Top-Secret Fiction Ch. 1

jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

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.

warnings: somnophilia, dub con, non con? (you don’t know who’s actually between your thighs), nsfw🔞 (megumi is aged up to 19) this is a long one~

dating a man in his early fourties’ who has a nineteen year old son can be difficult, being that you’re in your early twenties and closer to megumi’s age than his dad. but when toji wakes you up with his head between your thighs, you think maybe it’s not so bad.

you can feel his shaky, deep, hot breath fan against your bare pussy, he likely yanked your panties to the side before you woke. but oddly, he’s not even touching you or licking at you. he’s simply lying between your legs with his two flat palms pressed softly into your inner thighs to keep them open, you blink your tired eyes open at the buldge of his head under the blanket with confusion.

“baby? what are you— ” you question tiredly, cutting yourself off with a soft gasp when you feel a single finger press against your nub. he doesn’t even swipe it or circle it, he just presses down on it like a button

your brows furrow a bit and you grip the blanket to see what he’s doing but before you can lift it, his finger starts to circle your clit agonizingly slow causing you to let go of the blanket and breathe deeply in soft pleasure, eyes closing and brows raising slowly

“mmm— so gentle” you coo at him with a slight teasing to your tone, grinding your hips into his finger which seems to motivate him to add another to swipe slowly against your throbbing nub. toji’s never so gentle, usually ravishing you with his tongue or slamming you against his fingers or cock. not to mention, he’s being so quiet, normally he’d be teasing you by now

“why are you being so quiet— f-fuck!” as if he’s intentionally cutting you off, he quickly presses his flat tongue over your clit in place of his fingers. but he doesn’t move it, he simply adds pressure. you feel so pent up, likely because he’s been toying with you long before you awoke, that the soft natural shake of his tongue is driving you crazy

“stop teasing me, toji,” you whine pathetically, still half asleep, attempting to grind your hips against his tongue. but you don’t get far because he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down with such strength that it hurts

you sit up with a hiss, leaning on your elbows and adjusting your hips as much as he allows, to get more comfortable

his unmoving tongue begins to make slow basic licks up against your clit, ignoring your attempt to adjust your position. it seems like he’s not using any technique, like he’s just gliding his tongue over the entirety of your clit instead of targeting the underside of it or the side. it works to stimulate every nerve within your little bundle softly, and gently.

“s-shit— that feels really good,” you coo between deep breaths, head tilting back and hands gripping the sheets. little moans start to escape your throat, your legs beginning to subtly shake in need. it’s like he’s teasing you intentionally, that or he doesn’t know what he’s doing. but forty-one year old toji is experienced to say the least so it can’t be the latter.

you whine after minutes of this taunting, wanting more. “toji, baby, this is sweet and all but i need more.”

and as if punishing you, he nips at your clit, causing you to jolt and squeak in surprise. it’s as if he’s silently saying, ‘you’ll take what i give you.’

you pout and whine dramatically in protest, but that quickly turns into a confused tilt to your head, eyes peeking open at the bulge of his head when he pulls his tongue away and uses one hand to spread your lips apart. you wait for some kind of touch, his tongue or his fingers but it doesn’t come. it’s as if he’s analyzing your pussy, he’s most definitely just looking at it because he’s not even stimulating you now.

you’ve only ever been insecure with toji when you first started getting intimate, but that quickly changed as toji praised your body relentlessly the entirety of your first time together. but now, heat arises on your cheeks as he just stares at your throbbing pussy. it definitely doesn’t help that you can’t even see his expression or know why he’s doing this

“what’s gotten into you, toji? quit it,” you whine, reaching to pull the blanket up once again but before you can, he harshly takes hold of your wrist with the hand connected to the arm wrapped around your thigh and holds it against your lower belly as to stop you from moving. it’s so dark that you can barely see his hand around your wrist

you tsk, pouty and irritated as he continues to stare. before you can say something else, he suddenly closes your pussy lips until they touch each other with the same fingers that were holding them apart. you gasp softly in surprise, only becoming more confused when he opens your lips again, it feels weirdly good and extremely teasing. he continues to slowly repeat the motion a few times over, and you can’t help but feel awkward and embarrassed as your squelching fills the room. it’s like he’s curious how pussy folds and lips work. you aren’t sure if this is due to his age, maybe something guys of his time used to do? but it confuses you

“toji, i swear to god,” you groan at him, impatiently. and it’s like he just doesn’t care because even though he stops opening and closing your pussy like an accordion, he starts to brush his fingers through your small patch of hair above your pussy instead. he does it like he’s brushing his fingers through the hair on your head. and it’s just too weird to feel pleasing. toji had told you he liked when you grew out a lil patch for him because when he sheathes his cock completely inside, your pubes combine and he thinks it’s romantic. you don’t question it, he’s an older man after all, there’s a lot of things he prefers that you don’t quite understand.

you pull against his grip on your wrist frustratedly and when he doesn’t relent, grip instead becoming harsher, you use your free hand to reach under the blanket in attempt to grip his hair and push his head down to -get to work, so to speak.

frankly, you’re exhausted, it’s gotta be something like one or two am and you had a long day yesterday. it seems like he just woke you up to toy with you and you genuinely have no idea how he has the energy to pull this shit when he’s been working his ass off at work recently. you guys hadn’t even had the chance to fuck the last few days.

just when your fingers feel the tips of his hair, his hand that was brushing through your pubes snaps up and brings it down to join your other hand in prison. it happens so fast that you feel like you have whiplash. he transfers both of your wrists to one hand, his one hand being large enough to encase both. he uses his now free hand to keep your thigh open for him.

“so mean,” you whine loudly, “you know i like to touch you.” you grumble, pulling sharply against his hand holding your wrists in resistance. it’s not unusual for toji to be controlling or demanding in a ‘mean’ way but he’s never kept you from touching him, especially when he’s between your thighs. and though your intention was to push his face into your folds, it’s not like you don’t wish to simply touch him too.

then, you feel a cool breeze of air blow against your wet folds, causing you to shiver and hiss in mild relief. your chasm clenches and your nub twitches from the stimulus and after a moment of seemingly watching your pussy react, he does it again.

now, you’ve never growled in your life and why would you? but you find your fed-up self growling in annoyance. your growling threat does make him move on, but not to what you need. you gasp as he uses two fingers to pull the hood of your clit back to expose your sensitive nub.

embarrassment is bursting at the seams but not as much as confusion is. and just when you’re about to say fuck this and utter your safe word so you can finally go to sleep, he lays his tongue against your exposed clit. it feels as though electricity shoots through your body. a shockingly loud whimper strangles out of your throat and your eyes clench shut when he starts to kitten lick it.

“w-what the fu- what are you doing- too much!” you shout at him, head tossing back and forth with eyes clenched shut as your toes curl. it hurts just as much as it feels euphoric, half of you wants him to stop and half hopes to god he doesn’t. your thighs close and open around his head sporadically in futile attempt to cope. if you weren’t in such a distraught state, maybe you’d have noticed how his hair feels a bit different on your thighs, shorter layers on the top that are sticking out in all different kinds of directions.

after he seems to have his fill of torturing you, he lets go of your hood and allows it to cover your exposed nerve again. you sigh deeply in relief, taking deep breaths and relax your clenching eyes into gently closed, relaxed ones. you throb painfully as arousal leaks from your hole, trials down your ass, and pools on the sheets— it’s as if your pussy is crying and if it could cry, it would be.

then, after just a breath of a break, you feel one of his fingers make contact with the lowest part of your pussy. your brows twitch in confusion as he attempts to push it inside, quickly realizing your chasm curves up a bit when his fingertip push against your bottom wall as your other walls cling to him

he twists that finger into you slowly and awkwardly, opening you up and working you open as the room fills with gasps and wet mushing sounds

but even though you’re moderately wet, it still stings when he tries to add another finger before even getting the first one in all the way. you hiss, hips attempting to jolt away from his insertion.

“ngh—hurts,” you whine, hinting to stimulate your clit while he fucks his fingers into you to ease you into the intrusion but instead, he freezes. a beat passes as you await his next move. but he doesn’t do anything.

it’s not the craziest idea that toji is just teasing you intentionally but something feels off. but you’re so tired and he’s been taunting you this entire time, so you help him.

“your tongue, wan’ your tongue,” you coo at him, impatiently. instantly, he takes your advice.

but you aren’t prepared for the speed he fucks his fingers into you when he finally starts sloppily making out with your clit. you practically scream at his force, back arching off of the bed, it’s not harder than he’s ever fingered you but its definitely faster. and it’s odd because the way he’s finger fucking you is so sloppy, no direction and no technique. it reminds you of your high school boyfriend when he finally got his fingers in you, toji can be so impatient sometimes. you assume he’s just fingering you to prep you for his cock and not for your pleasure.

so when one of his jabs push against your top wall where your sweet spot is, you moan loudly.

“there! right there! please!” you beg, whining and legs now shaking something violent.

you can’t help but babble ‘thank you’s’ over and over like a prayer when he listens, immediately focusing on your g-spot.

you get so loud that you start to bite harshly on your bottom lip in attempt to stay quiet.

“m-megumi! he’s sleeping, can’t stay quiet— s-slow down!” you slur out, eyes rolled back and thighs basically crushing his head with force. the morning breakfast with megumi after an intimate night with toji is always awkward to say the least. he’s kind enough to act as though he didn’t hear anything but you know he did

and for the first time all night, he moans against your pussy from your words. you can barely hear it over your desperate moans and squelching. the only reason you know he did is because the vibrations of it rip through you.

your high sneaks up on you so harshly and quickly that you feel as though you black out for more than a few moments as tears fall from your eyes.

