.

Begging, crying, cunt dripping. “I’m gonna! Please! I can’t hold back! It’s too much.” Grinding your hips back, Suguru’s hard cock pressed against your lower back.

Satoru unzips his pants, dropping them with his underwear, sitting down, squirting lube into his hand. “Fuck she sound hot whining like that.” Suguru turns you to face the window, lifting your legs giving Satoru standing in large window his office a perfect view.

“Cum!” Thick warm cum splashes into the window, trickling onto the ground. Trying to close your legs, shifting trying to get away from the intense stimulation.

Groaning in admiration, gliding two this fingers into you. “Nnn so warm n wet, perfect little cunt for my fat cock to ruin.” Taking the toy off your clit, tugging on the jewel of the butt plugged.

“You’ve been wearing this for two hours let’s give your ass a break. Mm fuck I can’t wait till I can fuck her into a gabbing cum filled mess.” Gliding the plug out of your ass, setting it on his desk.

Suguru crouches, slapping your ass biting your cheek, enticing soft whimpers. Holding onto your hip to steady you. Your head is fuzzy, legs wobbly, you haven’t cummed that hard before. You want more. “Wanna cum again, please sir take care of my needy cunt.” Spreading your legs, and bending over when he dips his head between, lovingly kissing your soft cunt.

Gliding his finger in, getting off on how your soft cunt take his fingers. “You been such a good slut for me, I’ll take such good care of your sweet tight cunt for you. After you can sit in my lap during the meeting. Then we can go home, have a candle lit dinner.” Biting your ass, sucking roughly groaning, pumping his finger faster.

Satoru’s breathy moans coming through the phone. His jerking his cock faster, sliding his hand through his soft white hair, tugging. His mouth dropping open, checks flushing pink. He slows his pace, smirking and winking at you. “You’re such a beautiful dirty whore getting off on watching me jerk off while he plays with your cunt.”

Smiling at Satoru, “I’m a pretty dirty whore who likes it getting fucked in front of you.” Suguru stands up, squeezing your ass, sliding his hand up your waist. Gently playing with your nipple, biting your shoulder. Tilting your head to the side, he trails kisses up

Satoru pleads “Let her press her beautiful slutty ass on the glass. Lemme see your sloppy beautiful cunt and sweet ass.” Looking up at Suguru for his approval, he spins you around on your high heels.

Unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off. Suguru is beautiful with his thick pecs, sculpted abs, broad shoulders slim waist and fat cock that rests on thick balls. “Let him see what’s gonna be taking good care of my fat cock.” Admiring your sugar daddy, bending over gliding your fingers into your needy cunt.

You want to cum again despite squirting. Suguru and Satoru always bring out an insatiable lust within you. You’d proudly be their cum stuffed whore.

Buzzing the front desk, “Don’t send or allow any calls through until I say otherwise, take a message if it’s urgent thank you.” Pressing your ass to the cold glass, shivering. Playing with your nipples, soft rubbing them, moaning the moment he lets the button go.

Suguru groans, you love the erotic way he sounds. “Nnn fuck send her over when you’re done, I wanna turn. You can put her plug back in. Wanna see her pretty ass stuffed mmm, gonna cover her soft cheeks in cum.” Grabbing Suguru’s cock, when he comes close, kissing his head.

He grabs your hair roughly turning you around, pinning your tits to the glass, keeping your ass out. Lining his fat, veiny cock up, you spread your legs apart pushing your hips back. “If she can walk sure, but you can’t fuck her ass not yet. Im taking her training slow, no reason not to savor perfection.” Spitting on your ass, smearing it with his thumb, gliding it in.

Keeping a firm grasp on your ass, groaning in pure relief. “Nothing else better than being inside you. Nnn making my legs go weak, you’re too perfect.” Grabbing your wrist, holding it behind your back. Offering your other wrist for him to hold together with one large hand.

Oreo creampie’s m.list

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cleo-fox · 7 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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yandere-daydreams · 6 months

Text

Not-So-Scary Moments With The Yan. Genshin Boys (Sumeru + Fontaine Edition).

Characters: Alhaitham, Neuvillette, Kaveh, Tighnari, Cyno, and Wriothesley.

Word Count: 2.7k.

