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slytherinslut0 · 1 year ago

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Theodore Nott. | be my first.

PAIRING: Theodore Nott x Reader

PROMPT: “PLEASE please do a Theodore nott x fem!reader virgin!!”

WORD COUNT: 5.5k.

TAGS: 18+, Mentions of Slight Violence, Depictions of Blood, SMUT, Fingering, Bestfriends to Lovers Trope (my personal fav), Virgin!Reader, Loss of Virginity, Slow Sex, Soft!Theo, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk.

"I don't know, Pans, wouldn't that be weird?"

Pansy's laughter echoed in a melodious giggle, the rhythm of her steps creating a soft shuffle across the expanse of your shared dorm. With effortless grace, she descended onto your bed, settling in with a languid poise. Laying on her side, her head found a comfortable perch on her bent arm.

"Why would it be weird?" Her grin, radiant and infectious, painted a mischievous allure across her features. "He's your lifelong best friend. I'm pretty sure he's in love with you-"

"Absolutely not," you interjected, employing a dramatic flourish with your hands for emphasis. "He is not."

Pansy cast a sidelong glance your way. "He so is."

"He's not!" Your grin persisted as you fired back, "if he was, he wouldn't be regaling me with tales of the girls he's shagging every bloody weekend."

Pansy, after a moment of silent contemplation, arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps he's just doing that to make you jealous. Ever think of that?"

You released a sigh, your body surrendering to the bed's embrace as you slumped backwards. The gentle thud of your head meeting the pillows echoed the weight of your contemplations, and memories from the past few weeks intruded your mind--acknowledging the nuanced shifts in Theodore's behaviour, particularly since that one unforgettable common room party.

As the realization took root, you abruptly sat up, the intensity of the revelation reflected in your eyes as they locked onto Pansy's gaze. "Pans...he's been acting distinctly different lately."

Pansy blinked, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "You're just noticing?"

"No, I mean," your thoughts scattered like confetti, your heart pulsating with the weight of the revelation. You realized you hadn't told her. "Ever since that party, the one last Friday in the common room...where we, um...we kissed."

Pansy's eyes widened in sheer disbelief, her jaw dropping in a dramatic display of shock. With a swift, purposeful motion, she sat up, aligning her gaze with yours, the unfiltered surprise etched vividly across her face.

"What the hell!" Her exclamation rang with feigned outrage. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Your expression contorted into a frown as you extended a gentle hand, resting it on Pansy's shoulder. "I'm sorry...we both agreed it was a stupid mistake, and we promised not to tell anyone. We knew you guys would relentlessly hound us about it...I just...I just couldn't risk it..."

Pansy took a measured moment to process your words, her eyes narrowing slightly. She ran a hand through her raven-black hair, the gears turning behind her eyes, thoughts churning with an amused yet contemplative air as she processed your confession.

With an entertained huff, she locked eyes with you. "I can't believe that little weasel kept his mouth shut for all that time. Guess he really can keep a secret."

An assertive snort escaped you, relief from her reaction igniting your features. "Probably just doesn't want me to hate him, considering we're bound to cross paths at every family gathering. Our families are so tightly knit..."

Pansy reclined with a subtle smirk gracing her lips, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. Her fingers traced an intricate, invisible pattern on your emerald green bedspread, their movements betraying a simmering excitement.

Meeting your gaze with unwavering confidence, she responded, "yet another advantage for you, and another compelling reason to go for it."

You shifted, your posture a nuanced blend of contemplation and uncertainty. Your fingers delicately toyed with the hem of your shirt, a nervous energy manifesting in the subtle dance of fabric against your skin.

In the pregnant pause that followed, you countered, "I just...I just can't envision a scenario where asking my best friend to take my virginity works out in my favour."

"I can't see a world where it doesn't," Pansy replied with a softness that hinted at the weight of her conviction. Sitting up again, she met your eyeline, the motion accompanied by a deliberate brush of loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Her gaze held a depth of understanding as she continued, "You guys clearly love each other, given you've known each other forever. He's always Mr. Funny Guy with you, perpetually super flirty and protective...I genuinely believe he'd be happy to oblige."

Absorbing Pansy's counsel with a thoughtful nod, you murmured a grateful, "I'll think about it."

Rising in unison, the two of you traversed to your respective wardrobes, swapping the gravity of the previous discourse for the ease of more casual attire. Satisfied with your choices, you exited the dorm, descending toward the common room. The soft glow of dimmed sconces on stone walls cast an intimate ambiance, while a low hum of hushed conversations and sporadic laughter created a comforting background symphony.

As you stepped into the common room, an immediate sense of unease gripped you. Your attention honed in on the far corner, where a palpable commotion unfolded. Brows furrowing with concern, your gaze fixated on a group of clustered bodies--Mattheo Riddle, Lorenzo Berkshire, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott all converged around someone.

Instinctively, you made your way over, Pansy following closely behind. As you approached the charged scene, you reached out, placing a steadying hand on Mattheo's arm in an attempt to capture his attention. The air buzzed with tension as you sought to understand the cause of the brewing conflict.

"Matt, what's happening?" you inquired, peering past him to catch sight of a bloodied Malfoy standing at the center of the circle. "Did you do this?"

"No, it was Nott," he retorted, his dark eyes meeting yours as he ran a hand through his dishelved curly hair. "They had a little disagreement--nothing too crazy."

Your gaze swept around the circle, capturing the aftermath of the disagreement. Malfoy wiped the blood from his chin on the back of his hand, keeping his gaze glued to the floor. Meeting everyone's eyes, your search finally settled on Theo, his nose bleeding and a minor cut marring his chin.

A heavy sigh escaped you, the weariness evident in your tone. "Do your petty disagreements always have to escalate into a damn bloodbath?"

Mattheo nonchalantly shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "When they involve Nott...pretty much, yeah."

With an exasperated scoff, you distanced yourself from him, striding purposefully toward Theo. The cerulean depth of his eyes locked onto yours as you approached, a battered hand running through his tousled hair as he shook his head in a frustrated scowl.

"What happened?" you inquired, genuine concern lacing your voice. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Theo's jaw clenched, his stormy gaze shifting from your face to fixate on something over your shoulder. "Sorry prat had it coming."

His eyes locked onto Draco, who was now being tended to by Pansy, the lingering fury evident in the tight set of his jaw and the fire in his gaze. Theo was not merely angry; he was simmering with a profound frustration that permeated the air around him. Sensing his reluctance to share details, you delicately grasped his arm, lowering your voice into a soothing whisper.

"Come on, Theo," you murmured, your tone gentle and calming. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

With a reluctant nod, he cast one last glance over your shoulder before allowing you to guide him out of the common room and back down the dormitory hall. Upon reaching his dorm, he unlocked the door with a brief motion, and you stepped in first.

Navigating the familiar space, you headed straight to his bathroom, grabbing a wet cloth and some ointment. As he took a seat on his bed, the routine unfolded seamlessly--a ritual born out of many similar occasions. Cleaning up your best friend was a well-practiced chore, a testament to his quick temper and penchant for confrontation. It was second nature to you, an unspoken agreement that you'd always be there for him in these moments.

Emerging from the bathroom, you noticed Theo had already cast a silencing and muffling spell over the room. A waft of smoke hung in the air as he lit up a cigarette, his darkened gaze keenly tracking your every movement as you approached.

You came to a halt in front of him, and he widened his stance, creating a space for you to nestle between his legs. Seated on his bed while you stood, the two of you aligned perfectly at eye level. A surge pulsed through you as you observed his plush lips sealing around the cigarette, his long fingers delicately holding it to his mouth. After a quick ashing on his nightstand, he granted you the space to tend to him.

Raising the cloth to his chin, you softly dabbed over the cut, your gaze fixed on the subtle flutter of his long lashes--like delicate wings of a butterfly. A scowl etched his features, and your hands trembled inexplicably, watching his brows furrow, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip. His own hands rested on his knees on either side of your hips, fingers twitching from the sting of your movements.

In a bid to alleviate some of his discomfort, your voice echoed as a delicate murmur. "Do you remember the first time I did this?"

"How could I forget?" He met your gaze, his stormy eyes flickering as his lips teased a subtle smirk. "My personal saviour, always cleaning up my messes."