“c-cumming!” is all you can grit out, and it’s not like you had to tell him that, he can feel your pussy tighten around his fingers like a vice. somehow you’re not so out of it as to not notice the stutter in his movements, the way the bed creaks where he lies on his stomach, and how he pathetically groans louder than ever. you’re not an idiot, he just came in his pants.

and maybe it’s the fact that he jizzed his pants from just eating you out, his sounds, the abuse of your g-spot, or the painfully annoying teasing he conflicted on you leading to this but you cum harder than you have in weeks. your orgasm lasts minutes and you see fucking white.

as you come down, you whimper as you grind your hips against his face. he catches onto what you’re doing and sticks his tongue out eagerly, slipping his fingers from your sticky, slippery hole to allow you to focus on his tongue.

“oh baby, you’ve gotta start teasing me more often. that was— fucking amazing,” you praise, catching your breath and slowing your grinding. even though it was a little too slow sometimes, it was nice to feel toji being so gentle and taking his time with you for once.

he again, stays quiet to your dismay but he collects the cum escaping your chasm with his eager tongue, making you whimper in overstimulation.

“jesus. you really missed me, huh?” you breathe out deeply in relief and he pecks your clit one last time in affection, as if silently saying ‘your welcome,’ before letting go of your bruised wrists and readjusting your panties to cover you again.

and though it’s a bit odd that he’s been so silent tonight, when his silhouette crawls out of under the blanket and slips out of the dark room, you think nothing of it. toji’s always getting up to get water or a snack after you fuck. “hurry up— wan’ cuddle” you slur out, groggily as your heavy eyes fall closed

you’re so tired from the day before that you allow yourself to close your eyes and drift to sleep, the post orgasm relaxation taking over. toji will wake you up if he wants to fuck or cuddle when he comes back, you assume he will so it’s no big deal

waking up the next morning, you turn on your side and cuddle into toji’s bulky body lying beside you, nuzzling your head into his chest before opening your eyes to look up at him.

“wow~ goodmorning, little one. what did i do to earn such a cute greeting this morning?” toji’s deep voice inquires as he wraps an arm around you and squeezes the fat of your ass, he’s likely been awake for a few minutes before you.

“can’t a girl just be happy to wake up next to her sexy boyfriend for no reason?” you tease with a playful smile, big doe eyes gazing up at him, subtly grinding your panty-clad pussy into his thigh. the gusset of your panties are still a bit damp from having not changed out of them last night

he smirks down at you and lays a long kiss onto your lips, humming into you before parting and peppering your neck with kisses that make you giggle as he holds you deep into himself.

“how lucky am i? you still find this old man attractive, sweetheart?” he mumbles into your neck and you giggle.

“i don’t know.. you’re getting a bit slow these days, old man.” you tease, biting your lip as you smile up at him playfully.

you squeak when he flips you over and pins you down by your wrists. he leans into your ear and nibbles on it. “careful, this old man is getting real close to fucking that attitude right out of you, girl.”

you nudge the side of your head against his affectionately and hum, seductively. “oh yeah? you all talk or are you actually gonna do it?” you wrap your legs around his hips and lift yours to grind against his hardening cock through his sweatpants.

he chuckles and pulls away from your ear to look you in the eye, gaze flickering down at your unrelenting hips with a clench to his jaw. “fuckk, i wish i could baby.”

and immediately you whine, a pout forming on your lips. “noo, again? you’re really gonna go to work now?”

you love being toji’s little housewife but he’s been so busy lately. the only company you have is megumi and his friends while he’s away and it gets so awkward since you’re all around the same age

he gives you one last peck to your lips and you chase his lips as he parts from you. he sits at the edge of the bed before stretching and grunting, loudly.

“sorry, sweet girl. wish i could say i’d be back later but ‘fraid it’d gonna be a long one. i’ll be back in a few days.” he sighs as he stands and enters the master bathroom to brush his teeth

you groan to yourself dramatically, pouting as you lay back with your eyes closed. “shiu might as well be your girlfriend at this point.”

“i’ll make it up to you when i get back, baby.” toji shouts to you as the faucet turns on. you know he hates leaving you like this too but someone’s gotta pay the bills, he’s got you and a kid to support after all

you sigh, there’s no use in making him feel worse than he already does so you put on a playful smile and press your thighs together.

“oh really? i’m still sad you didn’t wake me up to fuck last night after you ate me out like that.” you sing at him, seductively causing him to chuckle deeply.

“last night? you want this old man so bad that you’re dreaming about my tongue now? i was at work last night sweetheart, didn’t get back till late.” he shouts back at you, you can tell he’s speaking with his toothbrush in his mouth.

you immediately shoot upright with blinking eyes, suddenly wide awake. you chuckle, nervously as your face drains of blood. there’s just no way that was a dream, it was so vivid. you quickly check your wrists and sure enough, you have slight bruises forming on them of finger prints— but they’re not prominent enough to be sure.

“a-are you sure? it felt so real,” you gulp, almost speaking more to yourself than him.

“very sure. got here like three hours ago, was wondering why your panties were so wet. naughty, naughty girl.” he teases you, thinking nothing of your dream

you look down at your panties and your brows twitch in confusion. your pussy feels all kinds of sensitive, like it always is the morning after getting sexy with toji. can wet dreams get that vivid to where you can feel the after effects of it?

you shake your head and stand up before changing your panties and slipping on some sweatpants. there’s no use in dwelling on it, it’s not like someone broke in last night to eat you out and then left, right?

“pancakes this morning?” you inquire as you open the bedroom door.

“eh—too sweet, toast? kind of in a hurry,” toji calls back as the shower turns on.

“okay, baby.” you call back before leaving your bedroom and entering the kitchen.

as you put on the coffee pot for toji, you hear megumi walk in with a yawn behind you before he takes a seat at the kitchen table. you clench your eyes shut briefly in embarrassment. you aren’t sure if he heard you having a wet dream last night or if you even made any noise at all

“good morning, megumi.” you greet him, kindly as you lean your back against the counter to face him.

he hums groggily and offers a small smile. you exhale in relief, usually megumi won’t make eye contact after a night of hearing you and toji fuck so you figure you’re in the clear.

“i’m making toast for your dad but i’m down to make whatever if you’re craving something specific.” you cheerfully offer as you throw some bread in the toaster.

“uh- no it’s okay. i’ll make my own.” he voices as he turns on his phone to scroll on it. megumi’s always rejecting your offers to make him food, do his dishes, or his laundry. you can tell he thinks it’s weird that you’re only a year older than him and acting like his mom while fucking his dad. but still, megumi is hard to read, he’s even more bitch-faced than his father is.

you sigh and put on a small smile. “okay, let me know if you change your mind.”

and then it’s pretty silent until toji comes in, showered and holding his work bag.

toji downs the coffee you offer him quickly and shoves a piece of toast in his mouth before he pulls you in and slaps your ass then grips it, making you squeak and blush with megumi just feet away on his phone.

“t-toji!” you gasp at him, futilely pushing his chest away as he chuckles and finally lets go of your ass but he still holds you close.

“oh hush. he doesn’t care, do ya, kid?” toji nonchalantly asks megumi as he takes a long wiff of your neck.

megumi simply sighs, clearly annoyed with his father like usual.

ignorant toji kisses you deeply before reluctantly letting you go and snatching the other piece of toast you made him.

“be back soon,” you pout lovingly, following him to the front door before he opens it and turns to you.

“i’ll miss you too, sweet girl. i’ll call you.” he looks down at you with affection and sighs as he finally exits with a wave.

you watch him pull out of the driveway and leave as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

you fiddle with the lock on the front door and it seems to be working fine.

once you’re back in the kitchen, you sit at the kitchen island and lean your chin onto your palm as you watch megumi cook for himself, back facing you by the stove. you just can’t drop the idea that your ‘dream’ wasn’t just a dream. the way toji poked and prodded at you like a teenage virgin was so odd— not to mention how he didn’t speak or let you touch him.

“how’d you sleep?” you inquire and megumi stops moving the spatula around in the pan when you speak briefly before clearing his throat and then continuing.

“good. why?”

“just wondering, do you know for sure if i locked the door last night before we went to sleep?” you ask, obviously not wanting to scare him into thinking someone broke in— but at this point it’s a possibility.

“uh- i think you did, what happened?” megumi inquires, not even turning to face you as he stirs his eggs

you sigh and blink down at the counter top, “nothing, nothing.”

now, he turns to you with his natural lidded eyes and indifferent face but he seems more observant of you right now.

“you think someone broke in or something?” he huffs out of his nose but he doesn’t even smile, as if he’s more focused on how you react.

you gulp. “i- probably not. i’m being ridiculous.” you wave him off.

and he simply hums before turning back to his eggs.“something happen?” he asks after a few moments of thinking to himself.

it’s not like you can just flat out tell your boyfriend’s son you think someone broke in to eat you out and left.

“just didn’t know when toji came in last night.” you utter, as if that’s a plausible explanation for thinking someone broke in.

“think it was four.” megumi hums, turning back to face you once again with his natural, bored gaze.

you blink at the counter and then up at him with a confused twitch to your brows. “you.. you were up last night?”

and you gulp as you gaze at his hair that sticks out from all directions, unlike his father.

he hums in confirmation, the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips as his gaze flicks down to your bruised wrists, his smile so faint that you’d believe it wasn’t actually there. lips that make you think about if you ever felt toji’s scar on your pussy last night.

your breathing begins to quicken but you’re deep in denial, your mind protecting you by forcing yourself to deny the idea that megumi could have been the man between your thighs last night.

“o-oh, couldn’t sleep?” you inquire, attempting to steady your voice and hold a normal looking smile. honestly you couldn’t care less that he couldn’t sleep, but at this point, you’re trying to continue the conversation like normal so he doesn’t suspect that you know anything.

“yeah, i had a sweet tooth.”