TW: Borderline Shitposting, Prolonged Imprisonment, Varying Levels of Emotional and Physical Abuse, Codependency, Mentions of Stalking, and Unhealthy Relationships.

Alhaitham

It took Alhaitham about ten minutes to drag himself out of bed, his staggered footsteps audible through the thin walls of his apartment.

It took twenty for him to haul himself through his morning routine – water running somewhere in the distance and porcelain clattering against marble countertops as he washed his face and tried to work some life into himself. Alhaitham usually wasn’t so lethargic, but he’d had a rough week. There’d been a sudden influx of paperwork for the Akademiya’s sole scribe, and every second he didn’t spend buried under new legislation and requests for increased budging was, instead, dedicated to one of his many personal research projects. By the time he’d gotten home last night, it’d been all he could do to make sure you hadn’t starved to death and drag himself to bed.

He usually would’ve kept you waiting for a few more minutes, but an agitated grunt marked an end to his normal patterns. In a moment, he was braced against the doorway to his own study, his eyes narrowed half-hearted towards where you sat in his leather-padded chair, your feet propped on his desk. There was an book open in your lap – one of his, something about metaphysics and ley line abnormalities and how both tied into the Inazuman politics. He eyed it wearily before speaking, his voice still deep with exhaustion. “Where did you put my hearing aids?”

His tone was accusatory, his irritation visible. You put on your sweetest smile. “Where did you put my novellas?” you signed, thinking for a moment before adding, “Bitch?”

“They aren’t ‘novellas’, they’re—” He cut himself off with a scoff. “They’re filth. I don’t want you rotting your brain with smut.”

“The plots are very—”

“The plots are half-baked excuses for paper-thin characters to fondle each other in locations you can tell the author didn’t take the time to properly research and—” His gaze flickered to you, his frown deepening. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“You’ve read them?”

There was a long beat of silence.

Finally, he let out a labored sigh. “The dozen or so I couldn’t be bothered to throw away are in a cabinet underneath the kitchen sink. It’s locked – the code is your birthday. Now, where are my aids?”

“You fell asleep with them on last night,” you said aloud, abandoning his glorified textbook and pushing yourself to your feet. His hand shot to the side of his head, finding the metallic cuff only slightly displaced by having spent the better half of the night on his head. As you passed him, you paused, pressing a kiss into the corner of his scowl and pretending to ignore the muffled groan he let out in response.

Neuvillette

Of all the sights you thought you might see after arriving in your wonderous new nation, the Iudex of Fontaine standing over your drained bathtub with a look of potent remorse written across his expression was not one of them.

You’d imagined yourself strolling through the walls of the Opera Epiclese in vivid detail, been able to picture exactly what you might’ve seen standing below the Tower of Ipsissimus or above the bottomless pit that was the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide, but even after you’d found yourself in the smothering care of Monsieur Neuvillette, you never would’ve been able to conjure this sight. He usually insisted that you bathe together, going so far as to have an in-ground tub that could’ve easily been mistaken for a hot spring installed in his (until recently neglected) personal residence to better indulge the habit. Thankfully, the trial he’d been presiding over had run long today, and you’d been able to save yourself an hour of his calloused hands running over your body, of his eyes burning into your skin with a nearly inhuman focus. You knew he’d be disappointed. Irate, even, depending on how his trial swung.

You hadn’t expected him to be so… sulky about it.

Half-lidded eyes, a slight pout tugging at the corner of his lips as he lingered idly in the doorway between your shared bedroom and the in-suite bathroom. Steam and silence laid heavy in the air – the latter you were eventually forced to break as you fiddled with the hem of your robe. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, hoping more to break the tension than to make him think you were genuinely apologetic. “It was getting late, and I didn’t know when you were coming home. I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.” When he didn’t respond, you braced yourself for the worst. “If you’re angry, please say so. I… I’d rather get this over with now, if it’s all the same to you.”

His expression softened. He let out an airy sigh and, with only a moment of hesitation, closed the space between you. “I’m not angry.” A pair of lean arms wrapped around your waist, his face soon buried in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale, and did what you could to suppress the shudder that ran up your spine at the thought of him basking in your scent. “I’ve just been… looking forward to it, I suppose. Your taste relaxes me.”

Immediately, you went rigid. “My… taste?”