Pleased with the condition of the cut, you glided the cloth along the sharp ridge of his jawline, meticulous in collecting every trace of dried blood. Progressing to his nose, you repeated the careful process--his eyes remained fixed on your face, observing each subtle movement as you concentrated on restoring his appearance, gently swiping over his lips last.

Grinning at his words, you locked eyes with him. "You're right...I've been quite the skilled nurse, haven't I?"

He chuckled, a deep sound resonating through his chest, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile. "The best damn nurse I've ever had."

You laughed, a warmth dancing across your skin as you pulled the cloth from his face.

"Now that's a compliment, considering you've been in the hospital wing a lot of damn times," you quipped, playfully raising an eyebrow. "I should be getting compensation for my efforts."

"Compensation?" He grinned, the playful glint in his blue eyes unmistakable. "How about I owe you a pack of cigarettes and a promise to keep the brawls to a minimum?"

Smirking, you couldn't hide the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Please, you and I both know your promises mean very little, Nott." As you stepped back, you added, "but I'll take the cigarettes."

Before you could get very far, Theo's large hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, halting your movements as well as the breath in your lungs. Your gaze riveted to the hand, the touch sending a shiver through your skin, before slowly moving back up to meet Theo's eyes. Within their depths churned something profound, a silent intensity that stopped your heart in your chest.

"You want to know why I fought him?" he said, his voice so deep it was almost imperceptible. "Malfoy."

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you waited for him to elaborate. "Sure."

Theo's grip tightened on your wrist, his jaw tensing as his eyes drilled into yours. "He said that if he wasn't with Pansy, he'd have gotten with you a long time ago," he confessed, the words carrying a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "He claimed your hard-to-get facade is all an act...that you're really a little slut..."

Your eyes widened at Theo's revelation, a mixture of surprise and disbelief sweeping across your features. Your pulse quickened, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the gravity of the situation.

"He said that?" you muttered, the weight of Malfoy's words sinking in. Theo's grip on your wrist loosened, and a subtle vulnerability flickered in his eyes as his hand slid lower, fingers finding yours.

"I don't care what he thinks, but hearing him talk about you like that...I couldn't let it slide," he admitted, his voice softer now, revealing the protective undertone that fueled his actions. "He doesn't know..."

"...that I'm a virgin," you said, finishing his sentence with a hushed admission.

Theo's expression softened as he nodded, and his thumb gently traced circles on the back of your hand.

"I don't want anyone disrespecting you like that, especially not him," he said, a mixture of concern and sincerity in his gaze. "You're a fucking angel, he doesn't deserve to even think about you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, warmth spreading through you at his words. Your gaze locked in with his, his eyes momentarily dropping to your lips, yours doing the same. The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken emotions as Theo’s declaration lingered. His protective stance and words resonated deeply, and you couldn’t help but feel the gravity of his sentiments.

Silent acknowledgment settled within you, a quiet admission that the dynamics between you and Theo had shifted. The boy who had once been your childhood best friend was now a source of desire and an unexpected depth of affection. Over the years, his presence had woven into the fabric of your heart, evolving into a sentiment that transcended mere friendship.

"Thank you, Theo..." you murmured, involuntarily leaning closer. "Thank you for-"

Before you could finish the sentence, Theo's hands shifted with intent, cradling the sides of your face as he drew your lips to his. The hunger in his mouth was palpable, a dance of devotion and purpose, his tongue delving past your teeth without a moment's hesitation.

Your lids fluttered shut, your brain caught off guard, taking a seemingly eternal five seconds to gather itself from the molten state it found itself in, the realization dawning that you weren't merely passively enjoying this kiss--you were actively engaging, meeting his fervour with equal intensity.

Your hands instinctively sought his messy hazelnut strands, fingers threading through them as you pressed against him, the world beyond the kiss momentarily forgotten in the heated exchange. As the kiss progressed, your mind struggled to fathom the reality of locking lips with your best friend--a completely sober, unrestrained exchange with no intentions of stopping.

And then, before you could process it, large hands enveloped your lower thighs, drawing you closer as Theo reclined onto his plush green duvet, the soft fabric embracing his back with a gentle touch. Your hands landed involuntarily with a deliberate force on his chest, seeking stability as you shifted to straddle his waist.

The kiss intensified, one of his hands securing the back of your head, while the other boldly explored the curve of your hip, his pelvis pressing against yours, his erection evident even between your layers of clothing.

A low, involuntary moan escaped your lips as his undeniable hardness pressed against you, a sensation that sent shivers down your spine. It kindled a fervent desire within you, a flame only he could stoke. Your hands transitioned from his chest and back into the tousled richness of his hair, fingers entwining in the silky strands. Breaking the kiss momentarily, you caught your breath, panting softly as you gazed down at him through eyes clouded with lust.

Theo's lips curled into a knowing smirk, evident satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he surveyed the effect he had on you. His hands traversed the landscape of your back, drawing you back down to him. Your bodies melded together, the heat rising between you palpable. You instinctively moved your hips against his crotch, craving more of the intoxicating friction that left your senses spinning, and a low groan escaped him, his hands guiding your hips back and forth.

"What are we doing..." Theo whispered, his voice a breathy murmur, his head falling back, and his eyes squeezing shut in a moment of quiet contemplation. "I told myself I wouldn't do this with you again."

Your heart hammered in your throat, your fingers trembling as his hands grazed the curve of your ass. In a mere pant, you breathed, "do what?"

His fingers traced a slow path to the back of your head, gently guiding your lips back to his.

The heat between you intensified as he whispered, "this," against your mouth, his soft breath sparking heat in your veins.

A low, desperate sound escaped your throat, a mixture of a mewl and a moan, as the fire in your core reached an almost unbearable intensity. Theo groaned in response, his grip on your hips tightening, and with a swift motion, he flipped the two of you around, placing you on your back beneath him. His hips pressed into yours with a force that felt like an attempt to fuse you with his mattress, his hands finding purchase on either side of your head, trapping you beneath him.

"Theo," you murmured against his lips, your hands tugging on his hair in a desperate attempt to part his mouth from yours, yearning for a breath of air. "Theo...”

Refusing to break the kiss, Theo groaned into your mouth, his hand cradling the side of your head, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a feather-light touch. He rocked his hips against you, both teetering on the brink of losing yourselves entirely. The restrained passion and tension accumulated from years of friendship were on the verge of breaking free.

Finally, in a gasp of air, Theo pulled back, both of your chests heaving, your lungs reaching for oxygen in desperation. His blue eyes dipped over your face, lingering for a moment before trailing lower. With a regretful realization, he shifted back onto his knees, putting a disappointing amount of space between your bodies, as if just coming to terms with the consequences of his actions.

"Fuck," he murmured, running an unsteady hand through his hair. "I...I'm sorry-"

"Theo...I want you," you cut him off, the desperation evident in your voice as you expressed your desire for him. "Please..."

Theo's eyes flickered, and he blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You..."

"Yes," you whispered, a subtle flush colouring your cheeks as you pushed aside any embarrassment. "I want you to be my first, Theo."

Theo leaned back down, his hand gently cupping your chin as he directed your eyes to meet his intense gaze, his fingers digging into your skin only slightly.

"Are you fucking serious?" he questioned, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Don't play with me, principessa..."

"Why on earth would I joke about something like that?" you replied, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. "Of course, I'm serious."

Theo's countenance softened with a tender gaze as he scrutinized your face, searching for any traces of hesitation or uncertainty. Discovering none, he leaned in, planting a delicate kiss against your lips. His hand gracefully transitioned from your chin, weaving into your hair with a gentle, reassuring touch.

"You don't know how fucking long I've wanted you," he whispered against your mouth, his eyes reflecting the intensity of his desire. "But I don't want to fucking hurt you...I don't know if I'll be able to control myself..."

Your fingers gently traced the contours of his face as you held his gaze. "Theo, we've known each other for so long, there's no one I trust more than you...I know you'll be gentle with me..."

Theo's gaze softened further at your words, and he leaned in for another kiss. His hand embarked on a slow journey from the strands of your hair, delicately tracing the curves of your body until it found the waistband of your sweats, teasingly playing with it.

