End Of The Road

ੈ🎐༄˖°.〰˚✩彡

BEING BEST FRIENDS WITH AANG:

prompt: being the same age as Aang, mostly the avatar has it perks considering you two are polar opposites

🐚 ྀ࿓it’s dead ass funny seeing two 12 years argue who sheds more, momo or appa. Katara would have to pull you off of Aang before you slap this little Mr clean head ass boy.

🐚 ྀ࿓for shits and giggles, you have definitely got launched in the air. You were begging Aang to just launch you in the air. Because you always dreamed of it since you met this airbender.

🐚 ྀ࿓Aang is pretty much protective of you if you can’t bend. So if you are a non bender, you better believe this boy makes sure you are by his side at all times of the traveling. Even after he finishes the Hundred year war. He’s the avatar, of course there’s still petty ass people after him.

🐚 ྀ࿓now if you weren’t a non bender and had a bending skill of some sort, he is still protective of you. You could be a master at bending, and this dude will still make sure you are behind him in danger. You two are such a powerful duo when bending, now a good trio is you, toph, and Aang at all once.

🐚 ྀ࿓you two are basically platonic soulmates who are always found by each other. Like that one time you went to go shopping at a market, and Aang followed you secretly since it’s his job to protect you at all time. Or that one time you lost Aang in the crowd and he immediately found you by your voice in an instant.

🐚 ྀ࿓”I’m gonna kill that asshole…” “please don’t.” Those words basically describes your friendship with Aang. Literally after Aang got his grow spurt and he was taller than you, you better believe this now wise boy would put you on his shoulder to drag you away from fights.

🐚 ྀ࿓you are the chaos in the peace and he is the peace within the chaos. You two are two peas in a pond, yin & yang. You have your moments where it’s the opposite sometimes. But where’s the fun when you create the problems whilst Aang has to drag you away from causing more problems.

🐚 ྀ࿓smack his head…he dares you. He knows you do it for jokes. But this boy is tired of having red hand marks on his head and feeling the painful burn.. if you did one more time, he is actually putting you in rock time out. You could try to get out. But this airbender is making sure he is having a kick out of this.

🐚 ྀ࿓when training with Aang, he tries to go easy on while you don’t. Of course you care about Aang deeply like he does for you, but you ain’t no pussy. You literally used chi blocking on him cause he hesitated blasting you away with his airbending. At the end you had to smack his head for trying to not blast you. And of course he still didn’t learn his listen as he just dodges.

🐚 ྀ࿓Aang is very affectionate person, everyone knows that. So of course he is holding your hand, waist if you allow it, wrap his arm around your shoulder. He might not be that much of a touchy person, but it feels nice to have the person that’s like his other half by him.

🐚 ྀ࿓cuddles is a must if you or him have a bad day. Yes you once snored while trying to move away from the airbender in your sleep. Aang wasn’t letting that happen at all cause he pulled you to his chest as he falls asleep.

🐚 ྀ࿓random arguments with Aang is also a must as you two argue over the most stupidest things ever. Say for example, your favorite book was gone. So you accused Aang of using it for something actually dumb. Aang got offended as he dramatically gasp and blamed you instead for being so dense for not keeping up with your stuff. And that’s where you would tackle him and start hitting his head. Mostly smacking his bald head cause it’s funny😭

🐚 ྀ࿓this sweetheart of an airbender will teach you about his culture. Now if you are part of one of the nations, you teach him your nation of course. It’s like trading Pokémon cards for more Pokémon cards. He will probably do something so you can wear an airbender outfit, just so people can see you two are best friends for life. Literally.

🐚 ྀ࿓I can see you trying to ignore Aang for something petty, and Aang is not having it as communication is key. He will literally pick you up over his shoulder and put you down so he can talk to you face to face. He’s serious about you, so of course he’s not letting you be this petty.

🐚 ྀ࿓yk how Aang had his hair grown out, yeah you actually liked it grown out like that. It was cute and you told him that in confidence. At first he thought you were lying so you can make fun of it. But when he saw how you kept playing with his hair. He actually was thinking about keep his hair grown out like this. His darkish brown hair was suiting on him. He’d actually fall asleep with his head on you as you play with it.

🐚 ྀ࿓Aang will never forget the moment he almost went avatar state for you. All because you wanted to be reckless and almost died. A fire nation soldier tried to burn you alive, but you were quick to dodge it. While for Aang, he didn’t get a clear view to see if you dodged it or not. So this man’s tattoos glowed scared and worried. Mostly angry if you died as he was about to burn the solider. Kyoshi was telling him to. But that all stopped when you grabbed his shoulder. Aang stops to look at you and hug you tightly, his heart went back to normal sped.

🐚 ྀ࿓to end this off, you guys are practically platonic soulmates who are made to be by each other’s side. Aang agrees and you, you just nod while you stuff your face in food. And Aang eats calmly compared to you. So if you choke on your food, he is smacking the shit out of your back worried if you actually choke on your food.

Sibling au part 3, it’s wholesome this time I promise

Edit: you can read the fic for the first image here! It's everything I could've hoped for, thank you @sukuna-dees-nuts!!

Part 1 | Part 2

Colored it. Next post will be jjk related I promise

h.how do we feel .

“Uh… sorry ‘bout the mess. I’ll make it up to ya.” For good measure, the space cowboy kicks one of the corpses to the side with his boot.

You clutch your chest tighter, heart racing. “You just killed fifteen IPC soldiers in my bar.”

“Yep.”

“You–”

He suddenly looks offended. “Hey. I did the world a favour. I don’t take kindly to rats puttin’ their fudgin’ filthy hands on the merchandise.” He gestures to his torso. Then, he whistles, placing his thumbs on the waistband of his pants. “But, nice place ya got. This your business?”

Dazed, you nod slowly. Your eyes flit to the broken sign and the smashed television hanging over the bar counter.

The bottles are smashed to bits. There’s liquor spilled all over the floor—expensive liquor. This would cost a fortune to fix, let alone to then replace all of the products.

You exhale shakily. You try not to look at the bodies.

The cowboy pities you. You can see it on his face. He says nothing. He awkwardly clears his throat and skims the rim of his hat with his fingers.

This sucks.

“How ‘bout this? I’ll give ya the bounty money so you can fix this place up.”

“Will you pay for my therapy sessions as well?” you chime in, murmuring beneath your breath.

He cracks a smile. “If that’s what you want.”

You lean over the counter and place your head in your hands. Tiredly, you ask, “how much?”

You hear the cowboy click his tongue in thought. “‘Bout… seventy-five? Give or take?”

You look at him from between your fingers. “Huh? Seventy-five hundred?”

The cowboy, yet again, looks offended. “Million, hun. I don’t do my job for cheap. What do I look like to you?”

You squawked. “Seventy-five million?”

“You heard me.” He cocks his head to the side, lips pressed into a thin line. “Why? You like that?”

“You can’t give me seventy-five million credits. Are you serious?” You could feel your face burning in shock. Your hands slam onto the counter, and you point an accusing finger in his face. “You must run some sort of shady business.”

The cowboy looks to the left for a moment.

He blinks at you like you’re stupid.

“You’re serious?” you repeat.

Instead of answering, he pulls out his phone from his pocket. You say nothing about the flimsy orange case, instead watching as he fumbles and squints at the screen before turning it towards you.

He shows you the recent deposit.

As he said. Seventy-five million fat credits sit right there in his account.

Hesitantly, you grab the phone to peer closer. Curiously, you start scrolling. These deposits clearly weren’t new to him. There were so many starting back from about ten years ago. There was a recent one of two-hundred thousand, then another just crossing fifty-seven million–

You were going to pass out. You hand his phone back to him with trembling fingers.

“Seventy-five sound good, or ya want some more?” He was tapping away on the screen again. “Gimme your bank details.”

“No!” You shake your head. “I don’t need your money. It’s fine.”

“How ‘bout eighty?”

“I–”

“Eighty-five.”

“No, I–”

“Round it up.” He turns the phone to you again, this time waiting for you to take it. An empty prompt of a receiver for the credits waits still. “One hundred.”