————

lowkey already have pt 2 planned out🙂‍↕️

Needy - Obanai Iguro x Fem! Reader

In which Obanai makes you squirt for the first time.

"Oh?"

Warnings: squirting, rough sex, clit slap, overstimulation, crying, intense orgasm, mean obanai kind of??? sorry its short, saw him in the new season and couldn't get the idea out of my head of obanai and his needy princess. Word count: 0.8k NOT PROOF READ

You can feel the slick coating your inner thighs, can hear the squelch it makes as your lover pounds you into oblivion. The essence of your previous three orgasms makes you embarrassed and you're thankful for the pillow your heads dug into, muffling your dazed moans and whispers.

His hand travels along your back, looping under your stomach to come in contact with your aching clit. Your body jolts, he hasn't started rubbing yet but your clit has already been vigorously rubbed into your last two orgasms and can't take anymore. You try to push away when he starts the tantalising circles, the only thing that does is piss the serpent hashira off and force you into an even deeper, more punishing arch, causing his length to hit further inside of you.

You choke on air, hands fisting the pillow even tighter as you try not to scream into it. There's a coil inside of you, it's getting tighter and tighter and it's bordering on painful. It feels different. Your eyes are squeezed shut in concentration, droplets of sweat racing each other on your tense body. You've never needed to concentrate so hard before, your usual babbling was exchanged for silence, teeth biting down on your lips harshly, trapping the sounds. The pressure is making you lightheaded and dizzy and you're struggling to breathe.

Obanai was intrigued. He's never seen you so silent. So still. So obedient. "You okay?" He asks after studying you.

You turn your head to the side so you can breathe, gasping out an airy yeah between panicked breaths. This feeling is consuming you, it's taking over your body, a sensation you've never felt before. Your in conflict with yourself, your back is arching further, pushing yourself back as far as you can go to feel him hitting you deeper, but your hand moves like lightening to grab your lovers wrist, weakly trying to get him away from your poor clit.

Obanai tsks under his breath, clicking his tongue in disappointment after. He bats your hand away, reattaching himself back to your clit to circle it with more pressure. His other hand, that was on your hip, cages both of yours and forcefully pulls them behind your back, causing his body to hover over yours and his thrusts to become more bruising.

"Never do that again." He warns in a low voice, right next to your ear, finishing his statement with a harsh slap to your clit that has you choking on a sob.

"Ob-Obanai! Don't! I- I can't. Dunno what's happening — fuck!" Your voice sounds watery, like you're going to cry any second. Your body stiffens, a coursing flame travelling throughout you until you're completely alight. "G-god Obanai! I cantttt!"

Obanai's two toned eyes widen in interest when he feels a spray of liquid hit his thighs and coat the futon, dripping from your legs as the spray continued. "Oh?" He whispers in your ear, before dragging you up to hit the back of his chest. He splays four of his fingers against your clit, prolonging your orgasm and forcing spurts of cum from you with so much force that they push him and his seed out of you, all the whilst his other free hand settles on your throat, squeezing lightly.

You're crying now, you'd never been so overwhelmed before in your life. A few more weak spurts follow and then they stop and he cups your soaking heat after letting his thumb brush over your clit. A cry tears from your throat, salty tears cascading down your flushed face. Your shaking, convulsing, muscles spasming.

"You're okay, princess," he whispers, voice as smooth as silk, deep and inviting. His cold hands slither around your waist to turn you around in his hold, two toned eyes observing you with intensity. He watches how your hands eagerly wrap around his neck, your shaking body collapsing in his embrace whilst you snuggle into his neck. Needy. You're so needy for his comfort, for his praise, for him to bring you back to reality after the brutal, overstimulating sex you both had. You were needy and he loved it. Adored it even, because you needed him. Couldn't possibly be okay without him. You were his. Only his.

"O-Obi," you whimper into the crook of his neck, dampening his skin with your tears.

"What's wrong, princess?" He rasps, his hand instinctually rubbing soothing circles into the soft skin of your back.

"Dunnooo," you whine. "J-just need you, Obi."

He smirks in response, kissing your head as he comforts you, relishing in your neediness. Music to his ears.

Thinking about Reader buying those popular “pheromone perfumes” because she finds the videos to be funny and a bit overdramatic. She figures there is no harm in buying one because even if it doesn’t have these crazy effects, she’ll at least have a nice-smelling perfume. It arrives in the mail a few days later, naturally, she’s too excited to hold off and opens the package immediately. The whole time, Sanemi has no idea what’s going on. It’s not unusual for you to get excited over small things and he figures you’ll tell him about it momentarily.

You return to the living room a few minutes later, a smile on your face as you plop yourself down next to Sanemi. "What had you so excited?" he murmurs softly, typing away on his laptop as he waits for your answer. "Oh, just something I got in the mail." You comment offhandedly, leaning a bit closer to him to watch his fingers tap along the keys of his computer. That little bit of closeness is what gets him, fingers faltering a bit as your smell hits him. "You smell really good." The words come out before he can stop them, lavender eyes shooting to look at you. "I do?" your voice is alluring to him.

Instead of answering, Sanemi closes his laptop and sets it down, scooting closer to you on the couch. "Yeah... you do." his head dips lower, nose brushing along her neck as he inhales deeply. You're fighting off a smile, his hands finding your waist as he smells right where you had applied the perfume. "Fuck... what is that?" You shiver at his tone, his voice is raspy, fingers digging into your skin. "It's nothing..." You try, knowing he won't believe it. Sanemi's nose is practically nuzzling your skin as he continues to absorb the scent. "Yeah, bull shit, sweetheart." You gasp as he pushed you back against the couch, the look in his eyes is nothing short of a predator who's caught his prey. "It's a perfume I bought."

You reveal your secret a bit hesitantly, watching Sanemi shake his head. "No, that's you. That's not some perfume." He was confident with his answer, head dipping down to smell you again, a groan vibrating his chest. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him away just enough to kiss him. "Do you like it?" You ask as he pulls away, saliva keeping your lips connected. "I fucking love it."

Switchin’ Up Positions

Summary: OP men and their fav positions 👅

feat: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Kidd

cw: f!reader, NSFW, spitting, biting, bruises, idk what to tell you this is a freaky fic

a/n: ignore how I already posted Zoro’s section. it’s NOT my problem… and i edited it bc it was highkey cheeks. Also if this is rushed… i don’t care

Zoro: ✨Riding✨

As a swordsman, he is constantly aware of what and who his back is facing towards. It’s been engrained in him since he was a young child to never leave area unguarded.

And as much as he trusts you, there’s nothing stopping an enemy from breaking down the door and stabbing him in the back while he’s balls deep in your cunt.

You’re the one who proposed the idea… and he shot it down immediately. He saw it as relinquishing control and hated the idea with every once of his being.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it… when he’s on top of you, he’s never able to fully focus on you, his ears straining as they listen for enemies outside the door, waiting to attack him while he’s pounding your pretty wet pussy.

So after a few night of thinking, he begrudgingly made his way to your quarters and muttered something along the lines of, “I guess we can try it if you really want…”

And it’s been smooth sailing ever since. He still had complete control, one hand constantly gripping your hips to guide your pace. And he was able to pay attention to you fully and completely.

He found subtleties that he had never noticed before because he was too busy being paranoid. The way you would mewl just barely when his fingers curled and twisted in your cunt. The way your thighs would twitch when he pressed down on your tummy while also thrusting in.

Riding quickly became his go to.

~

He tastes of sake.

It’s as if he’s trying to consume you, his tongue jamming down your throat and his teeth clacking against yours. Zoro took everything he did to the extreme, and kissing was no different. He may not be super experienced or skilled, but he was hungry, and that more than made up for it.

“C’mere…” Zoro wraps an arm around your waist and drags you down onto the bed, rolling you on top of him and running his hands up and down your bare legs. You’re wearing a skirt… far too small for his liking. And watching you dance and twirl with others all night pissed him off. Sure, Zoro denied your numerous pleads to dance, but that didn’t mean that another man could fucking dip you, your head nearly touching the ground like that one guy had done.

Now the two of you are alone on the Thousand Sunny, the night still too young for the other Strawhats to retreat.

Zoro kicks off his pants and boxers in a swift movement, his cock sliding out to rest against his stomach, precum beading the tip. He looks up at you expectantly, a stupid smirk on his lips.

God, you hate that you know exactly what he wants.

Zoro grabs your skirt, bunching it up around your waist to watch as you hover above him, your fingers hooking in your panties to pull them aside. He licks his lips at the sight of your pretty pussy, a small string of arousal connecting your folds to the fabric of your underwear.

His hand slides to up and down your thigh, soothingly, before he brings his thumb down to your clit. Rolling his thumb with familiar practiced movements over your pearl, he watches with amused eyes as you suck in a harsh breath, your face flushing as you lick your lips.

“Put it in?” You huff softly, bracing your palms on Zoro’s bare anbdomen and rocking your hips forward to rub against Zoro’s length. His mouth twitches and he curses softly under his breath.

Zoro scoffs in response, using his freehand to pop open your blouse. He trails his fingers down the expanse of your stomach before circling around to unclip your bra, freeing your breasts to his hungry gaze. “Why are you asking my permission. It’s yours. You put it in.”

Your nose wrinkles at his expression, he’s looking at you as though you’d asked the dumbest question he’d ever heard. You click your tongue, but lift yourself off of him. Grabbing his twitching cock and giving it a few good pumps to spread his precum across his length before positioning his fat, pink tip against your leaking hole.

Zoro twists his hand in your hair and tugs you down for a kiss, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip. You’re dizzy just from his mouth, it’s astounding how you’re ever able to survive his cock.

You can hear Zoro hiss into your mouth as you slowly yet surely suck him inside of you. He’s snug, his tip scraping your walls with every small movement.