"Gonna' need to ease you into it, principessa," he whispered against your lips, his warm breath mingling with yours. "Let me know if it's too much, alright?"

As you nodded, your hands migrated from his shoulders to entwine in his hair. His hand daringly slipped beneath the cotton fabric, and a gasp involuntarily escaped your lips as he skillfully explored the warmth between your thighs with his fingers. Simultaneously, his lips traced a tantalizing path down past your jawline, each touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Mm, you're already so fucking wet for me..." he nipped your neck and you squealed, fingers gripping fistfuls of his hair. "Gonna' fill you up so good...stretch you out just for me..."

Pleasure rippled through your thighs, your heartbeat thumping in your core. "Theo..."

"Mhmm," he breathed as he trailed lower, mouth grazing over your collarbone, long fingers teasing over your clit, coating himself in your slick. "Fuck, I've wanted to hear you moan my name like that for years...you've completely fucking tortured me, bella..."

You gasped as he teased your clit again, fervent fingers digging into his scalp. "You-you never made a move-"

Theo groaned against your skin, his free hand sliding up to pull your shirt along your stomach, and then skillfully tugging on your bra, exposing your bare chest to his hungry gaze. His lips parted, and a deep lust filled his eyes as he immediately cupped one breast in his palm, skillfully flicking a stiffening nipple between his fingers.

"Fuck me," he muttered before pulling one of your nipples into his mouth, skillfully twirling his tongue around the bud. "I didn't want to complicate our friendship, bella mia...I didn't want to risk losing you..."

Theo's mouth moved to your other nipple, and he deftly took it between his lips, suckling on it before tracing circles around it with his tongue. You moaned, feeling your body respond to his touch, your hips jerking involuntarily as he pushed a finger inside of you, causing you to cry out in pleasure. His thumb resumed its motions on your clit, coaxing sounds of desire from deep within you.

Heat scorched your blood. "F-fuck, Theo..."

"Is this okay?" he muttered, pulling back slightly to examine your face. "You're so fucking tight."

You nodded, incapable of forming a coherent thought as your body's reaction was immediate, every fiber of your being inundated by intense, mind-numbing pleasure. Theo groaned as he brought his lips back to your nipple, skillfully pulling it into his mouth. Your entire body quivered beneath him, unable to comprehend how rapidly your impending orgasm was overwhelming you.

"Oh, Gods, Theo..." you gasped, your fingers tightening their hold in his hair like you were trying to pry it from his scalp. "Oh, fuck-"

Theo heightened his rhythm, skillfully adding another finger inside you as he fervently zeroed in on your sensitive nub with vigorous strokes. Your vocabulary dissolved into a symphony of flailing wails and moans, your eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy as he sensually flicked his tongue over one nipple before seamlessly transitioning to the other.

"That's right, darling..." he cooed against your chest, his voice torn and barely restrained, a low rasp that sent a thrill up your spine. "Let go for me...I've got you..."

His words alone ignited a blaze of warmth across your skin, and as much as you desired to resist, to not succumb so swiftly, it was inevitable and overwhelming, your orgasm slamming into you like a powerful shot to the gut.

"Shit-Theo!" Your jaw fell slack, eyes rolling back. "I'm-i'm-"

Your vision whitened as you broke, every nerve in your body pulsating with ecstasy. It was a wave crashing over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake. Theo's movements never faltered, his touch relentless, drawing out every ounce of pleasure from your shuddering form.

"That's it--fuck--so perfect..." he breathed, rubbing you through the remnants of your aftershocks. "Such a good fucking girl...did that feel good?"

You nodded, still gasping for breath as you tried to compose yourself. "Yes," you said, feeling a flush of embarrassment on your cheeks. "It felt amazing."

"Yeah?" Theo whispered, his hand withdrawing as he shifted to press his lips softly against yours. "You like cumming for your best friend, huh? Enjoy making a mess all over my fingers?"

You released a throaty groan against his demanding mouth as his skilled hands effortlessly peeled down your sweatpants and panties, revealing the goosebumped flush of your skin. His shirt swiftly joined the discarded clothes, exposing the sculpted lines of his torso. Unrelenting, his eyes remained fixed on yours as he leaned back to undo his belt with a controlled urgency.

Once successful, he leaned back over you and a large hand cupped your jaw, his voice a low, commanding murmur.

"I didn't hear an answer," he stated, the timbre of his words sending shivers down your spine. "Perhaps I need to make you cum again?"

You huffed, a subtle squirm beneath him accentuating the anticipation, his free hand teasing the tender skin of your inner thigh. "Theodore..."

"Would you like that?" he muttered, his lips drawing nearer, the grip on your jaw tightening. "You want me to make you cum all over my bedsheets again, hm?"

His fingers caressed over your heat, teasing your folds, and you arched against his touch, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. You could sense he was attempting to buy himself time, to talk himself down from his excitement. His restraint hung by a thread, self-control wavered under the sight of you withering beneath him.

Swallowing hard, your throat felt drier than the desert as you met his gaze with pleading eyes. "Please, Theo," you whimpered, "stop teasing."

"Fuck--so eager for me, yeah?" he purred, releasing your jaw to slide his boxers down his thighs, pulling free his thick, long cock. "Let's see if we can sate this pretty little pussy."

Your breath fled from your lungs, your jaw practically dropping to the floor. He was massive, even in his own big hand, even as he pumped himself, sliding his fist back and forth over his length as his eyes burned wounds into the flesh of your tits. You whined, your core clenching and screaming with need, drool threatening to pour down the sides of your lips as your desperate eyes shifted between his eyes and his dick.

"Fucking hell, Theo..." your brain struggled to form coherent thoughts, and those words were the only ones that managed to slip past your lips. "You never mentioned...so massive..."

He huffed, and you knew he was watching you--his irises igniting in flames, a tiny smirk teasing his lips as you watched him stroke himself faster, harder.

"I didn't want to intimidate you before you got to experience how good it can be," he murmured, his voice low and laced with satisfaction. "Besides, I'm well aware of your disdain for men with oversized egos."

Your breath caught in your throat as your brain struggled to process the revelation. Losing your virginity to your lifelong best friend, who knew you better than you knew yourself, and who had purposely kept the extent of his endowment a secret, fearing it might scare you off. The boundary between reality and dream blurred, leaving you in a surreal haze of disbelief.

"Just shut up and show me," you finally managed to whisper, your desire overcoming any reservations. "Show me how good it can be."

"Easy, principessa, don't get greedy now," he murmured, his hands firmly grasping your thighs to pull you closer. "You're not ready for everything I have to offer just yet."

Theo leaned back over you, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck and over your collarbone--forearm framing your face, other hand gripping his cock, angling the glistening tip toward your throbbing entrance, teasing you briefly with a few false thrusts, slicking his length in your wetness.

"Are you ready?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "To feel me inside of you, filling you up?"

Your voice barely more than a breath, you nodded in response, averting your gaze to the ceiling. "Please."

Theo huffed, pulling his face from your neck, long fingers directing your gaze to meet his eyes.

"Look at me, bella..." he looped an arm under your neck, long fingers holding you in place. "I want you to look into my eyes as you feel yourself stretching out for me..."

Your lips parted in awe, speechless and utterly intoxicated. Doing as he said, you held his gaze, feeling yourself slowly getting lost in the ocean waves of his eyes. Theo groaned, his own breath shallow as he pressed the head of his dick into you, pushing you apart, and you whimpered, clenching before he even entered you. You were quaking--and he hissed through his teeth before he'd fully sank into you, letting loose a low, deep groan as your wet cunt swallowed his cock.

"Shh," he purred, glimpsing your lips. "Just a little bit more..."

Pleasure and pain erupted through your bloodstream as he stretched you wide, a sharp cry leaving your throat as he pushed deeper and deeper, stroking into your heat with the pace of a snail, inch by agonizing inch--pausing once he'd sunk in to the base. You could feel his cock pulsing inside of you, and you were breathless, unable to fathom how big he was, how full he made you feel.

"Fucking hell, are you okay?" he muttered almost under his breath, his voice cracking with concern as he looked into your eyes, his blue gaze searching for any sign of distress. When you merely nodded, the desperation in his expressions intensified. "Please, talk to me...keep me grounded..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you mumbled, still trying to catch your breath. "And what do you mean, 'keep you grounded'?"