“Stop. I’m not taking your money.”

“I insist,” was all he said. “Got plenty to dispose of. And was never too responsible wit’ it anyway. Also, don’t really need to spend money on food and stuff, ‘cause, y’know–” He gestures to himself again. “I trashed your place. Lemme help ya fix it up.”

“I’m not taking your money,” you repeat.

The cowboy narrows his eyes at you.

To retaliate, you narrow them back.

Then, grumpily, he states, “you’re stubborn.”

“Yeah.” You bristle defensively. “And?”

“I like it,” he all but purrs. He leans over the counter, fingers drumming over the bench. “If ya don’t want my money, how’z about I take ya out for dinner? To say sorry?”

Huh? You lean back, cowering away from the sharp teeth he displays behind pulled lips. Your heart races in your chest, half out of the anxiety that riddles your veins, but also because he’s practically snapping his teeth in your face like a shark.

Your hands coil into weak fists.

“What do ya think, pretty?”

You look at him.

You suppose he’s handsome—you’re not sure if it’s appropriate to call a cyborg handsome. But he’s got lovely hair, and it falls over his shoulders like water. It covers half his face, but the eye you can see is… trustworthy, to an extent.

He’s definitely not the most insane man you’ve ever met, so that’s a bonus. He also just killed a bunch of soldiers in your territory. You didn’t like the IPC either, and maybe he did do you a favour, but still.

You sigh. You think the pleading flutter of his lashes won you over.

“Fine.”

“That’s the spirit.” He holds out his hand, palm facing upwards. “Phone.”

Your face twists suspiciously. “No funny business.” Hesitantly, you reach into your pocket and hand it to him.

He grins and takes it. “Not at all. I’m a super trustworthy guy.” You find it hard to believe him. Again, he seems to have trouble navigating your phone. He notices you staring. “Sorry. Can’t read very well.”

“Oh.” You straighten up slightly. “Do you want me to add your number instead?”

He makes a face at the phone.

“Nope. I got it.” He hands you back your phone after a moment. The contact is still open on the screen: Boothill. He’s somehow taken a photo of himself without you noticing. “Might’ve added an extra zero. Oops.”

“Oh.” You stare down at the phone number. “There's no zeroes in your number.”

“Sure.” Boothill pulls back from the counter with a tip of his hat. “I gotta run. I’ll set up our lil’ dinner date later.”

You turn your phone off. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You got it, babe.” He blows you a kiss and waves his hand behind him.

As soon as the door shuts, you get a notification of a successful deposit into your bank account.

Your face immediately drains of blood as you frantically open up the app.

Seven-hundred and fifty million credits sit in your account.

The message attached to it reads, ‘Dont bot her snending it back. Wont work. LOL.’

like hear me out,, pro hero! bakugou gets in an argument with his wife and then gets so angry where he says: "if i hadn't married you i would be a top hero by now." 👀

A/N: you little angelic genius you, i hope you’re okay with a happy ending ♡ Sorry this took like two years, I didn’t know ANYBODY sent me anything in the years I’ve lurked!!

c/w: angst to fluff, established relationship, toxic relationship, mean bakugo, implied fem!reader, bakugo gets mildly violent, let me know if i missed something!

“…If I Hadn’t Married You!”

bakugo x fem!reader

You let out a sigh of relief. Wiping your hands on your apron, you stepped back to admire the work you had created on the dining room table. The table, which never occupied more than two chairs, was decorated with a spectacular dinner.

You had spent hours slow cooking, stirring, baking and chopping to make a large dinner for your Husband of an early year and a half. Though it’s very early into your forever, Bakugo had never shown any sign of regret in his decision to marry you. It took everybody by surprise, the way Bakugo had been sheepishly protective of you since you’d yelled at him for the first time when you’ve had enough of his teasing.

Your appreciation for bakugo was simple. He did nothing but come home and immediately cradle into your arms, slumping down and nestling into your neck when he was particularly tired and vulnerable - a side only you were familiar with. He would breath out slowly, feeling your fingernails softly drag along his scalp and make him feel drunk. But those moments would be brief, as your husband was quick to feel victim to his affectionate emotions and soon stand to do household chores that weren’t completed - even though he had been working all day, still covered in grime and resin from his explosions.

But just as his explosions save people, they also harm. And all it took was one glance at an old picture book from middle school. He had been helping you with your chores one day when he came across a yearbook from his middle school years.

One side of Katsuki’s lips curled up into a smirk as he was ready to relive all of his younger self’s dreams. His rough, calloused finger turn the front page. He flipped, his smirk growing smaller and smaller when a realization came to him.

He had abandoned his younger self. Baby Bakugo’s dreams. Baby Bakugo’s determination to be the number one. His smile completely wiped, Bakugo felt his teeth grit when he saw Deku. A shy boy, lingering in the back with a gentle smile on his face, no need for recognition.

That’s what began Bakugo’s emotional downfall. For as far as he’s come, he was certainly backtracking and the person who noticed it was none other than his darling wife.

Your little scribble next to his picture, Don’t miss me too much, Katsu kitty, made Bakugo close his eyes. He couldn’t believe he had done this to himself. So for days, he worked to improve himself. Even if that meant leaving her behind for a while to focus on succeeding in his career.

That’s why when Bakugo came in, and saw a grand gesture, he couldn’t help but grimace at the sight. You knew everything about him. From what he liked, his tips for plate presentation, to the already-clean kitchen paired with hot food. You had learned to clean as you cook. It angered him.

He stared at the dining room table, eyes bored and unamused. That’s when he heard the patter of feet against the hardwood, a girl barring in while tying the back of a nice cocktail dress. She grinned brightly at her husband when she saw him walk in, the faint marks left behind from his mask still on his face.

“Honey,” you giggled and walked to him, licking your thumb and reaching for his cheek. You were shocked to see him grab your wrist and dodge your hand. You pulled back a bit, confused as Bakugo just brushed past you. “Katsuki?” You picked up her feet to catch up with him, a hand touching his bicep to get his attention. Katsuki was quick to pull away.

“Fuck, WHAT?” He snapped, causing you to flinch and step back. A sour look was immediately on your face. Of course, he thought. She always stood her ground.

“Excuse me?” You matched his tone, arms raising and being thrown down in disbelief. She couldn’t believe he was acting this way.

“You! You’re fucking-“ Katsuki stopped for a second. He couldn’t look at her without seeing his failures. He just scoffed and motioned with his hand like he was shooing her off as he walked towards their shared bedroom.

“No! Don’t you walk off,” Your feet picked up the pace as you ran to confront him. You couldn’t believe he was acting so crude. Well, you could.

Fights between you and Bakugo weren’t irregular. But they never started without reason. Maybe he rolled his eyes at you suggesting a date night, or maybe he called you ‘woman’ in front of the cashier. But there was never nothing that agitated him without reason when it came to you.

The door immediately slammed in your face, causing a wave of anxiety to pile into your chest. You felt the push of the air as it was only inches from your nose. You didn’t know what to do in that moment. He’s never ever been that way to you. You’ve yelled, but (surprisingly) Bakugo was never physically violent when it came to you being the subject of his upset emotions.

But you knew you couldn’t just walk away now. After staring at the door for a few moments, you tried the handle and were relieved to find that at least he left it unlocked. Twisting the door and stepping inside swiftly, you saw Bakugo changing out of his hero costume, back to you.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on?” You said, mind inching back to the food growing cold on the table. But you refrained first, wanting to calm down your frustrated husband.

“I’m at a fucking stopping point in my life, Y/N,” Bakugo snapped over his shoulder as he slid on his pajama pants. He began to take his shirt off, and Y/N couldn’t believe he was performing normal duties in a situation like this. “You’re fucking EVERYWHERE!”

You scoffed and held your arms up. “Im supposed to be everywhere, I’m your wife, Katsuki!” You yelled at him, offending by his words. He was supposed to love that you’re everywhere. He was supposed to want you everywhere.