“Fuck… you’re good.” Zoro murmur quietly, breaking the kiss to watch your pussy eagerly gobble him up, your hips shimmying to accommodate his cock as it bullies its way into you.

“Zoro…” You groan softly, leaning back to brace a hand on his thigh, your back arching towards him, your tits laying tantalizingly close to his mouth.

“You want it? Yeah, I gotcha, just hold on.” Zoro plants his feet on the mattress, one large, calloused hand moving to grab your hip while the other paws at your breast, squeezing and rolling your areola. between his thumb and forefinger. “Use those pretty thighs and help me out, how about it?”

Zoro starts out with a brutal pace, never one to ease into anything. He enjoys the feel of your nails biting into his thigh while the other rests on his navel to brace yourself. Your face is all screwed up, your nose wrinkled and your lips parted as he drills into you. You work to match his pace, but you don’t contribute much. It’s alright though, Zoro likes it that way. He loves having complete control, adjusting how fast you move and how deep you take it. His favorite thing to do is grab your hips and hold you up until just his tip is inside of you, and then watch as you squirm and roll your hips, desperate for the rest of his cock to fill you up.

Zoro leans forward, sucking your tit into his mouth and pressing searing kisses and bites down the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes meet his piercing grey gaze and he can feel your pussy flutter around him. God, everything got you wet, didn’t it?

Your brows furrow, a pout making its way onto your face as you pant, strangled whines and moans slipping past your lips.

“Shit… fucking…” Zoro closes his eyes and drops his head back against the pillows, he can’t even look at you without getting the urge to cum. Your pretty flustered face and those fluttering eyelashes always did him in.

He has to end this quick before he accidentally cums first.

Zoro wraps an arm around your back, tugging your chest down again him. His lips attach to your shoulder as he adjusts his hips, allowing his cock to ram against your g-spot with each brutal thrust.

He continues to bite and suck along your neck and shoulder while his eyes focus on your thighs watching them twitch and shudder as your ass bounces up and down with each thrust.

“You… gonna cum?” Zoro chokes out as he feels you clamp down around him. It’s more of a statement than a question. He’s fucked you enough times to know your body better than he knows his own. Snaking a hand down to grope and massage your thigh, he drops his head back once again, willing his orgasm away for a few more moments.

Zoro’s wasn’t one to talk during sex. He was way too concentrated to try and string together sentences. But he knew that you absolutely adored the sound of his voice, the way it would drop an octave when he was aroused. And in emergency’s he knew that his voice could bring you to the edge with only a few sweet croons.

You give a small, weak nod, a whine tumbling out of your lips, “Fuck… yeah… ‘m gonna cum, Zoro. You’re gonna make me cum… please…”

His lips quirks at your needy voice, god, you were so sweet to him. “The hell’s stopping you? I wanna feel you cream my cock. Come on… do it already. I’m getting bored.”

His words did unimaginable things to you, the low rasp could bring you straight to the edge. Within moments your gummy walls are clamping down around him as your grind your hips roughly down against his throbbing cock.

“Ah… shit, baby… I can’t-“ You coo weakly, burrowing your face against Zoro’s neck as he continues to rock your hips, his navel bumping against your clit with each steady movement, causing your thighs to tremble and sharp hisses to escape your lips.

Zoro does his best to ease you through your orgasm, but eventually he has to hoist you off of his cock and set you down on his thighs so that he can pull out in time. Grabbing his blushing cock, he finally allows his orgasm to tear through his body. Zoro’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing as he shoots hot ropes of cum onto your stomach. He can feel the evidence of your orgasm dribbling out of your leaking pussy and pooling on his thighs.

“Fuck you’re so messy…” He drawls as a wrack of pleasure shoots down his spine.

-

The two of you lay in your mess, dozing in and out of sleep until you eventually grow uncomfortable, your mixed cum beginning to dry on both of yours’ body. Zoro didn’t seem to mind in the least, his muscled arms wrapped tightly around your body, keeping you trapped as he snores softly.

“…Zoro.” You huff, tapping his cheek.

No response.

“Zoro.”

Nothing.

“Zoro!”

You smack his cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to catch his attention. His eyes shoot open, searching the dark room for the cause of your yelling. “Hell’s your problem, woman?” He scoffs, raising a hand to his face and wiping sleep from his eyes.

“I feel gross. Let’s shower.”

“I don’t need a shower, I’ll wipe myself off with a towel or something.”

“God, you’re gross.” Sitting up on Zoro’s chest, you glare down at him. “Come on, just keep me company at least.”

“How about you ask the guy you were dancing with to shower with you.” Zoro grumbles, turning his head to the side to avoid your annoyed gaze.

“You’re still mad about that? You’re so stupid. Dancing doesn’t always have to be romantic.”

Zoro scowls at your insult, “You’re the stupid one, that guy’s dick was practically waving in the wind and begging for a hug when you asked to dance with him.”

“Oh shut up. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll never dance with anyone else ever again.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. Zoro’s gaze lazily slides to where your tits are being pushed up and squished together and his scowl slowly melts into a smirk.

You glare at his expression, but there’s no real heat behind it, that hungry look in his eyes has returned, his nap seemingly replenishing his energy. Perhaps there was only one way to get him clean.

“Shower sex?”

“Deal.”

~

Sanji- Missionary

Let’s be lowkey, Sanji’s default vanilla

He does NOT pull bc he’s such a freak, and when he finally gets together with you, he’s definitely clueless. He’s gotten all of his knowledge of intimacy from romance books and poems for sure

He’ll go along with anything you want, but his go to will always be good old missionary

He likes to see your face, to know that he’s making you feel good, but most importantly, he wants you to look into his eyes and see the undying devotion he has to you

He’s SO talkative, literal yapaholic in bed

He likes being able to lean in and let your soft moans and whispers fill his ear as he rocks gently against you, soft praises tumbling past his lips as his arms hug you tight against him

He's constantly searching for reassurance and praise, he wants you to tell him that he’s doing great, that he’s making you feel good. And in return he’ll whisper the sweetest nothings in your ear as he eases you through your orgasm.

He absolutely adores the feeling of your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your face burrowed against his neck. He can cum just from feeling your bare legs lock around his waist, and it’s happened numerous times before.

Sanji would never admit it, because it’s a little perverted, and Sanji is definitely NOT perverted, but he also loves missionary because he can feel your breasts squished against his chest. He loves sliding a hand down and caressing and kissing the fat, never pinching or biting, he wouldn’t want to bruise your pretty skin.

~

“Are you ready for me, love?” Sanji murmurs, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of your leaking pussy, your first orgasm of the night steadily dribbling over Sanji’s wrist.

You give a small nod, grabbing for your lover’s wrist and intertwining your fingers with his shiny, slick, ones. Sanji ducks his head down, kissing your knuckles and lapping up a mix of your cum and arousal. “Please, Sanji… need you.”

He could cum just from your words alone, but instead he gives a mute nod and leans back on his haunches. Sanji stares down at you with bated breath as he massages your thighs with deft fingers. “God… you’re beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good… I promise… I promise…”

Grabbing your hip with one hand while the other guides his flushed cock to run along your slit. The cook’s breath trembles just slightly and he has to bow his head, his eyes squeezing shut tightly, “I could never get tired of you… you make me feel things that I’ve never felt before… I need you…”

“Sanji…”

Sanji knows that tone, you’re getting impatient. He gives an apologizing murmur, his face flushed in slight embarrassment as he finally rocks forwards, stopping once he’s half way in, his cock easing you open and stretching you perfectly. “You’re so perfect… I love you… I couldn’t live without your touch… You feel so good… so so good… please.”

You love Sanji with every bone in your body, but during sex, he could get a little preoccupied with praising your body that he nearly forgets he’s inside of you somehow. With a soft laugh, you cup his face with your hands and tug him down to your mouth, your tongue darting out to run along his bottom lip, “Shhh, Sanji. I know. Just feel me, yeah?”

Closing his eyes with a shudder, Sanji melts against your mouth, his chest pressing down against yours as he begins to rock his hips into you with slow, firm, thrusts. “…Sorry… y’ feel good…” He mumbles against your lips, his words muffled as he speaks into your mouth.

You go to respond, but instead, a soft moan is torn from your lips, eliciting a shiver to travel down Sanji’s spine. His mouth begins to wander, as it always does when he’s inside of you, and he trails soft, ghosts of kisses across your jaw and down your neck. “I love you… you complete me… y’ make me… ngh… so, so happy-“

Sanji is never one to be aggressive during sex, he obviously comply if you asked him to but he prefers soft, yet firm movements as he rocks against your pretty, puffy pussy. He wants to make love to you, make you feel beautiful and wanted.

“Sanji… you feel so good… faster?” You murmur softly, your back arching against his so perfectly as you gasp and coo against his ear.

Sanji very nearly whimpers at your soft question, your voice just too pretty, too sweet, to be asking anything of him. You were an angel, perfection incarnate, and Sanji would be a fool to deny you anything.

“Of course… legs around my waist, love, wanna feel you hold onto me.” Sanji purrs, licking the shell of your ear, eliciting a delectable squeak from your lips. Your ankles easily hook around the curve of Sanji’s spine, your thighs squishing against his hips and causing a weak groan to sound from Sanji’s throat.

You can feel Sanji’s stomach tensing as he moves, sliding his cock out to the tip before snapping his hips forward, making your eyes roll back and your back to arch as if offering yourself to the heavens.

The bed creaks beneath your body as your toes curl, your hips rolling to meet Sanji’s movements. “Good?” Sanji murmurs, his stubble tickling and scratching your collarbone as he slides his lips across your shoulder.

“…yeah. It’s good-“ You gasp, twisting beneath Sanji’s hands. Sweat dots at your forehead and you can feel your orgasm approaching, glancing at Sanji, you know he’s not far behind.