Theo sighed heavily, emitting a low groan, his breath catching in his lungs as he withdrew slightly before smoothly gliding back into you. You whimpered, still holding his gaze, lips parted in unbelievable bliss. His hand cradled your head, staring at you with gleaming eyes as he found his rhythm, keeping every stroke deep and careful and full.

"I-I, fuck," he grunted through gritted teeth as he stared down at you. "You're so tight, so fucking wet...I can barely control myself..."

He lowered himself, ensnaring your lips in a profound, fervent kiss while maintaining a deliberate pace within you. Each rhythmic thrust unleashed renewed waves of ecstasy, prompting unrestrained moans from your chest and sending you writhing beneath him.

"You feel so good," he whispered as one of his hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch as he slowly began to increase the tempo of his thrusts. "I can't believe how fucking tight you are. You're going to make me cum so fucking hard, my pretty little virgin."

Your nails clawed at his back, your walls squeezing his thick length with every thrust. "Theo-harder, please..."

"Yeah? You want more, pretty girl?" he whispered, warm breath enveloping your ear. "Such a needy little pussy..."

You gasped, nodding as his lips attacked your neck. "Please, please-"

"Anything for you," he responded, his voice torn, each syllable saturated with longing. "Filthy little--fuck,"

He surged into heightened motion, the force of his hips colliding with yours intensifying upon your command. A sharp cry escaped you when he skillfully found that responsive spot within you, immediately unleashing a cascade of pleasure that surged through your body like electric currents. The intensity reached a near-overwhelming point, a delicate dance between ecstasy and a hint of exquisite pain, causing unbridled moans to spill from your lips uncontrollably.

"Mm," he grunted, a near growl in your ear. "Pretty pussy taking me so well,"

His paced increased again, slamming into your cervix with every thrust. His fingers resumed their work on your clit, yanking you toward your climax, your body being whiplashed with pleasure. You bit down on his shoulder, desperate to muffle your screams as your pussy squeezed him harder, yanked to the edge by the stretch of his cock slamming into you, his fingers battering your nub.

"Theo--w-wait," your words stumbled amidst waves of pleasure, your body convulsing beneath his unyielding onslaught. "Theo, please-I can't, I-it's too much...”

"Come on baby, I know you're close," his voice, raspy and unbridled, revealed the shattering of his self-control. He relentlessly pounded into you, beads of sweat adhering his hair to a glistening forehead. "I felt you squeezing me--fuck--you can take it..."

You gasped for breath, a desperate symphony echoing your lungs' protest as your teeth found refuge in his skin. Fingers, possessed by an almost primal force, clawed into his back, leaving an indelible mark. Theo's movements, unyielding and masterful, propelled you inexorably towards the precipice of climax, each sensation more vivid than the last.

"Theo-" you practically screamed, your body buzzing in anticipation. "I'm gonna' cum, Theo-fuck-"

"Let me hear you," he said, voice shredded raw. "I want to hear you scream for me...I want to hear you moaning my name as this tight little cunt breaks for me..."

"Oh, fuck.." you moaned, eyes squeezing shut. "Fuck, Theo...oh Gods, fuck..."

You shattered, euphoria tearing through you as your walls pulsed and milked his cock. Your eyes rolled back, vision going blank as squeals and screeches left your lips in nothing more than mumbling nonsense.

Theo groaned, bliss numbing your skin, limbs shaking and trembling as he pulled you through wave after wave of pleasure, gripping you tighter until he too exploded, breath sputtering as he poured himself into you, hips bucking until the only sensation left was sweaty, heaving, post-orgasmic rapture.

In the aftermath, an extended silence enveloped the room--long after the cadence of your breaths normalized, long after the faculties of your minds fully reassembled. Theo finally stirred, rolling off you to settle on the mattress, where he promptly drew you into the sanctuary of his embrace.

"Can we acknowledge our feelings already?" Theo teased, fingers delicately brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear. “You know I’ll fight you if we go back to just being friends after all of that.”

You huffed, on the precipice of unrestrained laughter. "Only if you go first."

As you shifted to lock eyes with him, a smirk adorned his face, that mischievous grin unfurling across his impeccably plush lips. "Fine…I'm fucking in love with you."

Your own smirk surfaced, a surge of warmth coursing through you as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his. "I'm in love with you too, you dork."

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ketorecipesnation · 2 years ago

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How do I lose weight quickly but safely

Losing weight quickly can be challenging, but it is possible with the right approach. However, it's important to prioritize safety in your weight loss journey to avoid any negative health consequences. Here are some tips to help you lose weight quickly but safely:

Set realistic goals: A healthy rate of weight loss is about 1-2 pounds per week. While it's possible to lose more weight than this, it's important to set realistic goals that won't put your health at risk.

Follow a balanced and healthy diet: Focus on eating whole, nutrient-dense foods such as fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and healthy fats. Avoid processed foods, sugary drinks, and excessive amounts of alcohol.

Increase physical activity: Incorporate regular exercise into your routine, such as brisk walking, jogging, cycling, or swimming. Aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity exercise per week.

Drink plenty of water: Drinking water can help reduce hunger and aid in weight loss. Aim to drink at least 8 glasses of water per day.

Get enough sleep: Lack of sleep can disrupt hormones related to hunger and fullness, leading to overeating. Aim for 7-9 hours of sleep per night.

Consider working with a healthcare professional: Consulting with a registered dietitian or healthcare professional can help you create a safe and effective weight loss plan tailored to your individual needs.

Remember, sustainable weight loss is about making lifestyle changes rather than relying on quick fixes. So, be patient and consistent with your efforts, and you'll see progress over time. click here to learn more

#Simple weight loss remedies Healthy weight loss meal plans Weight loss without starving Losing weight without gym Effortless weight loss sol

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astrow0rldx · 3 months ago

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PAC TAROT: Shadow Work

Piles read left to right. Really use your intuition for which one calls to you to read. This Reading will be a little different, because it's ai generated. But hear me out, it's extremely accurate. I pull the tarot cards, and questions and it makes a story using automatic creative writing skills. In the story format it should help understand better.

Pile One

You present yourself as someone grounded and nurturing, someone who has it all together—capable, reliable, and a provider of stability. You wear this mask of self-sufficiency with grace, offering support and care to those around you. There’s a warmth to how you handle life, as if you’re always the one others can lean on. Yet, beneath this persona, there’s a quiet dissatisfaction, an emotional numbness that you don’t let others see. You feel disconnected, like something essential is missing, but you avoid acknowledging it, preferring to maintain the image of having everything under control.

Deep down, there’s a fear of rejection and abandonment that colors how you see yourself and your place in the world. This fear stems from past experiences where you felt left out or unworthy, perhaps from moments when you reached out for support and were met with coldness or lack. That sense of being shut out has led you to withdraw emotionally, burying your desires and vulnerabilities under layers of self-protection. However, this hidden wound shapes how you move through the world—it keeps you from fully expressing the vibrant, fiery side of yourself, the part of you that is bold, passionate, and fearless. While you project strength, this shadow lingers in the background, holding you back from fully owning your power.

Your shadow comes to the surface when you’re confronted by people or situations that reflect confidence and control, especially when they embody traits you’ve repressed. These encounters stir something inside you, triggering internal conflict as your shadow self clashes with the persona you’ve carefully built. The lesson in this struggle is to reconnect with your emotional core, to allow yourself to feel deeply and openly once again. Healing comes through embracing the tension, acknowledging that inner battles are a part of your growth. By working through this, you’ll move toward a more patient and nurturing relationship with yourself, where you invest in long-term growth and understand that healing is a process—one that requires steady effort and care.

Pile Two

She finds herself in a state of suspension, caught between holding onto control and surrendering to the unknown. Outwardly, she appears strong, composed, and authoritative, someone who takes charge with ease and thrives in an orderly world. She presents herself as the one in control, the one who always knows what to do. However, beneath this confident exterior, she’s struggling with uncertainty. She feels stuck, as if the answers she’s searching for are just out of reach, and in order to find them, she knows she must let go of the rigid expectations she’s placed on herself. She wears the mask of authority, but behind it, she is deeply uncertain, torn between what she knows and what she longs to discover.