“WELL FUCK. My mistake!” He shouted, shirt long forgotten as he finally focused on the conversation- fight between the two of you. “What?” You gasped out in disbelief. “Your mistake?”

“Yeah. My fucking mistake.” He said with gritted teeth, eyes barely glancing to the yearbook. So subtly even you hadn’t noticed it. “I can’t work with you everywhere, breathing down my neck all the time.” You hated when Katsuki was angry. His raspy voice that you loved so much only grew deeper, more devilish. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t intimidate you.

“Why is that such a problem for you?” You said, anger rising to your chest. “If I wasn’t your wife you wouldn’t have someone waiting for you to come home—“ He interrupted, “—Thank GOD! I pray for that every goddamn day!” He shouted at you, yet you kept listing reasons why you were perfect for him. Reasons why he loved you in the first place. But it fell past deaf ears as he continued to argue with you.

“I have a hot meal sitting on the table, that you’re not even acknowledging because you’re—“ Again, he interrupts. “I DIDNT ASK YOU TO FUCKING DO THAT. Don’t ask for a thank you as if this was some sort of favor I made you do! God, just lay off of me,” Bakugo barks at you.

You’d about had it, the frustration causing your eyes to fill with salty tears. “Wow.” You said, mouth pursed into a line that struggled to hide a frown. “I didn’t realize marrying me actually is such a huge burden on your shoulders.” You said, voice barely trembling.

“If I hadn’t married you,” Bakugo leaned close to you, his eyes red and crazed with anger, “I’d be top hero. I’d be where I wanted to be my entire life.” A sick grin came to him. “And then you. You had to go and shake your ass for my attention every day. You knew what this meant to me.”

Your face turned to one of disgust. How could he be this mean to you? “Katsuki..” The tears fell. This wasn’t the man you had married. One tear, then the next down your cheek as you were at a loss for words. He was going through something, you told yourself. But you couldn’t bring yourself to find forgiveness in that moment. Your hand clasped over your trembling lips as you stepped away from his leaning form, watching as the hatred from his eyes started to vanish. He seemed to come to his senses, noticing the real effect of his words.

Bakugo wanted to fight his stubbornness. To pull her back and say he didn’t mean it. But his eyes fell back on the yearbook. Y/N traced his eyes to see his vision. She couldn’t believe this. Her tired, red and wet eyes looked back at Bakugo who looked at a loss for words.

“… If being the number one hero is so important to you,” You said, closing your eyes and turning your head. He swallowed thickly. What had he done? “I’ll accept your plea for me to leave you. I’ll come back early with the papers,” you said, you voice growing high pitched at the end as a sob left your lips.

You turned, heading towards the door when you felt a hand on the hem of the bottom of your dress. You jerked away quickly. “Don’t touch me,” You snarled at his apologetic stare. His soft arch of his eyebrows furrowed and he huffed heavy out of his nose, a clear indication of a pout.

“Y/N,” Bakugo growled and closed the door, louder than the first time, before you could walk out. You squealed and back away from the door, this side of Bakugo frightening you. But he didn’t look scary. No, when you saw his face he looked desperate. “Stop. Don’t do that yet.”

“YET?” You yelled, arms crossing defensively over your chest. “I don’t understand you, Katsuki!”

He leaned back against the door, hand frustratingly running through his hair. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.” He sounded as if he were talking to him. “I shouldn’t— Y/N. Listen.” He said and looked at her in the eyes, all the mania gone and now a regretful and sorrowful look in his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’- FUCK.” He was really frustrated. “I’m not anywhere I need to be,” Bakugo said, fists clenched.

“That’s not my fault,” you whimpered, shame settling in you. But what if it was? He was breaking down in front of you, feeling like a complete failure. “It… It’s… Katsuki,” You mumbled, not even knowing what to say at this point as he buried his face into his hands frustratingly. That’s when you heard it, a slight hiss and a little choked sob.

He never cries. You stood there, watching him without knowing what to do. Where do his feelings actually lie with you, and how do you locate your own? Your head hung slowly. Before long, you felt your own tears start back up. They dropped, your mind replaying the confusing and hurtful words that had left your husband’s mouth only seconds before. Your hands raised, wiping aggressively at your cheeks.

Katsuki’s teeth were practically chattering from the immense amount of regret in his veins. He wanted so badly to reach out and apologize. He hated what he said, though he knew in the moment he meant it.

He looked at her through soaked eyelashes, seeing you basically crippled in distress at the intensity of the argument. You hugged yourself, crying and swaying to comfort yourself. Katsuki let the silence sit for a moment before he cautiously reached forward, taking a finger of yours softly and pulled you to the bed where he sat and pulled you between his legs.

You stood, too mentally beat to fight him at the moment. Everything was falling apart in front of you. “I’m so sorry,” Katsuki whispered, looking at you. Your sniffles halted for a moment. He doesn’t apologize. Your Katsuki doesn’t apologize. He makes you gifts or sends you to Paris, but he doesn’t apologize.

You felt a rough hand with a soft touch on your cheek, but instincts told you to pull away. Your head turned, but it was brought right back with a firmer grip. Katsuki saw you weren’t fighting him hard. He needed you to hear this.

“Baby, look at me. I’m begging you,” Katsuki said, the raspiness in his voice breaking slightly with each plea. “I was wrong. If I hadn’t married you, I wouldn’t be settled,” he started, pulled you a little closer and testing the waters by taking your hands slowly. “If I hadn’t married you, I w-wouldn’t have someone to come home too. You make me food, wash my clothes, and..” Bakugo buried his face into your stomach as you hugged him slowly, arms circling his head in hesitation. You knew what he was trying to say. You’re the only person who can see him in such a vulnerable state.

You knew just how much being the top hero meant to him. It was something you adored since the beginning. But over time, you assumed plans had changed. That he was willing to settle for trying his best with you by his side.

“I need you more than any top pro hero recognition,” he mumbled, finally accepting his true feelings. He knew better. As soon as he found his person, he would be gone. From the moment he picked up his first romance manga, Bakugo was hooked on the idea of finding romance of his own, even though it would stray him away from his dream career. You, on the other hand, heard what you needed. You pushed him back slightly, climbing next to him on the bed and pulling him close to you.

No words have to be exchanged.

If Katsuki hadn’t married you, he would never find a real taste of peace and satisfaction.

If Katsuki hadn’t married you, he would be nothing but a bomb bound to explode as soon as it was ignored.

If Katsuki hadn’t married you, he would be helpless.

This was fun 😬 I’m a new writer on Tumblr and this is a new experience for me! Please follow and send requests so I can begin my masterlist <3

"Best husband in the world" award goes to Izuku Midoriya. I head cannon that he NEVER leaves the honeymoon phase, even after having kids!

Wifey is treated like royalty, Always gets gifts, he dresses up for dates bc his wife LOVES it, shows her off in gala's (one red-eyed hero is pissed) even the boys are so sick of seeing the random smooches Izu steals from his wife 😂

Bet Toshi would say "Don't you have enough kids already?" -_-

The poor boy is TIRED

Honestly, I believe in every single syllable that just came out of your mouth.

He never leaves the honeymoon phase. That man is in love from the moment he meets you to the moment he dies.

If there was one thing that Midoriya Izuku knew that he couldn't get enough of, it was you. His beautiful wife of seventeen years. Everyday, waking up next to you was like a dream and he didn't want to be woken up.

He's enraptured by you and your very being. Even after five boys and you not getting any younger, he's still obsessed with you like you were newly weds.

He keeps every sticky note that you leave on his bento boxes for lunch and has boxes upon boxes of them saved from the years that have gone by. He would never deny anything you made him because it was made by you, his amazing wife, by your loving and gentle hands that he kisses daily.

Izuku honestly still doubts he's that good of a father or a perfect husband either, but he knows he's as good as he can be with you at his side.

You gave him everything that is his world. You made the apartment you both had in the beginning feel like a home. Coming home to your waiting arms and loving expression was what kept his feet moving everyday.