Sanji grimaces, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before they quickly dance away to watch himself piston in and out of your wet pussy, he listens to the squelches of your body as it practically begs for him. Sanji shudders at the sound, his shoulders bunching up as he listens to your body.

Everything about you is perfect in Sanji’s eyes. You could gut him like a fish and he would thank you before preparing himself into a dish for you to eat. You hold Sanji’s heart in your hands and he trusts you completely, knowing that you’d never break it.

“Damn it, angel.” Sanji hisses, running his hand down through his hair before catching your lips in a passionate kiss. “Please cum. Please, please. I wanna see you cum, angel. Wanna feel it- feel you.”

God, you can’t believe what Sanji’s words do to you. You bury your face again sanji’s neck as your hips buck up against his, searching for your release, “Come on…” You mumble impatiently, your face twisted; your nose scrunched and your brows furrowed.

Sanji leans forward, pressing feather-soft kisses to your furrowed brow and scrunched nose. His hand slides down your navel and lower, rubbing firm circles against your clit. His other arm wraps around your neck, tucking you firmly against his chest as his pace begins to stutter, shuddering breaths escaping his lips.

You writhe so sweetly against him, your heels digging into the small of Sanji’s back. He watches with rapt attention as your orgasm washes through you, reveling in the feel of your nails digging into his shoulders. Sanji feels as though he’s staring at an angel as your lips part, your lashes fluttering and your throat bobbing.

Sanji very nearly cums inside of you, too enraptured with the sounds and sensations he’s caused you to make. You’re mid orgasm when Sanji suddenly pulls out, his eyes widening and his breath catching in his throat in a panic as he coats your stomach with sticky cum.

Normally Sanji would never cum on you. As much as he absolutely adored the sight, something about it made him feel strange, as if he were defiling a priceless artifact. Usually, he would use a condom, or jerk himself off into his hand, or your panties on special occasions- your hand on really special occasions.

“Shit- sorry, sorry, angel.” Sanji groans, pulling back to sit on his haunches. His eyes glued to the sight of your covered not only in your own cum, but his as well. It makes his heart pound faster.

You hold a finger up, needing a moment to catch your breath, your thighs twitching from the pleasure. Finally you open your eyes and look up at him with a sweet smile. Catching his embarrassed face, you quickly think of ways to reassure him.

Sliding your index and middle finger across your navel, gathering up Sanji’s mess. Sanji watches, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back as you bring your fingers to your lips and slowly lick up his cum.

Letting out exaggerated coos as you suck on your fingers, you grin at him. His face is beet red, and he sniffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“You taste as good as your food, baby.” You hum, your fingers pulling away with a pop.

~

Ace: Against The Wall

Ace is a straight up show off

He loves to throw his weight around, and casually display his strength as if it were normal

Another thing about Ace is that he’s impatient. He wants what he wants and he’ll take it as soon as possible

That doesn’t change during sex. Ace loves picking you up and throwing you around, his hands exploring your body as he shoves you against a wall. At first it’s simply because he was too lazy and impatient to make his way to a bed, he’d simply drag you into a spare closet or pin you against a door

But he soon realized that he preferred a good old wall instead of a bed. He likes the way you giggle when he hoists you up, your thighs wrapping around his waist (or in some cases his face), he over the way you cling to him, too weak to hold yourself up and relying on Ace to keep your from falling

Sometimes Ace likes to pretend his legs give out, he likes the adorable look of panic on your face before Ace quickly snaps his hips up, adjusting your weight and burying himself deeper inside of your walls, gravity helping to sheath himself deeper inside of you

You stopped letting Ace eat you out against the wall after a situation during a storm. A violent wave sent the ship rocking and Ace had gone careening backwards, falling straight on his back… with you still on top of him. It was a horrible experience as the two of you had made your way to the infirmary, Ace happily holding his two missing teeth in his hands as you waddled, a wound on the inside of your thigh that suspiciously looked like a bite mark.

You haven’t seen Ace in weeks. He’s been on some excursion, fighting someone or other. He hasn’t left your mind in the time he’s been gone. You thought of him while cooking, while fighting, damn it all, you even thought of him while cleaning the toilets. Ace is your other half, and it’s like you can physically feel it when he’s apart. When you can’t hear his laugh or feel his touch. It hurt.

But that doesn’t matter anymore because Ace is back. The ship has been a flurry of activity this morning, preparing his welcome back feast. Ace had arrived back home in the middle of the night and had been spending most of his time back in the infirmary before passing out from exhaustion. He hadn’t bothered to say hi to anyone, too tired to think of anything but sleep.

But now was the time to celebrate the return of the Fire Fist.

You’re rummaging through yet another closet, Marco having asked you to search for tablecloths, but for some reason you can’t find them anywhere. You’d prefer if there wasn’t any sort of party, you’d much rather have a quiet day with Ace, just him and you. Yet, you suppose that was slightly selfish, the rest of the crew wanted to see the safe return of their crew mate as well. Just as you’re about to give up on what you think is the third closet, your eyes catch on a hint of fabric poking out from the bottom shelf.

With an annoyed gruff, you brace your hands on the wall and hoist yourself up, standing on the bottom ledge and praying it doesn’t snap under your weight as you stretch your arm out, your fingers just barely brushing against the cloth.

Just as you manage to hook your finger in a fold, you hear the familiar squeak of the closet swinging shut. A curse escapes your lips as you twist around in an attempt to reach for the door, but in the process, your foot slips and you go tumbling towards the floor.

You yelp, bracing yourself for the pain that’s sure to follow, but it never comes. Instead you feel a pair of arms wrap wrapping around your chest, tugging you backwards away from the shelf. Hold on… those arms… they feel a bit too familiar.

“Clumsy girl.” Ace muses with a chuckle, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek and tightening his hold around you, “Y’miss me?”

Spinning around, a grin already on your face, you meet the familiar eyes of one Portgas D. Ace. His silhouette just barely visible in the dim light of the closet. Adrenaline still pounds at your chest, but it’s mixed with excitement as you wrap your arms around Ace’s neck. “You scared me.” You scoff, a playful pout on your lips as you tug him down for a light kiss.

You’re expecting some banter in return, but instead; Ace lets out a groan as if he hadn’t drunken water in weeks and you were the sweetest of nectar. Suddenly his hands are slipping up your shirt to press against your abdomen, walking you backwards against the shelf as his mouth practically devours yours.

“Jump.” Ace pants softly, hooking his hands beneath your thighs.

-

Ace is thrusting into you with reckless abandon, the shelves creaking and groaning with your weight as the ledges dig into your back. Mouthing at your throat, Ace coos quietly, “Missed you so, so much, pretty girl. Yeah? You miss me too? You’re sucking me in right now.””

His hands devour your body, his fingertips warm to the touch as he pushes your shirt up around your neck. Ace pulls back for a moment to watch your tits bounce with thrust. His freckles glow faintly as he licks his lips.

Your quiet coos and moans surround Ace, your eyes kept focused on the door as if physically willing any crewmates from walking in on the two of you. You distantly pray that they can’t hear the sound of Ace’s skin slapping against yours.

But Ace is decidedly not trying to be quiet.

If anything, he’s louder than normal. A stupid grin on his face as he lets out low groans and cries of passion as if he’s in some cheap porno. You scowl at him, your stomach flipping as Ace brushes against your g spot. “Quiet!” You hiss, your scowl broken by a sweet gasp as Ace drives his hips up while tugging yours down.

Ace grins madly, throwing his head back and letting out a long, loud moan. “God… I missed you so much…” He cries out, grabbing the shelves and shaking them, objects wobbling and clattering together, “I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without your pretty body… your pretty little pus-“

You grab the back of his neck, a scowl on your face as you tug him into a deep kiss. Ace chuckles against your mouth, your lips finally managing to shut him up for once. You grab his hand, prying his fingers off of the shelf and guiding his palm to cover your breast.

“…missed you.” Ace finally murmurs against your lips, his voice much softer as he rolls your nipple between his fingers, his hand massaging the underside of your tit.

“Shit- Ace… missed y-“ You’re barely able to get your words out before Ace is slapping a palm over your mouth, pausing in his movements and bracing his knee against the shelf to hold you up as he reaches behind him to grab the doorknob. Your brows furrow in confusion, you hadn’t heard anything, but a few moments later you hear the sound of a pair of footsteps making their way down the hall.

Ace grins wildly, holding a finger to his lips. You know that mischievous look on his face. Shaking your head, you glare at Ace, already knowing what he’s planning. He quirks his head, pouting his lip in a false questioning look.

There are voices outside the door, some dumbasses chose this particular hallway to have some stupid conversation while you’re getting fucked balls deep only feet away.

Adjusting his stance, Ace grab your hips and begins to move once again, careful not to let his skin slap against yours. Biting his lip, Ace grins at your annoyance, using his freehand to massage your thigh while the other keeps its hold on the door.

You can feel him pulsing inside of yours, his tip ramming against your g spot with each thrust. It feels good. Too good.

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you bite down, your breath shuddering. Ace guides your head down against his shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to your ear.

“Come on… good job being quiet, baby.” Ace whispers softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. His words are sweet and smooth, each thrust sending your heart beating out of its cage. “Gonna cum when there’s people right outside? I swear you’ve been gripping me even tighter since they showed up.”

Your hand moves away from your mouth to grip at Ace’s shoulder, your face is pressed firmly to his neck as your thighs begin to tremble from the strain of keeping quiet.

“Ace…” You groan, your words muffled as you grind your hips down against Ace, your clit bumping against his navel with each buck of your hips.

“You know I love your voice, but you gotta keep quiet.” Ace murmurs, “Can you be quiet, or do I gotta stop?”

With a firm shake of your head, your thighs tighten around Ace’s waist. You’re so close, you think you might actually start crying.