At her core, she craves connection—a relationship where she can feel deeply understood and loved. There's a romantic within her, yearning for a bond that feels effortless and sincere, as if she’s waiting for that perfect emotional partnership. But she’s haunted by past disappointments, memories of love that didn’t turn out the way she hoped. This loss lingers, making her cautious about trusting her heart again. She often revisits those past moments of grief, wondering what went wrong and fearing that opening herself up to love again will lead to more heartbreak. As much as she wants love, the weight of her emotional past makes her guard her feelings, holding back from diving fully into new connections.

Her fears and vulnerabilities surface when emotions become overwhelming, or when she’s faced with situations that push her to move too fast. In those moments, she becomes protective, holding onto her feelings and resources tightly, afraid of losing control or being vulnerable. Her instinct is to cling to what she knows, but there’s also a deeper truth: her dreams and fantasies about what could be are not just idle thoughts. They reflect her true desires, the part of her that longs to break free from her hesitation and embrace all the possibilities that life offers. To heal, she needs to release the fear of losing control, to trust that even if things are uncertain, the journey ahead is rich with opportunities—ones she’s fully capable of seizing, if only she lets go.

Pile Three

She is moving through a period of transition, quietly distancing herself from past conflicts and emotional turbulence. Her journey, both literal and metaphorical, is one of seeking peace and clarity after enduring a storm. On the outside, she may seem calm, as though she’s finally found her direction, but the waters behind her are still unsettled. Internally, she is recovering from struggles, possibly with others or even within herself. The tension and discord she’s left behind still echo in her thoughts, making it difficult for her to fully let go. While she appears to be progressing, there is a quiet battle inside her, as if she’s constantly bracing for the next challenge.

Her internal struggle centers on patience and the need to balance her desires with the reality of what she’s building. She has invested time and energy into something—perhaps a relationship, a career, or personal growth—and now she waits, unsure of the outcome. There's a restlessness beneath her calm exterior, a feeling of competition, either with herself or with others. She yearns for stability and celebration, for a moment when she can finally relax and feel secure, but she is deeply aware that the foundation she’s working on still needs time to solidify. Emotionally, she is tied to the idea of love and partnership, but her past battles have made her wary. Love feels both close and distant, like something she craves but is cautious about fully embracing.

Her emotional depth runs deep, though she doesn’t always show it. She is someone who feels intensely, yet she’s learned to control and temper her feelings. When her emotions rise, they are powerful, but she channels them carefully, maintaining a composed exterior. Her greatest strength lies in her intuition. She often knows more than she lets on, reading situations and people with a subtle, almost mystical understanding. But this also makes her guarded, as if she’s protecting herself from being hurt again. She’s been through many trials, and though she’s weary, she remains resilient. Her journey is far from over, and while the battles she’s faced have left her cautious, they have also made her wiser. She stands ready to move forward, but she knows the path ahead will require both patience and strength.

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cheyisagirlkisser · 2 months ago

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“Only for Coffee”

Ex-girlfriend Ellie Williams x Fem! reader mini-fic

Content: Angst and no comfort, based off of Chappell Roan song "Coffee", established plot, short fic, break-up, mentions of break-up sex, second-person perspective, this is rlly just a blurb with decorations and pictures

You were reluctant to, but you had to “sort out the final details” of the break-up.

Ellie didn't call you. She sent a short text asking to meet her for coffee a block away from your apartment, the very apartment she used to live in with you. You didn't blame her for the short text; if she called you, it'd lead to actually talking. And if you talked, it'd lead to you blurting out that you missed her. The two of you had to keep things short, you couldn't afford another relationship relapse. So here you were, waiting in your sweatpants and a hoodie. You didn't bother to really get ready, didn't care how she perceived you anymore. It hurt, but you had to block out any affections for her.

This wasn't even the first time the two of you had agreed to meet up. The first time was to share some wine, but that only led to hungry kisses in the bathroom, which then only led to ending up back at your place, having sex in the same bed you had shared countless memories in. The bed you recalled her laying on top of you in, listening to your steady heartbeat as you fell asleep with the comfort of her embrace as if she was your own personal weighted blanket.

People come and go, but Ellie was once someone you couldn't imagine losing. That's why the second time you met up, at the park at night, you poured your heart out to her. Told her how much you still loved her, how the break-up was a big mistake. Even with all of the issues you two had, you wanted to make it work.

It lasted for two weeks before you realized why you split up in the first place.

Sometimes, it's inevitable. Heartbreak, loss, grief. It's something that obviously nobody wished for, but you could learn from it. But why was it so hard to accept that you and Ellie were memories?

It was almost comical how the two of you just kept meeting up, trying to sort out the details only to end up in each other's embraces once more. The cheap Italian restaurant you'd met her family at, the jazz-bar on Maryann Street, all of the places you once remembered spending hours at together. The way life was so easy back then, and it was effortless that you were able to love her. Now, it feels like a knife plunging into your heart every time your lips meet, but only because you know it's a temporary Band-Aid for you.

Ellie didn't show up for coffee this time. She probably knew how it'd go. Hell, you knew how it'd go. You got a brief raincheck text, and you didn't cry about it this time. You decided to take the next leap and block her number, and it felt kind of numbing for it to finally be over. However, memories would remain pristine and sweet. You wished her the best, overall.

The memories used to hit you, from the first gentle kiss to the argument that caused it all. There were times you'd be cooking dinner when she would come home and you swear even now you can still feel the fading warmth where her hands grabbed at your waist, a touch that used to be less greedy than it turned into. Like you had all the time in the world and she could afford to be slow with you.

With a weary sigh, you stood up and walked out of the coffee shop back to your apartment. The shut of the door felt like the soft thud of closing a book that didn't have a proper sequel.

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us part 2 #angst #tlou angst #divider by plutism

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eff4freddie · 6 months ago

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Of Comfort

Joel Miller x AFAB Reader Words 1.7k Rated: Explicit, Minors DNI

Joel's formidable powers of observation have kept him alive, got him and Ellie to Jackson, makes him deadly on patrols. It also means he can easily tell when there's something up with you.

Warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), hurt/comfort, you're sad sometimes and Joel notices, plot? we don't know her, the cover art is obnoxiously large but I have nfi how to fix it A/N: guys, I've suffered a loss this week and I'm sad. This is an indulgent comfort fic. I hope you enjoy and if you do please drop me a comment, I could use the boost. Love youse x

There wasn’t even anything really the matter. You just felt low, felt the absence of the people you cared about. Long dead or infected. Most of the time, you had somewhat of a say in when it happened. There were some moments you allowed yourself to think of them, carved out a time in your day to remember just so that you could put them back on the shelf and get on with things.

There were also times when you didn’t have the choice. When the time would come to pay the piper, whether you could spare the change or not. These were the moments you dreaded, feared waiting for you around dark corners, in quiet moments, in little dust motes dancing in the dawning light. These moments that let the melancholy in. In those moments you felt something heavy planted on your chest, and at the same time an emptiness, felt the loss in the sheer weight of it as it crushed you.

You never said anything about it. Everyone in Jackson had suffered such incalculable losses that it felt almost moot. Embedded in the walls, planted in the soil of the place were the spindly threads of grief. No fish ever complains about the cold of the water.

For the most part you were a good enough mimic that you could go about your day in Jackson, work the soil in the greenhouses, spread hay still warm from the sun for the sheep, sit and let the conversations wash over you in the mess hall. You would get away with it, except for Joel.

Joel, whose ability to notice things had kept him and Ellie alive, had brought them to Jackson not once but twice, had kept him steely and watchful on every patrol you’d ever been on with him, cowering under the power of his gaze when he shone it on you.

He didn’t ask anything of you when he appeared on your front porch, sometimes carrying half a bottle of whiskey, sometimes just his coat. He wouldn’t attempt to pry, crack open your ribcage, just sensing with his innate ability that your head would slip under the surface if he did, that the wave would crush you, steal the air from your lungs. He would simply step forward, pulling you firm but soft into the circle of his arms, rest his chin on the crown of your head and blot your tears with the cotton of his shirt.