When he was a prohero he often wondered what he was missing in his life. Even though becoming Number One at such a young age and achieving his goal of being the next predecessor of All Might, of owning his own hero agency, millions at his disposal, he only ever felt truly complete when he met you.

You...

Oh dear God, he loved you.

The day he married you was the best day of his life. He had cried the moment he saw you in that beautiful white dress and he had cried when you had both signed the marriage certificate, and he had cried when he had his first dance with you too.

He knew from the first day he met you that he wanted to marry you. He didn't believe in just dating for funsies and wasting your time. No, he wanted you in a sort of way he didn't know how to explain.

He wanted you in way that was to have and to old, in sickness and in health, in life and in death. Knowing that when he looked down at you on your wedding night, when he had you in his arms, your breath heavy and your eyes half lidded, when you stared up at him with such blown out love in your eyes. When he sunk deep inside of you, he knew that your souls would become one and he would never depart from you.

Where you went, he went.

Where you stayed, he would stay.

It's not true what they say about heroes, least not for Izuku. For Izuku would watch the world burn and have you by his side.

"Dad!"

"Hm?" Izuku straightened up as he was lost in thought. Toshinori waved his hand over his face, making sure that his father was still alright. He raised a green eyebrow as he looked up at his father. "Are you alright? You spaced out for a second there."

Izuku looked down at his oldest son. Midoriya Toshinori.

Wow, even just the thought of him having a son still shook him till this day. The thought that he, a man that grew up without a father, who at one point believed he wasn't worth anything more than what other people said he was worth, could have a son.

A son, you gave him.

He could still remember the day you told him that you were pregnant with Toshinori. Izuku had gone to sleep with you in his arms, a hand over your stomach still unbelieving but he was sure he had soaked his pillow because of the tears that left his eyes.

You had blessed him with a gift that he could never even begin to comprehend how uniquely special it was.

"I'm alright." Izuku laughed as he went down the final step of the staircase, having just freshened up. "Have you finished your homework?"

Toshinori nodded his head as he put his hands in his pockets. "Yah but honestly, all that math had me going cross-eyed. I'm having Asahi look at it." He motioned to his younger brother, but a mere eleven.

Asahi adjusted his glasses as he scribbled down on the tablet with a stylus. He scoffed as he lifted his head to look up at his father. "Honestly dad, Toshinori just needs a prayers. Only Jesus can help him now."

"HEY!" Toshinori let out offended as he walked over to where his younger brother was sitting at the table.

Asahi motioned to the tablet. "This is basic maths!"

Toshinori's eyebrows furrowed. "How the hell is this basic maths?! It's grade nine level algebra!"

"As I said, basic maths!"

"Alright Einstein!" Toshinori taunted his younger brother with a look on his face and hands on his hips that reminded Izuku so much of you. "You do it!" He pointed to the screen.

Asahi rolled his eyes as he flipped the screen so that Toshinori could see. "Do you need my glasses, cause I already did!"

His second son, Midoriya Asahi. Honestly, Izuku was sure that in Asahi he saw himself. He saw himself in that kid everyday and he loved every second of it. His second son.

That you gave him.

He was so smart and so bright. A genuine child genius. Although quirkless, he was beyond his years. Izuku loved to sit down with him and watched as his mind thought at the speed of light at a pace that only Izuku could understand because he did that too.

Nothing beat having Asahi on his shoulders as he took him to the Hero Support labs in his Hero Agency. The way that kids eyes widened in awe is something Izuku would treasure forever. Having him interact and ask questions that not even Izuku could understand but was happy to participate regardless.

To think he could ever have such a kid.

"Asahi." He chuckled as he walked over to his second son, putting a hand on his head of green curls. "Be patient with him, remember not everyone learns as fast as you."

Asahi huffed, his cheeks that had light freckles on them puffed but he nodded his head. "Okay." He groaned.

"What are we doing?" Hero asked as he peaked his head over to see the tablet that was on the table. He took one look at the tablet and his face scrunched up. "Ew maths." His reaction made Izuku laugh as he decided to leave his two eldest be. "Dad catch!"

It was a fast throw but Izuku caught it nonetheless. The rugby ball in his hand was firm and in perfect condition, considering he got it for Hero three weeks ago. The kid went through equipment faster than Izuku could break a bone.

Midoriya Hero, although being eight years old, he was entranced with sports and was pretty good at them too, specifically field sports. Izuku felt like somewhere inside himself he was healing the little boy inside of him that never got to play sports with someone, not like the way him and Asahi would play around with a ball in the garden.

Something so precious yet so simple.

Something that was only possible because of you.

Izuku chuckled. "Nice throw. You're getting better, but remember..." He tossed him back the ball, it landing in his arms. "Not playing around inside with the ball."

"Okay." He nodded as he left to go to the sitting room.

"And did you do your homework?" Izuku called back after him.

"Yah! Asahi looked at it."

Izuku turned to his second oldest who shot him a thumbs up, showing that Hero was telling the truth. He hummed with a smile as he moved towards the kitchen where the smell of dinner was spilling out from.

"Daddy!" Running out of the kitchen was his fourth son, Shoyo. He had the brightest little smile on his face as he lifted up a crayon picture for him to see. "Daddy look! I drew you something."

Izuku chuckled as he picked up the little boy. He was the happiest out of all your children together. Even when he cried, he would try to smile. He was like the sun and always filled with giggles. It was why you called him Shoyo, because he smiled even as a newborn.

Izuku knew that such joy in his life could have only been given through you.

"Really? let me see?" He carried the young boy on his hip as he looked down at the drawing. It was a crayon drawing of what he assumed was him in his hero uniform. That or it could be a bunny with a cape.

Shoyo was never really gifted with artistic talent but he tried anyways. And Izuku loved them all.

"Aww, it looks great buddy." He placed a kiss to Shoyo's face. "I love it. Why don't you go put it in my office for me? I can put it right on my desk."

Shoyo's smile grew even wider as he nodded his bushy hair of green curls. "Okay!" Once set down, he went trotting away towards the staircase.

Izuku entered the kitchen and sitting on your hip was Koda, the final sprout in your little garden that was your family. He was a rather shy thing and clung to you like a baby koala, but he sure was the sweetest. He smiled at his father tiredly with a wave of his hand.

He often fell sick easily, but he was such a strong trooper.

He put a hand to his head as he carefully moved the young three year old to be held in his arms instead, allowing you free reign over the kitchen.

Your heavenly voice reached his ears, instantly taking his attention. You smiled as you turned to look up at him. "How was your day, my love?"

His shoulders eased as he moved to step behind you. He rested his head against you briefly, your body just fitting into his perfectly. "I can't complain when I come back home to this everyday." He stated, moving down to kiss your cheek.

You chuckled as you lifted up the spoon for him to taste part of dinner. He opened his mouth, allowing you to feed him to taste. He let out a groan as he nodded his head. You laughed at your husband's antics. "Ready?"

"Definitely." He informed you with a nod of his head. He looked you over as you stood in an apron and fitted sweatpants. He hadn't seen you in those pants in ages and yet they clung to you like a deadly weopon and Izuku was a wounded soldier. His eyes looked you over with shameless obviousness. "Damn, where did these come from?" He asked as he moved to turn you to face him, a hand moving to your ass shamelessly.

You shot up with a heated expression with a squeak. You swatted his chest with little to no intent to actually drive him away. "Izuku! I'm cooking."

"Can't I appreciate my beautiful wife?" He asked with a rested grin on his face as he leaned down closer to you. A soft peck to your lips. "You look gorgeous, honey." His lips met yours again for a longer kiss.

You couldn't help but giggle as you let him kiss you, moving a hand to wrap around him. He always managed to give you butterflies, even now.

Years of being together, of mapping out each other's bodies and memorising everything new and old, and you never got tired of it. Even after five pregnancies and the effect that had on your body, Izuku just craved you more and more. He never asked you to change, and always loved you as you were.

How couldn't he?

You were the reason that he was happy, that he had everything that made him feel like a man.

You made him a husband.

You made him a father.

You made him happy.

Izuku couldn't even begin to think of where to thank you, but he would do so for the rest of his life.