-

It feels like an eternity as you wait for whoever’s outside to leave, Ace continuing his steady thrusts into your wet pussy. He whispers quietly to you, his lips brushing against your ear as his filthy words flood your brain.

But finally, the sound of voices fades and you nearly sob in relief. “Faster.” You snap impatiently, too frustrated to try and be nice.

Throwing his head back, Ace lets out a laugh, “Yeah… yeah I can do that.”

Your brain positively melts as Ace bucks his hips into you with reckless abandon, each roll of his body causing his cock to drive straight against your g spot.

Shuddering moans and cries fill the closet as you writhe in Ace’s arms, squirming as you chase after your orgasm.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl? Yeah… me too.” Ace pants, “So you better make it quick before I accidentally cum inside.”

You click your tongue at his teasing but you can’t deny the excitement at the thought of Ace cumming inside of you. Fucking his seed up into your cunt and putting a pretty baby in your stomach. You know that Ace has… difficulties with the idea of fathers, but you can’t help but think he would be a great one.

Before you know it, you’re thrown into an orgasm, your back arching as you throw your head back. Ace just barely manages to cup the back of your head in time, stopping you from bashing yourself against the shelves and probably giving yourself a concussion.

Your thighs tense and your whimper, pawing at Ace’s chest as you slam your hips down against Ace, chasing after your orgasm.

Ace curses, turning his head to the side at the sight of your pretty face. Your cheeks are puffed out adorably, your lips pursed and your brow furrowed in concentration. Glancing down, his eyes catch on the small flame that had burst on his foot. Ace flushes in embarrassment, stomping it out.

Ace hauls you off of him, holding you up against the wall as he pulls out, your pussy tries to cling to his cock, and it practically breaks Ace’s heart. With a grunt, he cum over his hand, careful not to get any of his mess on your clothes.

“I want…” Ace pants, stooping down to grab his boxers and wipe off his sticky palm, “I want you to go to the bedroom… I’ll meet you in about fifteen minutes, ‘kay?”

He lowers you to the floor, pinching your shaking thighs playfully, “You’ll make it there alright?” He teases, wiping up any evidence of orgasm with his underwear before tugging your pants back on. Ace goes about fixing your clothes, buttoning your shirt, zipping your pants and fixing your mussed hair.

Once he thinks you look presentable enough, he quickly tugs his own pants back on, throwing his boxers to a corner and silently promising to grab them later (he won’t).

Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Ace opens the door and shoves you out with a smack on the ass, “See you soon, sweetheart,” He coos, walking in the opposite direction. He sends you a stupid wink before turning the corner.

~

Kidd: BACKSHOTS!!!!

BACKSHOTSBACKSHOTSBACKSHOTS FACE DOWN, ASS UP, THATS THE WAY WE LIKE TO FUCK!!!

Guys I may or may not love backshots as much as I love Kidd

Kidd loves every position as long as he’s able to see your body jiggle and move. He especially loves hitting it from the back in any way; doggy, prone bone, face buried in the pillows and your hips wiggling around, throwing your ass back against him like the needy thing you are

He’ll bend you over anything, a desk, a bed, the railing. Hell, if you’re flexible enough, he’ll make you bend down and touch your toes while he plows your shit

One of his favorite things to do is make you grab your ass and present your pussy to him, showing off the way you drip and leak for his fat cock

Kidd uses any jewelry you have to his advantages. Bracelets? He’s forcing them above your head while you practically suffocate in his pillows. Anklets? He’s tugging your legs apart until you’re nearly doing the splits as he bullies his dick into your tiny cunt. But his absolute favorite piece of jewelry that you wear are waist beads.

Even if you’re completely and utterly exhausted, too tired to move or even cry anymore. He’ll take control of your waist beads and force you to keep throwing your ass back against him, the fat jiggling and practically begging for him to slap and fondle

Let’s be honest, Kidd’s fucking feral. He licks and bites his way down your spine, leaving a path of red kisses in its path. By the time he’s done with you, you’re absolutely covered in Kidd’s lipstick. Red pigment smeared down your spine and across your face.

~ Metal clatters against the ground as your body is roughly shoved down against the cool metal of Kidd’s work table. Your bikini top has been haphazardly tugged up around your neck, the strings all tangled, showing off your pretty tan lines. Your skin tingles from the temperature as you lift your head to look behind you. Kidd grins wolfishly at your lustful gaze as he toys with the strings of your bikini bottoms.

Kidd isn’t quite sure what’s come over him, he’s seen you in a bikini hundreds of times before, damn it, he’s seen you naked even more. But the sight of you lounging on the deck of his ship, your skin shiny from tanning had made his heart jump to his throat. You had been sleeping on your stomach, the slope of your spine and the curve of your ass on full display for the crew to see.

He had been working in his workshop when he had caught a glance of you through the window, your tits squished against the floor and your lips pouted slightly in sleep. Kidd hadn’t even realized what he was doing before he was activating his devil fruit powers, latching onto the silver bracelet he’d bought for you and tugging. You awoke to your hand being tugged by a seemingly invisible string. You were bleary from sleep but you already knew what was going on.

Your captain was waiting for you.

And that’s how you’d been practically dragged to the workshop, your feet stumbling over steps and nearly sending you crashing into the railing. The crew snicker and whistle at the sight of your hand being dragged by an unseen force. They knew exactly what Kidd wanted.

You’re barely able to get the door to the workshop open before Kidd is grabbing the back of your neck and tugging you into a bruising kiss. His hips rut against your thigh as he drags you towards his desk, haphazardly sweeping his hand and sending his little ‘projects’ (deadly weapons) flying. Sliding a hand to your shoulder, he slams you down against the table, hoisting your hips up onto the surface so that your toes just barely graze the ground.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go out there and fuck you in front of the whole crew.” Kidd snarls, his hand groping your ass, his touch rough enough to make you flinch as he swats your thigh. Your hips jolt, your body jerking against the table as a sharp keen escapes your lips. “Maybe I should make an announcement, huh? Call everyone in here and make ‘em watch you cream my cock like the slut you are. How’s that sound?”

He chuckles, reaching down to poke and prod your hole through the bikini bottom, pinching your clit and rolling the nub between his fingers, watching the fabric grow damp with your arousal as your feet twitch. You twist around to look at him, your thighs clenching at the sight of your lover; he’s practically drooling at the sight of you laid out across the table. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kicks your legs apart, stepping forward and rutting himself against your clothed pussy, earning a gasp from your lips.

“What’s got you all worked up?” You tease, rolling your ass back against Kidd’s raging hard on. Even through his clothing, you can feel that one prominent vein on his cock that never fails to drag you into orgasm. Arching your back, you wiggle your hips in the way that makes Kidd’s eyes roll back as he attempt to hold himself back from fucking you hard and deep.

Kidd snarls, his eyes locked onto your ass as if entranced. In on swift movement, he tugs the string of your bikini, the fabric falling to the side to give your captain a wonderful view of your messy cunt and puckered asshole. “Tch. Show me.”

This was Kidd being nice, giving you a few moments to prepare yourself, because there are many things that your captain is, but patient is definitely not one of them. When Kidd had first asked you to expose your weeping hole to him, you had been an embarrassed, blubbering mess. Arguing and telling him that it was weird.

But that was then, and now it was like second nature as you ease a knee onto the table and reach your hand behind you, sliding your pointer and middle finger between your dripping folds and sliding them apart to reveal your pulsing hole to Kidd, arousal steadily dribbling out of your cunt and over your skin. Sliding your digits inside, Kidd watches with rapt attention as you scissor your fingers, preparing your tight pussy for Kidd’s above average cock. More slick drips down your wrist as your ass shakes, your knee jerking and your head dropping down against the table.

With a growl, Kidd unbuttons his pants and you can hear his fat cock slap against his abdomen as he watches your fingers eagerly “Whaddya need, baby?” He croons, his voice sickening sweet as he wraps a hand around your hair and tugs your head back up. Hoisting your back against his chest, Kidd licks up into your mouth, biting your lip and stealing the breath from your lungs. His other hand travels up your navel, across your stomach before grasping the fat of your breast, tugging and twisting. It’s painful, his fingers pinching and flicking your areola as if it were a toy, making you squeak and squirm against him. Yet your hand continues to work at your pussy, it was better for both of you if your cunt was plenty stretched by the time Kidd entered you. Once Kidd lost his patience, there wasn’t much that you could do to stop his from entering you.

You try to respond, your chest fluttering as you try and fail to catch your breath. Kidd’s mouth chasing yours every time you try and pull away. “Mph- Kidd… can’t-“

It’s not until you fear that you might actually pass out, black spots dancing in your vision, that Kidd finally pulls away. Lipstick and saliva smeared across his lower face, and most likely yours as well. “I said, whaddya need?”

You pant, tears dotting your lashes as Kidd finally releases his bruising hold on your tit, his hand sliding to your shoulder and shoving you back down against the table. “Fuck… fuck me, Kidd… shit.”

Kidd catches your wrist, stopping your hand from continuing its ministrations against your pussy, before slamming it down by your face, your eyes linger on the sight of your shiny fingers, strings of arousal coating your skin. Without a moments hesitation, Kidd aligns his twitching length with your entrance and bottoms out inside of you. One moment he’s outside of you, and the next he’s balls deep, his tip very nearly kissing your cervix.

A mix between a relieved groan and a chuckle fills your ears as you let out a ragged cry of pleasure, a sharp jolt of pain coursing up your spine before it melts away into a blissful throb. Your back arches and your hips jerk back against Kidd as he massages your ass, his attempt at comfort. Slowly dragging his cock back, the ridges of his vein catches on your ring of muscle and you shudder, a soft coo sounding from your mouth. Kidd pulls back until his tip is just barely lingering inside of you, his gaze focused on the sight of your pussy all stretched out around him, your arousal coating his cock and dripping over his balls.