‘Joel,’ sometimes you’d whimper, and he’d shush you, maybe rock you a little in his arms, let you burrow into his neck and rest there, gather yourself. You would feel the warmth of his skin on your lips as you whispered his name, implored him to help you forget again. And he would lift you, so smooth and effortless, up into his arms, your thighs circling him, ankles locked behind him, as he carried you up to your room.

The chill in the air would raise goosebumps on your skin as he stripped your clothes from you, warming you with his hands and his tongue, peppering kisses over your shoulders and your collarbones, tracing the skin with his lips. Trembling, you would feel the muscles roll themselves out for him, surrender to his heat and the press of his body against yours. You would let him sit you down on the edge of the bed, lifting your chin as he stood between your knees, bending down to drop kisses on your cheek, on your eye sockets, down to your lips.

He would be too quiet, almost silent but for the sharp intake of his breath as he reached down to cup your tits, roll your nipples between his thumbs and listen to the way you keened. The heat would shoot down to your core, your pooling slick gathering on the bedspread, as the shock of the pleasure would grip you, and you’d ask him then, heart racing, to say something, to tell you, to warm you with his words.

‘My sweet girl,’ he’d say, and you would close your eyes, the rumble of it in his chest just an inch from your face. ‘My beautiful girl,’ he’d speak again, pulling your hair over your shoulders, gathering it in his fist and angling your face to him again. You would stare up at him, eyes wide and wet as he gazed down at you, thick lips and warm brown pupils blown. ‘So brave,’ he’d say, and you would hiccup a little sob, the relief and the joy of it bubbling high in your oesophagus. You would never feel more naked than in this moment with him, always with his hands in your hair and his eyes roaming your face, appraising you, praising you. He would wipe away the tears on your cheeks, his fingertips rough against your soft skin. ‘Let me show you how strong you are,’ he'd say, and he’d be pushing you down then, gently by the shoulder, releasing your hair to slide his hands down your spine and under your bottom, pulling you fast to the edge of the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress, knees widening to make room for his shoulders as he crouched between them.

‘Perfect little cunt,’ he’d say, but almost to himself more than to you, and you would feel the thrill of it just the same, the pounding of your heart matching the ache in your pussy as you waited, spread, for him to devour you. You wanted to cry, to groan, to grab his hair and pull him to you, but you let him have his moment with your cunt, let him savour it, borrowed some of his power to believe yourself worthy of his need.

Seconds, minutes, centuries would tick by, and you would wait, breath caught in your throat, chest thundering, until you felt him dip down to you, felt his breath on your lips, hot and humid and sweet. For all the time he had taken to devour you with his eyes, he would not be so languid with his tongue, licking a stripe up your cunt to open you before dipping down, nose nudging at your clit, as he circled his tongue inside.

You would hold your breath, sometimes bite on your fist, so as not to muffle the groan he would let out at the first taste, his breath coming sharp and fast through his nose as his eyes slammed shut, brow furrowed. If you were to get up on your elbows and try to pull him away by the hair he would growl, like a rabid dog fighting for its last meal, and so you would submit to it, the pleasure and his need, let him drink.

But soon you would be writhing, the bedspread in your fists as you rocked your head side to side, gasping for breath and whining, sounds only he is capable of causing in you, whimpers only for him, as he laves at your cunt.

‘Joel…’ you’d whimper again, needing more and simultaneously feeling too much, your nerve endings on fire as your head swam, the room swirling in front of you as you felt your throat dry. You wondered if he would ever kill you this way, warp your bones with the pleasure of it, splinter you right down the centre.

And then, fingers. Finally, fucking fingers. Gasping and blindly groping for him as he slid two fingers into your cunt and swirled them towards your belly button, that little magic spongey spot you can never get to on your own, the one that makes you vault upright, your muscles straining as you extend your neck, throw your head to the ceiling, clench your core and bear down on him.

‘There she is,’ he’d praise from between your thighs, eyes locked on your face as your muscles contorted, bearing the weight of you, of him, rolling the boulder from your chest and letting it flop to the floor beside you, legs extended, arms gripping and hands grasping, every muscle taught and alive on fire, tight as a bow string. ‘My strong girl,’ he’d say again, as you bucked under him, such that he had to hold you down by the hips to continue to break you apart.

‘Oh, God!’ you’d cry, thoughts abandoning ship one by one as you drowned in it, in Joel’s hands and his lips, as he continued to rain pleasure down on your cunt. ‘I can’t…!’ you’d cry, and he would groan, disapproving, into you.

‘You can.’

You’d shake your head, certain this time he was going to end you, was going to topple you into oblivion, suddenly feeling you wanted to howl, to cry, to keen, and to come.

‘Do it,’ he would instruct. ‘I’ve got you. Let it go, baby.’

Baby.

And so, you would. Each time surprised at your body’s capacity to withstand it, the keening pleasure bowing your bones in their sockets. You would come. Sometimes accompanied by a call to the underworld from deep in your chest. Sometimes with a whimper of submission, a groaned, feeble protest at all that been taken from you. Sometimes with a gasping silence, an acceptance high and coarse in your throat, of your survival and of your guilt.

Sometimes with your hands in his hair, his name in your mouth, new tears tracking down your cheeks mixing with garbled declarations of love, and of gratitude.

After, he would hold you as the sobs racked your frame, your head tucked into his neck and his warm arms wrapped firm around you as he lay you down across his chest, bent you to straddle him. He would listen as your whimpers turned into soft breaths, occasional gasps as your mind stilled, blinking slow as you felt yourself washed clean from the inside. He would wait for you to lift your head, to gaze up at him, for him to lower his mouth to your lips and catch them in his.

He would never stay, and you knew better than to ask it of him. Pulling the blanket over you both he would hold you until your breath evened out, until your little snores tickled his chest, before he would release you, slip out of your room and down the stairs, turn the lights off and lock the door behind him as he went.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fic

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

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A Cunning Plan: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (5) Loki has been doing some heavy mulling. Something's brewing, and it isn't tea. Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Smut references. Mild angst. Humour. Pining. Ex-Loki. Satchelnanigans. Cunning plans. (w/c 4.7k) Recommended Folklore Track: The Lakes

The night before had passed with an unnerving air of normalcy.

Loki didn’t speak much, but you could feel the unmistakable weight of him absorbing everything as it unfolded around him. He maintained a quiet distance. Marinating a monologue, perhaps.

You had a feeling it would come to harvest, eventually.

Something hung in the air among the domestic clink of cutlery and quiet apologies as the men squeezed around each other in the cottage. The rabbits were stewed, and much to Steve’s reluctant admission– were delicious. Loki had even taken a substantial loss in Monopoly that evening with uncharacteristic good grace. He and Thor hadn’t even fought over the little dog. And then, he had turned in early. What had passed between you that day – the rescue, the kiss, the supermarket…

His silence, you came to realise, was a blessing. A gift. If one which was grudgingly given. You had heard the low creak of his footsteps above in the living room as Steve diligently packed each playing card away face down.

He’s putting the condoms on Steve’s pillow, you thought with a wry smile. The captain looked up, oblivious.

“What’s got you in high-cotton?” Steve had asked curiously.

“Nothing,” you’d lied, scooting closer to the fire.

When the three of you had traipsed upstairs in single file and bid goodnight – Loki’s door had been closed. But you had heard his low, self-satisfied chuckle through the wall as the captain’s exasperated protestations travelled.

You wondered if Loki could hear your chuckle too. You hoped he could. When the four of you next met the chilled dawn air with bundled scarves and thick gloves, the sun was shining. Crisp, brilliant blue skies made the shade of Loki’s dark halo pop against the increasingly auburn skyline. When you had returned from your lesson, fingers numb and cheeks pink from the morning’s foraging, Loki ambled at the back of the group as usual.

You watched from ahead, seeing Thor and Steve huddled together whispering. They had been twitchy all morning, secretive smiles and hurried glances punctuating otherwise unremarkable commentary about mushrooms.

Loki was ten paces behind, a small basket slung over his arm. He walked slowly, picking up each specimen from his haul and inspecting it like a jewel. Checking every one twice. The Barbour jacket rustled around his thighs, waxed material creasing thickly as he drifted up the steep hill with effortless grace.