"EW! Dad! Get off of mom!" Toshinori shouted from the table with a scrunched up face.

Hero scrunched up his own face. "That's disgusting."

"Right over our dinner." Asahi shook his head in sheer disappointment.

You separated from you husband with a giggle as he looked to his sons with half annoyance. You turned to grab a serving spoon but Izuku adjusted poor Koda who was resting in his arms as Izuku pointed to his sons. "Hey! This is my wife, okay. I get to kiss her."

"Yah." Toshinori acknowledged. "But she's our mom."

Asahi and Hero nodded their heads in agreement with their older brother.

Izuku frowned before he turned to you. "Y/N, the kids are being mean to me." He complained as he pointed to your three eldest siblings.

You shook your head in a chuckle as you motioned to your sprouts. "Boys, get your homework off the table and set it for dinner please."

"Yes mom."

"And you, mister." You turned to your husband with a pointed look but smiled as you had your hand rest over his chest. You smiled as you reached up and kissed his cheek. "Get Shoyo for me, won't you? And sit down, dinner is ready." You let out softly.

Izuku looked down at you with blown out pupils. "I love you." He whispered down to you.

You giggled. "I love you too, Izuku."

"No, Y/N, I... I love you."

-Glitch1d

★☆«“First Time”»☆★

★Mitsuri Kanroji x Obanai Iguro x Virgin fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Obanai and Mitsuri are absolutely smitten with you. Of course they’d love to take your relationship to the next level and make you theirs★

Includes★Threesomses, Cunnilingus, fingering, sloppy sex, missionary, vaginal penetration, deep throating, tip sucking, neck kissing★

★W.C★4.6K

Being a Hashira took a lot. Brains, strength, determination. All traits that a chosen hashira must possess to have a hope of surviving the japanese nights. 

You had all of these things. A smart and capable young woman you were, you rose the ranks fast. It left everyone shocked. It was rare for a new Hashira to be appointed. Especially one as sweet and shy as you. You were strong, no doubt. The evidence was all in your accomplishments. Starting at the bottom and working your way to the top in only two years, inventing your breathing style developed from water breathing on the way. 

All your hard work had paid off, which is what landed you where you were. Standing with people you have looked up to for years as not only the first ice hashira but a colleague of theirs. 

The hashira were friendly to you, and even if they weren’t the nicest they didn’t give you too hard of a time. But for the most part, everyone was kind to you. Especially two in particular.

You had known that Mitsuri was a bubbly person before you had met her so it wasn't a surprise to you when she clung to your side the first time you officially met. Pressing close to you and showering you with compliments. 

The love Hashira's boyfriend was the same way with you. Obanai was equally if not more clingy with you as Mitsuri was. His behavior surprised everyone, especially you. You had heard so many rumors about how it wasn’t typical of him to show kindness to people, especially new people. But you welcomed the kindness from both of them. Enjoyed the way they showered you with gifts and money for seemingly no reason at all. And loved how sweet they were.

It took you a while before you realized why they were so friendly with you, they wanted a third. They confessed to you one night when they took you out to a nice dinner and got you dressed up all pretty for them. They had drowned you in accessories, gold earrings, floral headpieces. You would have to be crazy to say no. So that night you went home with a kiss on the cheek from each hashira, and a handful of gift boxes that were sure to never stop.

Life with them was a dream, sure it was scary sometimes. There were times all of you were afraid. When you would go out to slay demons there was always a fear one of you wouldn’t come back. 

But the good times outweigh the bad. The times they would smile at you when you made dinner when they got home late, enjoying meals and deep conversations. The times the three of you would train together, pushing each other to your limits and laughing about it afterwards. 

And times much like this, when they had you pressed against the futon, both of their soft, warm hands gripping all over you. Obanai had his lips pressed against yours in a sloppy kiss. The feeling of his tongue slipping into a tangle with your tongue makes your legs quiver. Your girlfriend had her hands glued to your tit, finger flicking and teasing at your nipples, pebbled from the constant stimulation. She sucked pretty purple marks along your neck that were sure to get worse in the morning.

While Mitsuri’s hands were busy, Obanais free hands started groping over you, he slid down to play with the band of your underwear hidden below your silk robe. 

You shivered at the touch, your hand quickly came to grab at Obanai’s when he attempted to slip under the fabric clad against your cunt. “W-wait,” you said breathlessly.

Obanai’s hand immediately halted. This was usual when the three of you got like this. You would always stop it when it got this far. They never pressured you into anything, they were just curious as to why this was the point you stopped at. You had already assured him you wanted to have sex with them, they just never understood what the hold-up was.

Your boyfriend pressed an apology kiss to your lips, “Sorry doll, I got carried away. ” he said, hand sliding back up your body to gently stroke across your abdomen, gaze sliding down to watch the way your muscles fluttered at the light touch. 

"It's okay, I-I just”, Mitsuri sat up at your own words, her full tits practically spilling out of her robe as she took the chance to look at you. “Just what sweetheart? Tell us.” she spoke, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. 

It feels impossible to keep ahold of her gaze as your cheeks flush, eyes glancing away from hers. Obanai tuts at this, “Don’t be shy doll, you can tell us anything and everything.” he says.

You sigh as silence washes over the three of you. Your lovers don’t rush you to speak, they wait patiently until you’re ready to continue. “...I’ve never done this before.” you said, feeling your heart thump a little faster in your chest. 

“Done what?” Mitsuri questions, “Had sex?” She asks.

You silently nod, embarrassed by the truth. To your horror, Mitsuri and Obanai give each other a look before chuckling. “Please don’t laugh at me,” you said. As a frown took shape. The two immediately stopped laughing, each placing a comforting hand on your body. 

“Sweetheart we would never laugh at you, it was just funny that you were embarrassed. Did you think you being a virgin would scare us off?” Mitsuri asks after assuring you. 

The sigh you let out was one of relief at your girlfriend's reassurance, “Yes, I-I thought it would make you all see me as if I was immature, when in reality. There just…. Isn’t enough time for sex when you’re constantly working to get to hashira status.” you say.

“That’s perfectly fine.” Mitsuri assures, Obanai then chimes in, “After all, we have plenty of time right now.” 

 “We can make good use of it.”

“You guys want to have sex?” you ask, eyes wide as you feel a tingling sensation between your legs, the same feeling you always get when they kiss and touch all over you.

You close your eyes as Mitsuri leans down and presses kisses on your lips, sloppily trailing kisses down your neck, “Just say the word Y/n, say the word and we’ll make you feel so good.” she muttered between kisses. 

Obanai grabs your chin and your eyes shoot open as he makes you look at him. “C’mon doll, let us give it to you, make that little cunt feel good, what do you say, hmm?”

You nod and are immediately overwhelmed with the sensations of their hands all over you again. Mitsuri’s tongue suckled around your tits, while your boyfriend was kissing you so rough you could barely keep up. His strong hands somehow trail gently down your body, toying with your panties again before running a finger along your covered slit. Your body jumps and your boyfriend presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Relax doll.” he says, backing off from the kiss as he continues his feather-light touches, it felt like so much more to you. Gentle strokes turned into defined circles around your sensitive clit. Still a gentle feeling, but overwhelming at the same time. 

“Oooh, why d-does it feel like that” you moan, hips slowly grinding up into the pleasure you were receiving.

“Like what Mama? Is it too much?” Mitsuri asked, cupping your cheek so you would look at her. 

You nod at her question, “It’s a lot but I-I like it. Feels good, really fuckin good. ” You moan surprising your lovers, it was rare for you to curse. “Am I supposed to feel. . wet down there?” you ask.

Mitsuri nods, “It’s natural baby, which means Obanai’s making you feel just right”

“Can you take my panties off? They feel sticky now.” you ask sheepishly. Obanai pulls his hands up as Mitsuri slides the fabric down your legs and throws them across the room. Your girlfriend crawls off your body and sits on her knees right in front of you. 