“Mhm.”

“Neuvillette,” you started, very slowly, giving your own mind time to catch up to the dread slowly building in the pit of your stomach. “Have you been drinking my bathwater?”

He was quiet for a not inconsiderable amount of time.

Finally, he pulled away from you just far enough to speak. “…no?”

For your own sake, you decided to believe him.

Kaveh

“Kaveh.”

“Not now, treasure.”

“Go to bed.”

“I will, in another hour.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“I’ve already told you – I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes, expression contorted by concentration. “Knight to B4.”

“Kaveh,” you repeated, leaning across the table. “You were showing me your blueprints.”

“Oh.” He blinked several times, looking over the sheet of blue paper marked with chalk drawings and near indecipherable hand-writing. “Were you impressed?”

Your frown irked, but you swallowed back your exasperation and pushed yourself to your feet. Slowly, you took him by the hand and, when he failed to protest, guided him out of his own seat and towards the room you were usually restrained to, when he wasn’t home. He’d kept himself awake for the past two nights, every moment of the past forty-eight hours devoted to finishing his proposal for a wealthy commissioner’s summer mansion before its upcoming deadline and, now that the coffee had been drained from his system and his adrenaline had been given time to fade, he was practically a shell of a man – all dark circles and hunched posture and disheveled blonde hair.

Sleep deprivation was, by far, the worst thing he could inflict on himself. At least he was happy after he drunk himself into oblivion. This was just depressing; as miserable for him as it was for you.

With a dutifulness you shouldn’t have had to show to your lover-turned-stalker-turned-captor, you brought him to his bed and watched as he collapsed onto it, what little strength he had to hold himself up immediately dissolving. With a sigh, a roll of your eyes, you turned to leave, but a hand lashed out from the crumpled heap and caught you by the wrist. “Stay with me?” His voice was muffled by layers of sheets and blankets, but clear enough. “Please?”

Usually, his bids for affection were met with bitter neutrality or, on your worse days, spiteful condensation. Usually, you would’ve torn yourself out of his hold and made sure he knew that he’d ruined any chance of living out his little domestic fantasy the second he decided his obsession was worth more than your happiness. Usually, you would’ve hated him that much more for daring to ask.

But, he could barely hold his eyes open and when you failed to immediately recoil, the sloppiest, most lovesick smile you’d ever seen plastered itself across his lips. It was his turn to pull you forward, this time; to drag you onto his bed and into his chest. With a satisfied sigh, he slotted his chin against the dip of your shoulder and draped his arms around your waist – an old position. A relic of better times you’d never been strong enough to completely dicard. “When it’s time to draw up the plans for our home,�� he mumbled, only half-audible. “I won’t so much as breathe until its perfect.”

You opened your mouth, but didn’t say anything.

He’d already fallen asleep.

Tighnari

He glanced once at the thick packet of ink-marked parchment you’d slammed in front of him before looking back to you, his expression disparaging. “And this is supposed to be…?”

“A custody agreement,” you answered, grinning. “Alhaitham put it together during his last visit.”

“We don’t have any kids.”

“It’s for Collei. If I ever leave you,” and, to be clear, you would be leaving him, as soon as you figured out how to get away from a man who poisoned your tea whenever you so much as suggested entertaining a future that didn’t include him, “I want weekends and summers.”

“She’s nineteen.”

“Which is why we’re letting her pick who she wants to spend holidays with.” You tapped the front page with your knuckles. “Honestly, dear, if you weren’t going to so much as read the documents, we could’ve scheduled this for another day.”

His ears twitched, his tail sweeping across the floor in irritation. “Even if this was legally binding – which, by the way, something assembled by a scribe would not be – I would never give you weekends. That’d be too much travelling for a girl in her condition, and I don’t want her to feel like she comes from a broken home. Moreover, according to Regulation #531 as passed by the Grand Sage last year, you would have to get Collei’s signature before—”

“Check page twenty-seven.”

You watched him scowl as he thumbed through the pages. A second later, his ears flattened against his scalp, and he took to muttering under his breath. “Traitor.”

“If you don’t want your aggression towards the dependent party used against you in court, I’d suggest you sign on page four, seventeen, and thirty-two.”

You left his villa half an hour later with a with a new imprint of his fangs on the side of your throat and a signed document in-hand.