And now, the coats were hung on their usual pegs, a chirp of ‘don’t get too comfortable’ from Rogers making the hour break until the afternoon session shorten immeasurably. You closed your eyes, leaning against the kitchen door-frame while a couple of hunks of firewood fit snug under your arm. “Can I get you anything?” Loki murmured from the kitchen sink. You hadn’t noticed him standing there, hands in his pockets. The green scarf still hung around his neck, askew from where he’d yanked it.

In the following silence, his eyes ran questioningly over your features; the ghost of his question haunting the air. Only you, “No, thanks.” you offered weakly, beginning to un-loop your scarf before thinking better of it. “It’s colder in here,” he noted, followed by a sad smile. It pinched his dimples, but didn’t reach his eyes. “Lo-” you started. He turned back to the window. Sighing, you shuffled into the living room where Steve and Thor stood shoulder to shoulder by the fireplace. The scratch of a pen on paper was crisp over their hushed voices. Something told you it wasn’t sharing notes for the orienteering course this afternoon. The captain gave a cautious glance over his shoulder, jumping and nudging his accomplice in the ribs.

Thor coughed, hand flying to his mouth. He turned just as the final scrunched rag of paper sucked between his lips.

He chewed, smiling. “Hurr-oh Agen’” he mouthed, oblivious to Steve’s adjacent frown. Swallowing with difficulty, he leant back against the fireplace with zero finesse. “I didn’t see you there.” “What are you two up to?” you asked warily, crossing the room and emptying the bundle of wood in your arms to the scuttle. Steve’s eyes darted to the ceiling, avoiding Thor’s grin which spread at alarming speed. You decided that under the circumstances, you didn’t want to know.

The markers you’d set up were supposed to take four hours to complete, but between intermittent downpours and Thor’s affinity for one-sided conversations with wildlife – it had taken six. The team had done well, and you had tried to let them make their own way as much as possible over steep inclines and thick forest.

Squabbling had inevitably ensued. By the time the beleaguered band piled back into the cottage, flopping on sofas and armchairs and the ancient, creaking recliner – all you wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the trip. “Why don’t we start a fire outside?” Steve announced loudly. You groaned. The sun’s last licks of light flooded through the window, illuminating the cottage lounge in an amber shroud. Loki’s forearm draped over his eyes, punctuating the sentiment with a bitter sigh of discontent. “Why must you always be doing something, Rogers?” he lamented.

To your surprise, Thor snapped up on the seat– eyes bright. “Yes! Yes! We can use the...the..” he and Steve pointed to each other dramatically.

“The groove technique!” they quipped in sync. You and Loki’s sceptical eyes met. His peered beneath a thick jumper sleeve; yours only visible above the worn blanket. For some reason, it smelled of him. “How’s this?” Loki postured slowly as he stretched his ridiculously long legs over the armrest. They dangled. “You two, go make us proud outside...and we will recuperate the energy necessary to deal with the result.”

This seemed to please everyone. Out the window, you enjoyed the unfolding show of the super soldier and the god arguing as they managed to whittle the tools required. “They forgot the moss,” you sighed to yourself, as dark smoke began to waft from the stick between Steve’s thighs. “Norns, the moss!” Thor boomed seconds later, panicked limbs flapping as he ran to the outshed.

To your side, the radio began to play soft jazz of its own accord. “I cannot summon the strength to get up. Don’t tell them,” Loki murmured. His arm was still draped over his eyes.

“It was only walking,” you cooed playfully, craning to see if there was the hint of a smile. There wasn’t. “Not that kind of tired,” he replied quietly, tapping the tip of his cheekbone with one curled finger. Biting your lip, you realised you hovered on the precipice of another early night for the god. And, you found, you didn’t want that at all. It was dark outside, now. “You’re allowed to use magic, you know” you said cheerfully, attempting to shift the mood as you snuggled deeper into the thin blanket. The once familiar scent of myrrh and smoked pine needles filled your nostrils. Really, it was uncanny how much this blanket smelled like-

Loki scoffed. “I suppose. It just feels wrong here, somehow. Like I’m sullying something.” You frowned, holding the ragged edge of the blanket out in front of your eyeline. “Loki, did you use this blanket?” His head tilted to the side, suspicious gaze peering beneath the curl of his fingers. “Yes.” was the strained response. “I draped myself in it when I slept down here the night that I...well-” You couldn’t help the giggle which escaped. In all the years you’d known him, Loki wouldn’t be caught dead using something so unconducive to utter pleasure. The very idea was absurd. Furs and pelts and material so soft it made your fingertips tingle when you touched it. Bedsheets so luxuriously sensual that the sensation of them against the back of your thighs was foreplay. The rooms you shared together had been no different, aside from the occasional cushion cover you’d managed to sneak in – inevitably met with distaste and eventual disappearance from the rotation.

Not even Stark’s voluminous fleece blankets during movie night had been acceptable, Loki always had his own magical stash, much to the envy of the others.

You would snuggle into his chest beneath the weight of it, cushioned at every angle with the heavenly material and his safe hands wrapped tightly beneath. They worked their way beneath your sweaters, each feather-light graze of his fingertip against your skin a promise of what was to come. You shivered. “Is that funny?” he frowned. Hurt bubbled behind his irises, frothing. You shook your head.

“I just wouldn’t have thought…” you said quietly, pursing your lips as the god’s stormy demeanour slipped once more beneath his hand.

The vintage clock on the wall ticked.

“I’m going to check on the guys” you muttered.

Even the bitter chill of darkness which waited outside the cottage door, you had a feeling, would be warmer than this.

Nudged by your encouragement, the sparks created by Steve and Thor had become a healthy blaze.

Flame and smoke twisted upwards to the endless starry night, a miraculous lack of cloud making deep-rooted constellations sparkle.

The three of you perched on a tree trunk the blonde god had heaved over from the edge of the forest. Your chin rested on Thor’s shoulder as you gazed up at the navy sky. After a time, the cottage door slammed. Slow, purposeful footsteps announced Loki’s delayed arrival crunching over the path. Their beat made your heart quicken, its thump soaking into Thor’s puffer jacket.

He walked in front of you all, warming his hands on the fire. They rubbed together, long fingers twisting and locking before he held them up, palms outward. How they glowed, that fair skin luminescent in the fire’s kiss. “Would you give us a moment?” he said.

You could feel the shift on either side of your body as Thor and Steve looked at each other over your head. “Please,” he added coldly, absorbed in the flames. It wasn’t a request. Thor’s jacket hissed as he shuffled from the log, unwinding his arm from your shoulders.

“Yes, well - I have some...business to attend to,” he rumbled – casting another glance at Rogers. Even under the glow of firelight, you were sure the captain was blushing. “Right,” Steve said as he slapped his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been meaning to change the batteries in the ol’...flashlight. They’ve been on the blinkeroo.” With an awkward frown at their efforts, you continued to stare at the back of Loki’s head.

His hair was half tucked into the emerald scarf, dark wisps of wild curl spilling over the curve of his collar. His silhouette was breath-taking; legs wide, triangular and imposing in the caress of flame. If he had any inkling of the captain and his brother’s disappearance into the night, he didn’t show it.

Seconds passed at a crawl.

Sparks jumped and burst from the fire, crackling outward before sinking into darkness. Loki turned, wordlessly seating himself beside you on the tree trunk. You took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. The god pressed each of his fingertips in turn while his gaze was transfixed on the fire. His pupils followed the twisting flames that danced and licked against the night. The shapes pulsed against his cheekbones, a stray thread of hair blowing gently against his jaw. “I’m glad I brought this scarf,” he said quietly, staring ahead. Your eyes fell to the material wound around his neck that had barely left it since you’d arrived. You opened your mouth to speak, before closing it again. “I am sorry that I did not appreciate it-” he swallowed lightly, eyes flickering quickly to yours before looking away, “-when you gave it to me.” You rested a hand on his shoulder, patting gently. Even through the thick wax jacket, and the knitted jumper beneath; you could feel every curve of the muscle you once knew so well. Words turned to nothing in your mind, and somehow – you didn’t need them.

You let the hand fall, looking back to the fire. “Have I ever told you of the cabin?” he murmured, curling the rogue strand behind his ear.