She gasps and you get a little shy, closing your legs to cover yourself. Mitsuri shakes her head, pushing them open. “Don’t hide such a pretty thing from me sweetheart. Obanai look how pretty our baby’s pussy is.” she said, pulling Obanai to stare. You blush as they stare at you, hands spreading your cunt to get a pretty look at you.

“She’s so pretty, wet too.” Obanai stares in awe. You watch as your lover spreads your legs wider, leaning in closer. Mitsuri can’t help but lightly drag her tongue through your folds and you whimper, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. Obanai’s tongue soon follows, stroking through your slit to get a taste of the wetness leaking from your sopping cunt.

Your moans grow louder and louder as they both start to make out with your pussy, taking turns sucking on your clit and fucking their tongues into you. It made your toes curl and your cunt clench, you hadn’t felt like this ever before. 

But nothing made you wetter than seeing the two of them end up kissing each other. Tongues tangling together as they made out with each other right in front of your cunt. They sat up, giving you the delicious view of the tent in Obanai’s pants and the wet spot staining Mitsuri’s panties. They were so incredibly sexy. 

An experimental hand trailed down your body as you gently rubbed where Obanai had touched you earlier. You shivered as you circled the spot your boyfriend had earlier, eyes watching as Mitsuri’s hands reached into Obanai’s pants, pulling his fat cock out and stroking it with expertise you were sure to never have. 

You fastened your pace as she jerked him off, loving the sight of precum leaking out the tip and down her pretty hands. When they glanced back at you, seeing their pretty girl playing with her pussy, they drew their attention back to you. 

Mitsuri’s lips press one last kiss To obanai’s before she leans down and grabs the hand you’d been touching yourself with, her other arm never stopping her tugs on Obanai’s cock. She slowly sucked your digits soaked with your juices in her mouth, making your clit twitch from how arousing the situation was. 

She let your fingers go with a lewd pop, “God you taste good sweetheart.” she sighed before moving back to Obanai to press a kiss to his tip. “Why don’t you let our girl take care of this for you, teach her a thing or two.” Mitsuri suggests. “I’ll focus on making her feel good”.

Obanai nods, enjoying Mitsuri’s idea. He pressed occasional kisses on your stomach, moving up your body until he was straddling your neck. He gently slapped his cock against your cheek and you moaned at the heavy weight of it.

“Open up pretty girl.” he says and you eye him wearily. But when his soft hands grasp your chin you open up. Obanai slips the tip of his cock in your mouth and you try to mimic what you think Mitisuri would do. Sucking on it. You suppose your choice was right as your boyfriend threw his head back with a groan.

As you suckle on your boyfriend's swollen tip. Your girlfriend has settled between her legs. Nimble fingers toying with your slit. Just dragging them through, playing with you like she would a toy. 

You moan around Obanai's cock, the sound sending a fat glob of pre cum rolling down your throat. He grabs the back of your head, hands pushing himself farther down on it. You swore you were choking, it was just so thick. 

Your girlfriend marveled at your pretty little cunt, juices just oozing out of you. Mitsuri finally leans forward and flicks her tongue on your clit. The feeling makes your legs twitch, and your thighs would be sure to close if it wasn’t for the love Hashira’s strong hands spreading you apart perfectly. 

Mitsuri was nastily skilled with her tongue. Quick and nimble movements were sure to be the death of you. She was practically making out with your slit, her tongue sliding into every crevice of your pussy. You could barely keep up, the only thing grounding you from the pleasure was Obanai’s meaty thighs, which you had a death grip on. 

Your long nails left red streaks along the skin as his cock stuffed your mouth full. Tiny tears creased the corner of your eyes as you tried your best to take him down your throat. Gagging as he moved you through the motions. 

Back and forth back and forth, back and forth. 

Until your chin was a slobbery mess. But you weren't the only one. Mitsuri's face was soaked, spit and slick covering her face as she ate you out. Her nose nudged your clothes as she forced her tongue as deep into you as she could manage. And it was toe-curlingly good. 

Obanai peered down at you, smiling at the fucked outlook in your eyes. He tapped your cheek, “You still with me baby?”

You nod your head, eyes focusing on the pretty sight above you. He was just as handsome as always. Cheeks flushed, panting as his hips thrust down your throat. 

If he didn't know you were too sweet to ever not be honest, he would call you a filthy liar. You were a natural. Sucking his dick deep, tongue licking underneath the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. 

It was taking everything in him not to blow his load right now. 

His head turned to look at Mitsuri, calling to her over his shoulder, “Think she's ready for me?” He asks. 

“Hmm,” Mitsuri ponders, pulling away from your needy clit. You were pretty soaked, but she had barely prepped your hole yet.

A slim finger slides into you with ease, and when it curls your whole slit twitches. 

“Oooh, she's a tight little thing” Mitsuri chuckles as she starts to thrust her finger in you, keeping its curve. Your mouth went slack around your boyfriend's cock at the feeling. It had your mind going blank. 

Every time your girlfriend's finger pulled out of you, the pad of her finger dragged deliciously over a spot inside you that drove you crazy. 

Obanai couldn't hold himself back anymore when Mitsuri's tongue joined in the mix. The muscle mashing against your clit, the nasty noises running straight from his ears down to his cock. 

He grabbed your hair without thinking, forcing you all the way down on his shaft as he came.

You could barely keep up with what was happening, just. Swallowing the thick liquid he gave you no choice but to taste. 

When he pulled out of your mouth, the heavy weight of his cock pressing into your cheek you could finally moan freely. 

And fuck you were loud. But your noise was warranted. After all, Mitsuri slid another finger deep into your pretty pussy. 

She must've wanted to kill you, that's the only reason you could find to explain the mean way her lips were latched on your clit. It was so harsh, the Inescap pleasure driving you the same. 

The hands-on Obanai’s thighs gripped onto him for dear life as you squeezed your eyes tight. 

He had seen it countless times when he had gone down on Mitsuri. 

“Open your eyes doll, let me see how pretty you look when you cum.” he says. 

It was all just so much. You wail loudly as you feel pleasure building up in your gut. Different than what to have been feeling so far. It felt like you were tumbling down a hill, pleasure building up and up and up until… you finally came. 

Your whole body froze up and you swore your vision went pure white. Your back arches up into Mitsuri's Mouth until the pleasure hits you. 

The thick of your thighs closed around Mitsuri's face, legs shaking terribly as your toes curled in. But your girlfriend, ever stubborn, didn't let you stop her from prolonging your orgasm. Her licks were gentle, just. Prodding at your clit. She pulled her fingers from your country, focusing on working through it with your tongue. 

Obanai had his eyes glued to yours the entire time, a dark look in his eyes. 

It felt like forever had passed before Obanai crawled off of you, gently pushing at Mitsuri's head, doing what your tired arms failed to do. Reluctantly, the girl pulled away, a pout on her shiny lips that was quickly kissed away by l. 

Just like that, the two were all over each other again, kissing, tongues down each other throats. Obanai loved kissing his girl, but there was something about the taste of her mouth that was driving him crazy. 

Your eyes trailed down their bodies, Obanai, already naked and hard again, his cock twitching every which way, desperate for a hole to find refuge in. 

Mitsuri’s hands desperately took hold of her robe, pulling the fabric off. You moaned as her soft body was exposed.

Heading that, she pulls away from Obanai, leaving him chasing her lips. She crawls next to you and you think you're gonna die. She's so sexy, an absolute wonder of a woman. Thick hips, huge tits with a cute face. Sometimes you wonder what you did to get so lucky. 

You sit up weakly on your elbows, smiling up at her. Obanai’s hands reach for his cock as he watches Mitsuri grab your cheek and kiss you. Her tongue immediately takes control of yours. You moan into the kiss, the feeling of love Hashira’s tits pressed against your side sending your brain into overdrive. 

You almost don't register Obanai moving between your legs until you feel his dick prodding at your clit. You pull away from Mitsuri's kiss with a moan. It felt different than before like every little touch to your clit was overwhelming. 

Obanai smiled, tapping his too to your clit a few times just to hear you whine. “You think you can take me baby?” he asks you. He sees the wide look in your eyes and he knows you're nervous. After all, you could barely fit two of Mitsur's fingers. And now you were moving on to seven girthy inches of cock. Your boyfriend was not a small man. 