You shimmy your hips enticingly, whining with need and impatience as you look at him over your shoulder, “Come on. Hurry up.” You huff, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and pouted lips.

Scowling at your order, Kidd scoffs and rolls his eyes, but the sight of your pretty face makes his heart jump, he secretly loves it when you’re bossy, “Yeah, yeah. You always say that shit and then cry and beg me to slow down a few minutes later. You’re annoying you know that?”

You open your mouth to shoot back an equally sharp retort, but all that comes out is a choked cry as Kidd’s hands move to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as he hauls your ass back against him, beginning his punishing pace.

Your core aches with each brutal thrust. It’s painful, the pleasure coursing through your body just enough to make it worth it. Or maybe the pain is what making it feel so good? You’re not quite sure that it even matters.

“Fuck, you love it when I treat you like this. You probably couldn’t even cum if I’m not at least a li’l mean, huh?” Kidd teases, his teeth baring as he ducks his head down. Starting at the small of your back, his mouth attaches to your skin, sucking and biting and licking his way up the curve of your spine, leaving a mess of saliva, bruises and lipstick stains in his wake. You taste of sun tan lotion, coconut oil, and sweat. It’s making Kidd’s knees buckle with how good you feel on his tongue.

“You talk… way too much…” You bite out, dropping your head in your arms as your eyes squeeze shut, your head buzzing with pleasure.

“Good thing my teeth are as sharp as my tongue.” Kidd snarls, biting down on your shoulder. His canines dig into your skin as he feasts on your pretty figure. As if to punctuate his point, Kidd thrusts into you, purposefully pressing his tip to your cervix and making you keen in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Stars dance in your vision as you very nearly wail, your body writhing on the table as you attempt to wiggle away. It’s in vain as Kidd grabs your hips and drags you back. “See? I ain’t all talk.”

Kidd snakes a hand around your front, his fingers digging into your abdomen as if searching, “I can feel myself right… here.” Kidd sounds triumphant as he massages the slight bulge. He groans as he presses down, your gummy walls closing in around him as he resumes his thrusts. “Maybe I should put a baby up there one day, how’s that sound, babe?”

You bite your lip, unable to respond anymore for fear that you might let out a sob. Tears dot your lash line, your face splotchy and your breath shuddering. Each rock of Kidd’s hips send electricity up your spine. “I-“

Kidd cocks his head, leaning forward to peer at your face. He grins rakishly, wrestling you into a chokehold and brushing your hair past your ear. He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you gonna cry? Go ahead, you know I don’t mind.” Kidd grunts, snapping his hips. He’s close, both of you can tell, he’s struggling to keep his rhythm, his hips stuttering every few moments.

“‘m not… gonna cry.” You choke out, the metal beneath the two of you has grown slick with sweat and condensation. Each time Kidd thrusts his cock into you, there’s a squeak as your skin rubs against the table. You can’t help but giggle at the stupid sound, your cheek pressed against Kidd’s bicep as your eyes roll back.

“God, you’re so sweaty. What’s your problem?” Kidd gruffs, but you can hear the hint of endearment in his voice. “Just cum already, yeah?”

You turn your head, your tongue lolling out in search for Kidd’s mouth. Grinning at your fucked out expression, Kidd eagerly accepts your tongue into his mouth.

You bite down on Kidd’s lip as your orgasm washes over you like a wave. Your entire body jerking and twitching as your hips chase after Kidd’s cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper.

Kidd watches with bated breath as tears slip down your cheeks, your cries and moans quickly swallowed by his eager mouth. He continues to thrust impatiently into your creamy pussy, dragging you through your orgasm while chasing after his own.

Your cum is creating a foamy ring around the base of Kidd’s cock. His face burns and he allows you to kiss him one final time before he pulls back, blood coating his bottom lip from how hard your teeth had dug in.

You feel empty as Kidd finally drags his dick out of your cunt, your hole pulsing with his absence. Kidd grunts in annoyance as he jerks himself off, his bicep flexing around your throat as his own orgasm washes through him, his cum painting your back.

“I’m gonna cum in your pretty pussy one day, and it’s gonna be the best day of our fucking lives, I promise.” Kidd grunts, releasing his hold on you and running a hand through his hair. He steps back from between your legs, admiring the view of your body on display for him to see.

The lipstick marks on your back are partially covered by his cum, oil and sweat still lingering on your skin as bruises form on your ass. Your thighs tremble, your fluids coating your folds and dripping down onto the table.

-

You wake up in Kidd’s arms, your body aching as you lounge across his lap, your nose nestled against his neck. He’s toying absentmindedly, one hand tinkering with a small trinket (bomb), while the other massages your thigh.

Your body feels as though it’s been through the wringer, your thighs aching and your core throbbing. There are bruises on your hips from the table repeatedly digging into your skin.

“Hi.” Kidd grunts, barely soaring you a glance.

“…Hi.” You croak, clearing your throat as you sit up to peer at Kidd’s little invention. You smooth a hand through your hair, groaning as your hands run down your face.

“I told you you’d cry.”

random nsfw wind breaker head cannons <3

Ft. Sakura, Suo, Kiryu, Kaji, Togame & Umemiya

Sakura

Loves being called a good boy. Literally blushes up to his ears. He will do absolutely anything to please you, to get you to tell him how good he's being for you. His fave thing is when you give him a long, drawn out hand job while praising him. You're rubbing in his tip because it's so, so sensitive and when you finally let him cum it gets all over his thighs and tummy.

Suo

Loves sharing you with his friends. He's really into watching you get fucked by Kiryu or Sakura or whoever it is. But he tells you both exactly what to do, getting off on the control he has with out having to lift a finger. He also loves to get involved and kiss you stupid while his friend is fucking you or eating you out. Will whisper the dirtiest shit in your ear so when you cum you both know its for him.

Kiryu

Likes to video when you fuck. Has tons of videos of you sucking his cock while he caresses your cheek all sweetly. Or of his cock sliding in out of your cunt with all the pretty noises you make. He also loves to send you videos himself jerking off. His cock is all pretty n flushed as he's stroking himself. He's breathless and groaning your name as he cums, making a mess of his hand. He'll send them and beg you to cum home so he can blow his next load inside you <3

Kaji

Puts his headphones on you sometimes when you fuck. Because they're so good at blocking out noise, you can't hear yourself, which makes you moan extra loud. He fucks you extra hard just to see how loud he can get you. Will secretly audio record you and play it back after so he can tease you about it (but lovingly, he just likes the way you blush).

Togame

Needs to be inside you at all times. Will literally beg for it. Swears he just wants to feel you and won't do anything but it's a lie. He tries! He really does try to just cuddle with you, but when he feels your pussy wrapped around him he can't stop himself. Will rock into you all languid until you're just as worked up. It always ends in having slow, lazy sex.

Umemiya

You get princess treatment every time. Always takes his time with you. Loves kissing you all over and super into body worship. You never have quickies because he wants to finger you, eat you out, all of it. He just can't get enough of you and wants you to really feel how much he loves you through how touches you.

i hate you

at you and bakugous wedding he reveals his true feelings

★・・・・・・★

“ it is now time for the vows, bakugou we will start with you.”

Bakugou reaches into in pocket and pulls out papers, making sure to wipe his hands against his pants.

looking at you and then taking a deep breath and clearing his throat he says “ about a month into our relationship i realized one thing about you. i was in the shower after a date, you had kissed me for the first time. in my head i declared that i hated you.”

gasp filled the room. bakugou looked up from the paper and into your eyes once again, he saw you taken aback. hearing a faint “ katsuki..” from his mom he knew he should continue.

“ i hated you more into the relationship, i had this feeling in me when i thought about you. i hated it. “

“ i hated the way you came into my life like you owned it, and the thing i hated the most about you is that you made me feel human.”

“ dude this isn’t what we planned “ kirishima says from behind bakugou. him and bakugou stayed up numerous nights trying to find the write words to say to you, bakugou would describe his feelings to kirishima and kirishima would write down a sentence, but nothing was good enough for bakugou so when they finally came to an agreement…bakugou tossed it.

“ For example “ bakugou starts again “ i hate seeing you, hearing your voice, being next to you and having you touch me, everything that you did effected me.”

“ i hated how when i slept i wished you were there, when i shared an apartment with kirishima, kaminari and sero i hated how anything i had to do with them i wanted to do wit you, i hated being alone because you weren’t there to throw me a smile, i hated your smile, i hated when you smiled that was the only thing i wanted to see, i hated feeling you lips on me because i never wanted them to leave.”

taking a breath in bakugou made sure not to look at you, he didn’t want to see the look on your face,

“ the worst part is that i never hated any of this, i loved it. and that scared me to my core. i never thought i would be able to feel this way about anyone, this feeling was so forgine to me “

“ so i shut you out, for the first 6 months of our relationship i was terrible to you. i never gave you any love, or affection. i wasn’t talking to you, i avoided you. i kept us secret. i don’t want any to know that bakugou katsuki was capable of love because you made me feel like a human being not some hot shot hero with a big ego. whenever i thought i could do anything, beat everyone, you always reminded me that i was human.”

a shaky breathe leaves him “ you scared the crap out of me, i didn’t like what you gave me but i craved it, i craved you. “

“ the moment i think about still to this day is the day you told me you loved me, i didn’t say it back. instead i took your hand off my shoulder and walked to the bathroom and telling you that i had to piss. in that bathroom i wanted to scream “

“ the night it all changed is when i heard you and my dumb roommates talking on the. you had begged me for us to have a sleep over and in the middle of the night you got up. i followed you. i heard kaminari ask you ‘ are you and bakugou gonna break up ‘ at that i froze, i listen further into the conversation and when you said ‘ if me and bakugou break up it will be him doing the breaking up, he’s rude and hot head and not very affectionate but those small moments with him are worth it’ “

“ i don’t know what changed in me that night but that was the first night i initiated touch with you while i was fake sleeping “

“ i hate our relationship because of those first 6 months, i didn’t know how to properly treat you and how to communicate my feelings which i still can’t do.” bakugou lets a tear fall out of his eyes.