Cyno

“You have kidnapped me.”

“Technically, I was only—”

“You’ve blackmailed me, imprisoned me, and tortured me.”

“You can’t still be hung up on—”

“You’ve branded me with your name, forced me into your bed, and made me play out all your delusional, fucked-up fantasies—” You took a deep breath, pursed your lips. “—but if you show up to a black-tie event wearing that, it will be the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.”

He looked down, as if considering his attire for the first time. He was in his usual uniform – which was to say, shirtless and barefoot, his hair windblown and a fine layer of sand still coating what little he was wearing. You could only be thankful his polearm wasn’t slung across his back, but you knew he’d make it past the door without it. “The way I dress has never been a problem before.”

“There’s a difference between hunting down rouge scholars and going to a banquet being held by a literal god. Archons, Lesser Lord Kusanali herself might be there.” You gasped, dragged your hands over your face. “Everyone who’s ever gone to the Akademiya will absolutely be there.”

For all his many faults, he could never stand to see you in pain. There was a brief delay, a moment of unsure shuffling, then his arms were wrapping around you, his chest slotting against your back has he pulled you against him. “It’ll be alright,” he muttered, speaking into your shoulder. “If anyone so much as attempts to insult you—no, if anyone tries to talk to you at all, I’ll strike them down in the blink of an eyes.”

His comfort was stale, but you forced yourself to relax. At least enough to speak. “You know,” you mumbled, letting your hands drift to your temples. “Dehya was hired by an up-and-coming scholar, a few weeks ago. I’m not sure how long her contract was, but there’s a chance we’ll see her tonight.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

“Cyno?”

“I’ll change.”

Wriothesley

You could hear him trudging up the metallic stairs to his office; his footsteps heavy enough to drown out the soft music flowing out of his century-old gramophone. His head emerged from the curving staircase, first – his hair somehow more disheveled than its usual state of barely-tamed chaos – then his chest, his tie undone and his collar terribly mangled, as if he’d spent all day indulging the worst of his nervous habits. He was baring his teeth, his pale cheeks flushed with anger and his eyes narrowed into a pointed glare. It wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for (in your wildest dreams, he would’ve managed to sink his beloved fortress before he ever reached you), but it was close enough.

You moved to stand, to greet him with the warm embrace he usually demanded, but he was already in front of you, already pinning you to the back of the lounge you’d been splayed across with a single fist planted less than a hair’s width above your shoulder. “You,” he growled, leaning in close enough for his breath to fan over your skin. “Do you know how many journalistsI had to deal with today? They were everywhere. I couldn’t go a step without tripping over some— over some glorified tabloid.”

“So, your meeting with Monsieur Neuvillette went well?” His scowl deepened, and you let out your most faux innocent laugh – a chiming, bubbling thing he’d never been able to stand. “You shouldn’t scowl like that, love. All those photographers will have to find a new model if you manage to give yourself frown lines.”

He jolted, but forced himself to shut his eyes, to let out a long, ragged breath. When he did face you again, he’d regained a degree of his composure – just enough to meet your smile with his own tight-lipped grin, more teeth than anything. “I’ll let you off easy if you tell me how you did it now. Before I decide it’d be faster to strangle an explanation out of you.”

“I didn’t break any rules, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You paused, folded your hands over your lap. “It was all thanks to our great and benevolent duke. Contacting people outside of the fortress has gotten so much more efficient ever since you decided prisoners should be able to send letters without administrative vetting.”

He buckled visibly, his shoulders falling as he lean towards you, his face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” There was a raspy chuckle, a hand on your thigh, squeezing just hard enough for his anger to shine through the playfulness of the gesture. “I think I’ve earned the rest of the day off, and I think you’ve earned—”

The door to his office swung open before he could finish, a masculine voice calling up from the voice below only a moment later. “Your grace, t-there’s a reporter here to see you! She says she’s been told not to leave until she speaks to your partner!”

“That’ll be Charlotte,” you half-sung. “She seemed like such a nice girl in her letters. It’d be a shame to keep her waiting.”

When he failed to answer, you brought up both hands and cupped his face, cooing as you used your thumbs to quirk the corners of his mouth upward.

“Just remember to smile for the camera this time, alright?”

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