He places a comforting hand on your stomach, “you don't have to if you don't want to baby” he reminds you. 

You nod your head, you know but, “I want to” you express, “but how is it supposed to fit… inside”*you say. 

Mitsuri pressed a loving kiss to your shoulder, “he's gonna go slow mama, give you time for that pretty pussy to adjust, okay?” She tells you and you cling to the calmness the words bring you. 

“W-Will it hurt?” You ask softly and Obanai can't help but lean forward and press a kiss on your pretty lips. 

“Only a baby,” he says honestly, then it'll feel good, just as good as earlier, he tells you. And you nos, nervously biting at your bottom lip. 

“O-okay, m'ready”* you say and Obanai crawls back, positioning your legs wide for him.

Mitsuri’s soft hands come to caress your tits, rolling your nipple around to distract you. Her lips pressed kisses to your throat, as you moaned. 

The distraction worked until you didn't, when you felt Obanai position himself at your entrance, pushing his cock in as slow as he could. 

You let out a pained wince as his head slipped in, letting out an uncomfortable sigh. Mitsuri's quick to shush you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “It's okay baby girl.” she tells you. 

Obanai watches your face as he pushes farther in. His heart aches at every pained whimper, grateful that Mitsuri was comforting you 

“It's almost in Mama, good job,” she tells you, and you moan when you feel Obanai's pelvis flush against you. It was a weird feeling. Almost uncomfortable but not as bad as it was at first.

You only grow louder when Obanai leans forward to kiss your lips, his cock shuffling inside you. “I knew you could take it, proud of you baby.” he tells you. 

The pain is bad at first when he pulls out of you and pushes back in. It hurts no matter how gentle he tries to be. But the pain turns into stinging. That stinging starts to make your back arch. And soon he's thrusting into you with no resistance. His thrusts feel as good as Mitsuri's fingers curling inside you. 

It was such a new feeling. Having something so thick and big inside you. It was weird, but it felt good, really good. 

“F-fuck” you curse under your breath, lidded eyes staring at the man stuffing you with his cock. You were a mess, body sweaty, hair disheveled. 

Not that Obanai was any better. He didn't know someone could be this tight. You had to be doing this on purpose, pussy trying to milk him for all he's worth. And it was taking an embarrassing amount of effort not to let go right now. 

Mitsuri was smiling, watching you make Obanai's dick disappear. It was such a pretty sight, hearing the sounds your pussy made. 

The pleasure was intense and you turned to Mitsuri, grasping her arm to ground yourself. 

“How's it feel mama, you like it?”Mitsuri asks you, a gentle hand caressing your torso. 

You nod your head, “I-I like it. ” you tell her, biting your lip and Mitsuri smiles as she leans in to kiss your pretty lips. She always takes your breath away when she kisses you. Conveying everything she feels for you with a battle of your tongues. 

Obanai draped one of your legs over his shoulder and you were keen as his cock seemed to plow deeper into you. 

Mitsuri pulls away with a smile, watching you try and take your boyfriend's cock, “it's deep, isn't it baby?”

You nod your head, looking over at her with the most adorable look on your face. Eyes laced with need and hazed with pleasure. “I-its so deep” you stutter out. 

Obanai smirks at that and Mitsuri catches it, rolling her eyes at him with a giggle. 

Her hands trail down your stomach, pressing down right over where Obanai was inside you,” yeah, you feel him right here mama?” She asks and you can barely respond. The pressure on your stomach makes your legs quake a little. 

Obanai's hips only fasten their pace and you swear every time his fat tip slams against that perfect spot inside you you're gonna die.

Your boyfriend above you is lost in pleasure, low groans of your name tumbling from his lips as he pounds your pussy. Pressing kisses up your ankle, sucking one of your toes into his mouth. 

The feeling made you giggle, but ain't nothing funny about Mitsuri's sneaky hand trailing down your stiffened clit. 

You let out a whimper, reaching to grab Mitsuri's wrist. But you would never be stronger than her, not in a million years. You swore the laughter she let out was evil as she swirled mean circles around your clit. 

But all Obanai saw in front of him was a pair of angels. It was such a gorgeous sight, his two girls in front of him. Blissed out together. The body's rocking with the weight of each of his thrusts. 

The hand that wasn't busy spreading your legs apart reaches to spread Mitsuri's. The girl let out a soft gasp, her hand stuttering on your clit as Obanai thumbed hers. 

Her moans were loud as her boyfriend played with practiced expertise. Fingers rubbing side to side on her slit before he presses two fingers deep into her. They slipped right in, the love hashira's pussy a soaked mess.

“Shh” he shushes both of you and you both do. Biting your lips to restrain the pillowy moans leaving your lips. 

Now with the two of you quiet, you could hear the filthy sounds of your pussy, squelching and soaked. Making the prettiest noises. Mitsuri's fingers seem to regain power as she goes back to swirling your clit between her fingers. She playfully bites at your ear, “you sound so pretty mama” she slurs in your ear. 

You turn and press a kiss to her lips, your hand moving to play with her clit. Mitsuri's tongue goes slack as pleasure shivers through her. 

The faster the two of your hands got on each other the closer the two of you got. And it wasn't long before you were squirming, feeling something different for the first time Mitsuri made you cum. 

You cling onto her with one arm, the other gripping Obanai’s flexed arm. “I-I think I'm gonna cum!”*you gasp out. 

Obanai nods, “go on baby, you can do it,” he says. 

“M'close to baby, s-so close” Mitsuri moans. As if reading each other's minds you both speed up your hands, rubbing mean circles against each other's clits. 

“Ooooh, i-i'm cumming!” you whine and you barely have time to process what's happening before pleasure hits you from the ends of your ears to the tips of your toes

Mitsuri wasn't far behind you, her creamy pussy making a mess on Obanai's hand. He curled his fingers within her, smiling as she screamed, thighs squeezing around his hand. 

His thrusts into you never ceased, it felt like you were floating. 

You were still in a daze but Mitsuri came down from her high before you. Getting the honor of seeing Obanai Iguro break. 

He was barely holding back, just trying to fuck you through it so he could cum. And at this point, he didn't care about where. In or out. But your pussy was gripping onto him for dear life. He wasn't gonna last any longer. 

“In or out doll?” Obanai gasps. 

But you could barely answer, too fucked out to think. The overstimulation was so much to take, and you couldn't squirm, not with the death grip your boyfriend had on your leg. Humping into you as he pants, waiting for your answer. 

A swift slap to your clit has your eyes wide and open in no time and the fast circles that have you moaning out a jumbled-up string of pleas. For what exactly? You weren't sure. 

“Did you hear him mama?”Mitsuri asks and you shake your head. “He asks if you want him to cum in or out of you?”

The question brings heat to your cheeks and right down to your clit. It was getting hard to focus. The constant stimulation makes another orgasm build up in you. But this one felt like it might break you. 

“W-which one do you like? ” you ask Mitsuri. 

And she smiles, “I like it when he cums inside me.”

“T-then that, inside.” you say, eyes rolling back in your head as her fingers speed up on your clit. 

Mitsuri turns to Obanai, giggling at his blushed red face. “you heard her, baby, go on fuck it deep in her.“

Obanai groans loudly as he cums, and you gasp as you feel his loud shoot into you. You cum with him, the white load painting your walls sending you over the edge. 

It takes a long time for you to come to and by then, Obanai had pulled his stick cock out of you, and Mitsuri was stroking your forehead with her clean hand. 

They each press a kiss to your cheek, marveling at how fast you had fallen asleep. Chest rising and falling peacefully. 

“She can't go to sleep, we have to clean her up. ” Mitsuri says softly. 

But Obanai shakes his head leaning to press another kiss to your forehead, “I'll run her a bath in thirty.” he says. 