“ i hate how i never gave you what you deserved, i worked my butt off and tried so hard after that night to show you that i still love you. i love your smile, your laugh, or when you choose to sleep directly on me instead of your side of the bed. how you cook with me, comfort me after a long day, how you play with my hair, how you always snap back at me. how you love to bake with me. “

“ i love those late nights where you and me just talk about absolutely nothing. i love when when you get a tingly feeling in your nose and you stuff and strunchn into my shoulder for comfort. i love how you jump into my arms randomly, i love when you put your cold feet under my shirt to warm them up. i love when you rub my back and kiss my forehead. i love everything about you and everything you do. i hate how i can never tell you how much i love you.”

“ i never hated you, i loved you. and i was so scared to show it. i hate myself because i can never find the right words to tell you anything because even now i still don’t deserve your love. “

looking into your eyes you see tears falling from his and his lip quivering. bakugous fist are gripping the paper at this point.

“ but you deserve all of mine, y/n i love you “

silence came over the whole building..

“ was that okay?” he asked you in a quiet whisper still having tears fall from his eyes.

‘ even when crying you look beautiful ‘ he thought to himself.

★・・・・・・★

chatness this kinda feels rushed and not really thought out but idk i really wanted to write a fic about this. bakugou is bakugou so i’m a firm believer that in the beginning of any of his romantic relationships it’s very hard. also i was think of writing some of these senarios out idk.

currently working on a kuroo x reader and haikyuu multiple x reader so yeah that’s all booya!

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you. 

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.” 

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you. 

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead. 

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

-

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’ 

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb. 

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived. 

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on. 

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up. 

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?” 

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear. 

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him. 

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny. 

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array. 

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.” 

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing? 

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore. 

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!” 

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life. 

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.” 

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.” 

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack. 

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him. 

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it. 

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

-

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day. 

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips. 

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage. 

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive? 

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

-

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you. 

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired. 

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.” 

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated. 

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles. 

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so. 

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?” 

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing. 

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly. 

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles. 

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.” 

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him. 

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch. 

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens. 

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him. 

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it. 

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.) 

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play. 

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots. 

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now. 

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you. 

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…” 

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear. 

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand. 

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.” 

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter. 

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates) 

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass. 

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard. 

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you. 

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you. 

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful. 

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?” 

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.” 

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

HASHIRAS REACT TO YOU BEING A BRAT !!

Scenario: You and them were training and you couldn’t find an opening to strike them leaving them multiple chances to strike you and you got so fed up and you threw your wooden sword on the floor and started shouting at them letting your anger issues get the best of you.

(Went over board with my baby obanai 💔)

NOT proof read.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ✧

GYOMEI HIMEJIMA

Gyomei ‘looked’ at you in confusion trying to figure out why you were acting like this. He tried his best to calm you down, saying things like— “Calm down, Im sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I was being on you.” or “This behavior is really unnecessary. Calm down.” Either way you had a snarky remark.

“I don’t fucking care, how about you shut the fuck and let me think for a second.” You said , pacing around. His eyebrows furrowed, his anger slowly rising trying to be patient with you.

Unexpectedly, Gyomei grabbed your upper arm and faced you to him. Your face hitting his chest as he lowered himself to your level. Not being able to look at you in the eyes directly because he’s blind. “Breathe.” Is all he said. You took deep breaths trying to calm down.

Once you finally calm down and lean into his touch you whispered an apology. “Sorry master Gyomei.” All his anger suddenly evaporating as he felt your breathing even out. “Its okay.”

You felt his hands travel down to your waist and grip it. “Although, that type if behavior comes with consequences.” He said, voice deepening. You gulped. Scared of what he had in store for you.

TOMIOKA GIYUU

He just stared at you. He was never good when it came to handling people’s emotions. “It’s never that serious.. Y/N calm down.” You heard him faintly say. His voice low. “Don’t you ever, and I mean ever tell me shits not that serious.” You say, angrily. Walking up to him, dangerously close. “I suggest you back up if you know what good for you.” He said. Locking eyes with yours.

You scoffed, getting closer than you already were if that was even possible. Giyuu felt like you were testing his patience, he felt as if you thought he couldn’t touch you.

He gripped your face, squishing your cheeks together. “Watch who you’re talking to Y/N. You’re acting like a child like every other day I don’t have you laid up in my mansion unable to move.” Giyuu said, his mouth so close to your ear.

“ m’sorry..” You said, closing your eyes out of embarrassment. “gimmie a kiss baby.” He said, pulling away from your ear, giving you the sloppiest kiss ever.

SHINOBU KOUCHO

“Oh my, whats the matter?” She asked, taking a few steps back. “This shit is frustrating! I cant get a hit, im getting fucking mad.” You yelled, kicking the dirt. “Hey its okay really.” She gave you a weak smile. “Its not, I-its not!” You said, tears began to fall. “Y-You’re so mean shinobu! “ You yelled, attempting to slap her arm.

She stopped the slap by grabbing your wrist, applying pressure, making you wince. “Calm down. You should know better than to hit a hashira let alone your trainer.” She said, eyes piercing through you.

“sorry master koucho..”. you said weakly, before she let go of your wrist. “thought so.”

MITSURI KANROJI

She didn’t know what to do, she was confused and panicking. She tried her best to calm you down. “Im sorry! Im sorry!” she said, hugging you.

You calmed down and melted into her touch. her fingers caressing your arms. “you have to try okay my love? You can’t expect to just be able to land a hit on me without training.” she said, her voice soft and smooth. She calmed you down so fast as if this was a everyday occurrence.

MUICHIRO TOKITO

He stared at you blankly. just letting your tantrum run through. He had no idea why you were acting like this and didn’t really want to know.

“Pick your sword back up and stop procrastinating and come on.” He said. Your blood started to boil. He was making you angry. “Im not going to put up with your temper tantrums. So come on” He said once more. He was starting to get mad.

“Im not! Im going to quit for today.” You raised your voice. “No you’re not come on.” His voice starting to rise. You turn back and said something along the lines of, “im not gonna sit here and have you throw me on the floor for fun muichiro. You making me mad.” You started moving your hands when you were talking.

“Does it look like I care? stop acting like a child and grow up!” He yelled, which took you back.

“excuse me?” You said, wanting him to repeat what he said.

welp in the end the two of you bickered until the sun set.

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

He got angry before you could even get angry. “You could’ve hit me right there. why are you so slow?!” He yelled in your face. You put your hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Boy back the hell up!” You said.

He was took back by the base in your voice, glaring at you. “Watch who you talking to.” He said, gripping your upper arm. “OW NIGGA!” You yelled, hitting him trying to get the grip to let up.

“quit all that fussin.” He said,pulling you closer. “We are going to try again, and this time you better knock me in my head.” He said , being dead serious “Yes sir.” You rolled your eyes. He snapped his neck towards you and gave you a look immediately shutting you up.

OBANAI IGURO

“Shut the hell up with that whining shit. You know I don’t like that.” He hissed. “b-but master! I can’t do it!”You whined. He always felt sorry for you when you couldn’t get something down and you’d stress about it.

“What did I just tell you?” He said, eyes slanting a little. Earlier today Tengen told him that he was babying you too much and now he can finally see that.

“You’re going to keep trying until you get it right. You’re so damn spoiled, I see what Tengens talking about.” He said from across the field. You got offended wanting to say something back but Obanai knew you better than yourself.

“I dont want to hear you saying anything. Come at me again.” He said. You refused. Not moving a muscle. Why should you have to listen to him? “No.” You said, sweat starting to form. “You’re literally shaking. Im not going to hurt you.” He said once again, but you didnt budge. “Go talk about me to Tengen I can train myself.

“Thats what youre mad about?” Obanai has venom in his voice. In a blink of an eye he was right in front of you. A hand was wrapped around your throat. “Lose the fucking attitude.” He whispered. “I hate when you whine about stupid shit. If I tell you to do something then you do it.” He continued. “Isn’t that right mama?” He looked at you. “Y-yes iguro.” You hate when he had full control over you but you loved it so much.

“Get your shit together and come on ‘for I fuck you outside.”

“yes master iguro.”

RENGOKU KYOJURO

Like Mitsuri, he started panicking. “Okay okay! I realized this is way beyond your level lets start slow!” sweat coming down his face.

“NO! I wanna do it till i get it right. Stop treating me like a baby!” You yelled and picked your wooden sword back up.

“Well you are getting angry so maybe stop!” He said, still keeping his cheerful expression. Your rolled your eyes and got into stance knowing that your attitude was going to get nowhere with him.

TENGEN UZUI

“well that’s really unflashy.” He said, one hand on his hip. “Will you shut up?” You said, voice very low. “What was that? Speak up. I couldn’t quite catch that.” He said, sarcastically. “I said can you shut up?” You said louder, making sure he heard you.

“Hey you know thats kind of rude for someone who keeps falling on their ass.” Tengen said. “Maybe if you stop fighting me like I was a damn demon then maybe i wouldnt be falling on my ass all the time? I dont know just a thought.” You said. “Pick up your sword and stop being a baby.” He said, smile plastered on his face.

You grabbed your sword coming at him with full force, faster than before catching him completely off guard. He grabbed both of your arms and pinned them behind your back. “You need to calm down” He said, voice laced with shock and slight anger.

You rolled your eyes knowing that he won’t be nice with you anymore while training.