“Let our pretty girl rest”

First one down, 14 more to go!!!!!!!~ Kinktober Masterlist|2024»☆★

Taglist: @nousija, @miiiturix, @kittylovecatssuff,

An Accidental 'I Love You'

Synopsis: Saying ‘I love you’ is difficult for some of the Wind Breaker boys (some more than others), but sometimes intimacy is all one needs to be inspired to say those sweet three words. Characters are aged up.

Based on prompt #16 from @prompt-heaven. Dividers by saradika. Story banner by me.

CW: Female Reader. Smut & Fluff below. MDNI

Word Count: 1.6K

Authors Note: I genuinely love the Wind Breaker characters, so I’m excited to write for them for the first time. Remember, my requests are open if you'd like something written! As usual, I always appreciate a like, comment, or reblog.

Haruka Sakura has his issues. If you asked his closest enemies—and some friends—to list his flaws, they’d rattle off: impatient, hot-headed, kind of clueless. But you know Sakura, and, sure, he can be some of those things, but the flaw that makes your heart ache the most is what he exhibits in his most vulnerable moments: insurmountable insecurity. 

When you start to date Sakura, you know that he needs gentle praise and reassurance to build him up to combat the years of abuse he’s experienced—and it’s a delicate balance of the right amount of praise without sounding insincere.

So when you finally reach the next level of intimacy in your relationship, which admittedly felt like a slow crawl, you start to see another side of Haruka Sakura.

You’re his first everything—-date, hand-hold, kiss, and sexual experience. One thing about Sakura is that he’s eager to make up for lost time, gingerly touching you in places that make your bottom lip quiver, licking you in a way that makes your pupils dilate and your mouth open in a breathless moan. Sakura buries himself in you because while he’s never outwardly expressed it, he feels safe, accepted, and loved when he’s with you.

And maybe you’re a bit surprised when his face is buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath tickling the hickey-covered expanse of your flesh as he whispers a quiet, “I love you.”

You both pause what you’re doing—your gentle scratching of his toned shoulder blades and his deep rolling of his hips. Suddenly, Sakura pulls back, beet-red and a horrified expression on his face. And you know him and his proclivity to shut down and run away when embarrassed, so you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to keep him from leaping out of the room and bolting down the street.

You can see the cogs turning in his head, the internal dialogue you’re almost always attempting to fend off, contributing to a new narrative that you may reject him.

“H-hey! Look at me.” You reach a hand up and stroke his face, the heat of his cheeks permeating against your palm. 

“Haruka, I love you, too. I hope that you know that.” You look down between you both, your bodies still connected, which you hope clearly indicates the feelings you share for one another.

He bites his lip, following your eyes, taking in your naked form splayed out underneath him, fleshy thighs wrapped around his waist, the insides of those thighs coated in your slick and him still throbbing inside of you. 

You can see him doing something that he doesn’t do often—fighting back the harmful dialogue in his head that says he isn’t enough. 

Sakura leans down so he’s back to hovering in your orbit, his strong arms on the sides of your head and caging you in. His voice remains slightly above a whisper, but at least he’s now gazing into your eyes with his luminescent ones. “I got in my head…again.” 

You rake the tips of your fingernails across his spine, earning a shiver and a low whimper from him—he doesn’t need much more of an invitation to recapture your lips in his own and continue to roll his hips into yours.

Hayato Suo is as calculated as they come; everything he says is said with reason—whether the other party knows that reason is another story. With that knowledge, I can’t imagine Suo accidentally saying those three special words. 

In fact, he’d never say those words if he didn’t mean it. So when Suo informs you that he loves you in a way that feels akin to asking you what you wanted for dinner on a random Tuesday, despite you both laying in bed, fully unclothed after a heated lovemaking session, you’re a loss for words. He doesn’t miss a beat as he places soft kisses against each of your knuckles, but you stare at him to make sure he’s not—excuse the language—fucking with you.

His eyes are closed, but he can feel you staring into his soul. A corner of his lips tilts upward in amusement. 

“Say it again.”  

And so he does. Every chance he gets, he tells you that he loves you, that he adores you, and that breathing you in sustains his very being. He not only whispers the sentiment during mundane moments like walking down the aisle of your favorite tea shop but also when you’re in the throes of experiencing his passion for you. 

Gentle caresses of your stomach as he delivers gentle suckles to your clit, devouring your essence one swallow at a time. And while what he says is muffled because his mouth is full of your sex, it’s clear to you that he’s showering you with praise among the sanctum between your thighs.

“I love you,” “you’re simply everything,” and “my pretty girl” consume the spaces you share, and no one can blame you if you develop a bit of a praise kink because no one has the unshakeable swagger that Suo does. 

Jo Togame has a feeling that there’s something about you when harmless flirting in the hangout turns into letting you wear his Shishitoren jacket to send a message that if anyone fucks with you, they’re going to have a massive problem on their hands. 

Among the stolen kisses, frenzied quickies in the cover of alleyways, and lazy weekends spent in bed with your legs wrapped around each other, it finally hits Togame as he’s drawing large circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. And it isn’t until one of the aforementioned lazy Sundays that he’s willing to share the revelation. 

You’re laying in bed with one another—-he, the big spoon to your little one, his cock buried deep inside of you as he rolls his hips in a manner that only Togame can—-in no particular rush to bring on his orgasm but having a preference to prioritize yours.

You’ve gotten used to the sensual lovemaking, the slow build of your orgasm bubbling deep within you as you tremble from the overstimulation.

Togame presses his lips against your neck, slowly trailing kisses near the edge of your hairline and upward until you can feel his tongue sucking gently at your lobe, and a deep, slow rumble emits from his chest, “God, I love you.” 

Togame says it with the conviction of someone who has resolved themselves to one person, his person, you, you, you. There is no room for doubt because once Togame commits to you, he’s simply committing to the destiny of your love story, which was always inevitable. 

Hajime Umemiya is also someone who would never proclaim his love for someone unless he meant it, but unlike Suo, his reasoning has little to do with a preference for remaining aloof and more to do with the fact that once he says, ‘I love you,’ he’s marrying that person.

In a perfect world, Umemiya would plan a romantic date somewhere where you’d be surrounded by blooming flowers, the rays of the sun beaming down on you, and creating a golden halo around the crown of your hair. You’d never looked as beautiful as you do now, and he was ready to express to you what you meant to him. Umemiya would be visibly nervous, and because you know him so well, perhaps this would indicate that something was amiss. 

Unfortunately, sometimes things don’t always go according to plan because one thing about Umemiya is that he can be caught in the heat of the moment. 

Umemiya has your hands pinned above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours because there’s not a world in which he doesn’t crave that connection with you. And as he slides into you—an unashamed moan escaping his lips, he takes in your smell, the way you murmur and sigh his name as he fills you up; he can’t help but sputter out a shakey, “I…i love you.”

Instead of being embarrassed that this wasn’t what he planned, he chuckles because this is as good a moment as any and says it again, and again, and again, while placing tender kisses against your lips, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

Ren Kaji has had quite the stressful day—even by Makochi’s standards. After throwing fists with thugs terrorizing the town's shop owners, he seeks you out, his anchor, the one person who can keep him from losing control and beating people within an inch of their lives. 

And you’re more than happy to take on that role, not only because you adore the sweet-toothed man but also because it results in some rough romps in the bedroom, which you could never complain about. 

Hard smacks to your bare ass, angry, dark hickeys littered across every inch of you, and a soreness radiating between your legs later warrants intensive aftercare, according to Kaji. So after he’s done massaging your scalp, helping you into your cute pajamas, and grabbing you a glass of water, he holds you. 

With your ear pressed against his chest, you listen to the soft, rhythmic repetition of his beating heart as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

And in between soft snores and a relaxed dream state, Kaji utters a simple “I love you.”

You laugh softly so as not to wake him because, of course, he does, and this isn’t the first time he’s spoken those words in his sleep. But every morning, neither of you mention the confession. 

His actions are more than enough proof to show that he loves you, and you aren’t sure that he remembers, anyway. Regardless, you have no doubt that the day in which Kaji speaks those words to you will come.

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.

big bro sukuna because im a sucker for sibling au

Part 2 | Part 3