You shook your head. He released a wry chuckle. “No, I suspected as much. I had forgotten it myself until my brother reminded me.” His eyes met yours, alive for the first time since yesterday at the supermarket. They swam with starlight, reflected galaxies spiralling in the smouldering darkness. “My father, well...Odin- built the Asgardian Palace, you know” he mused, running his hands down his thighs with a sigh. “But before that, few people know of where he and my mother resided.”

His voice was gentle, a story-tell lilt replacing the superior twang you had come to associate with his tales of Asgard. This one felt different.

Fighting the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair and mount him, you dug your hands further into your pockets.

“There was a cabin on Midgard. In Tromsø, or what would become Tromsø. It could not be seen other than when the midnight sun shone down beneath two clouds of red, and only the water whispered of it as it travelled through the land. Spoken of in hushed tones around great halls and campfires such as this. Some claimed to have seen it.”

He paused, letting the fire crackle. “Perhaps, some did,” he added quietly. Loki looked up at the exact moment you realised you were staring at him, a dreamy smile spread across your features.

“Before they became what they are to everyone else, they were…” Loki paused, licking his lips. “Different. They hunted, they foraged, they cast magic and made beautiful things for this realm with their kin under the cover of folklore and dreamscapes. They fell in love with each other, with everything. Before they were gods.” “Before?” you gasped quietly. Loki nodded. “All things have a beginning” he murmured, looking back to the flames.

“After the wars, and the taking of Asgard – there was a necessity to leave the cabin-that-had-no-place. And when Thor and I were young, they took us back every Asgardian summer, letting us run in long grass and wear rags and be free on the fjords and hillsides. We had no airs or graces, we played with local children – even flirted a little when we were of that age.” He smiled mischievously. It faded. “But those were different times. A different person, perhaps.”

Loki paused, brows peaking as he stared at the fire. “Or perhaps not.”

You blinked several times, looking away. Flames twisted and blew together as one. “Father gave us these hunting knives when we were sixteen, in your years” he said, an outstretched palm holding the blade. “The summer before our ceremonial inaugurations.”

It glinted in the fire’s glow.

“Uten røtter gjenstår ingenting” you chanted, running the pads of your fingertips over the blade’s inscription.

“Without roots, nothing remains” Loki hummed. “Ironic, considering all it transpired my father covered up. But not entirely without its merit.”

Your brow scrunched, wondering if you should say what you were thinking. “Yes?” he whispered. “Why are you telling me this?” Loki’s eyes tracked down the skim of your cheekbone, falling to your lips before swinging to the crackling fire. He grabbed a stick from the ground, poking the base.

“If I was that boy, once” he said thoughtfully, “then perhaps, there is hope for me. It felt important that I tell you that.” He twirled the stick between his fingers, catching a rogue ember between his tips before it landed on your lap. “I had forgotten him,” he murmured, rubbing the ash between his thumb and index finger. “I liked him.”

You leant your head silently on Loki’s shoulder, feeling his spine soften into the touch. His temple pressed against your hair.

“The thought of you and Thor chatting up poor local Norwegian girls is sending me a bit, you know” you muttered playfully. Loki’s quiet laugh was brighter than the fire.

You stayed like that, flames crackling.

Suddenly something caught your eye to the side, random flashes of white light which flickered on and off about fifty paces to the right.

You frowned, squinting into the darkness. Steve?

The light flickered again. Only the round of the captain’s pert ass was visible behind the tree. You were about to notify Loki to the strange sight when the sky lit up, an almighty crack shaking the air. Instinctively Loki covered your body with his, pressing you down into his lap. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for impact or sirens or the cries of a thousand rallying foes.

The god’s chest lay flush against your back, his breathing heavy as your mouth panted open against his thigh. You turned your head instinctually towards his body, cheek meeting the titanic bulge in his worn jeans. He pressed down further, caging you pressed between his thick trunk and thick-

“NORNS, DID YOU SEE THAT?” The thunder of Thor’s boots sounded against the stone path.

Loki’s breath fanned you ear as he rose, the feeling of his weight leaving bringing you back to reality. Turning, you saw thick smoke billowing into the night sky from the cottage, white against black. Loki jumped to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists as Thor drew closer. He raked a hand through his hair, observing the unexpected scene with incredulity. Steve appeared, sidestepping closer to the muster as he spoke. “Oh gee, a lightening strike-” he said with unconvincing surprise. “I guess it happens! Thank goodness no one was inside.” The only sound was the crick of Loki’s neck as he edged it one side to another. “Brother,” he growled menacingly.

Thor laughed. “I know what you infer, but I do not know the origin of every strike of lightening. That is preposterous!” His eyes darted to the side, before falling guiltily back to Loki. “Global warming.” he added confidently while Steve nodded sagely beside him. The captain looked down at the flashlight in his hand, hiding it quickly behind his back.

Suddenly your eyes widened. “I think it hit my room.” Before you knew it, you were sprinting towards the cottage with the cries of the three men behind you. Their squabbling was white noise as you threw open the door and barrelled up the stairs. Everything you could see was eerily calm. Undisturbed.

The door to your bedroom swung open beneath cautious fingers. Your breath hitched.

The ceiling was open to the sky, a choking arid smell dissipating in the air. Tiles and smouldering ivy lay scattered around the room’s edge.

Your clothes? Sparse personal effects? Bed? Gone. Ash.

There was an unnatural circular hole in the floor where the lightening had landed, showing the far corner of the living room below.

“My chair!” Thor wailed from downstairs.

His plea was clean and crisp through the gaping hole in the floor. You heard his knees hit the carpet, followed by another thump you could only assume was his forehead.

“My chair,” he whined, quieter this time. “Oh, well done.” came Loki’s scathing response.

“So not only have you decimated one bedroom, but the common room too” Loki muttered venomously, pacing a tight circle in the hall. The lounge window was blown open, shards of glass decorating the floor which held the smoking black outlines of the furniture. “Lightening hath struck the cottage brother,” Thor exclaimed on his knees with theatrical indignation. “Tis’ a natural phenomenon-” “-You’re a natural cretin.” Loki snapped.

“Alright boys let’s just take a beat,” Steve said. “We don’t know what happened here, but suffice to say we’ll deal with the consequences like gentleman.” Loki shook his head, a dry chuckle making his brother flinch.

“Don’t...don’t know what happened, Rogers?!” he quipped with feigned surprise. “Why! Let me just...try to use my magic to un-fuck this mess, shall I?” Thor smirked. Seidr glowed in Loki’s palms, spreading out to the living room. It sloshed upwards like water on a glass dome. “How odd, brother” Loki purred sarcastically. He didn’t even have to look at it. Thor swallowed as Steve’s brows rose. The dark god turned to the captain with a flourish of his wrist.

“My magic doesn’t work on another god’s mischief, you see” he said bluntly. “I suspect I would not be able to locate the whereabouts of your unmentionables, either. But I might start with the crisper if I were you. An old favourite of his.” Thor flushed pink. “Now see here, brother-”

He was cut off by your slow traipse down the stairs. You peeked into the living room; face falling as the three men huddled closer together out of your path. Loki’s mind was afizz. He watched despair cut across your features that not five minutes ago had been resting safely on his shoulder. The memory of that moment, Loki was sure, would sustain him through whatever farce his brother had in store.

“Where am I going to sleep?” you said weakly, looking at Steve. The captain’s lips formed a wide O, eyes vacant. Loki quickly calculated the options. “You can sleep in my room,” he said.

All eyes fell on him. “I will rest...somewhere else. In my brother’s bed as penance for his incredible stupidity.” "What's he got to do with this?" you asked, falling on deaf ears. “And where am I to bed?” Thor huffed. “In the car,” came Loki’s snap response. “Well actually uh-” Steve inhaled deeply, exhaling though his nose. “That won’t be possible. Thor and I need to stay in our assigned lodgings.” “What!?” “Our assigned lodgings.” Loki rolled his eyes.

“Yes, brother. Rogers and I have some important...business to discuss later.” Thor’s eyes flickered to Steve, who nodded. But he didn’t look happy about it. “Assigned lodgings.” he repeated. “I’ll just sleep in the bath,” you said with finality. Loki could tell the tension smothering the hallway was too much. Steve nodded once, clapping you on the shoulder. He gestured for Thor to go first up the stairs. He did, with a final shifty glance backwards.

Loki observed every single step up to the landing with infinite mistrust, hearing their door close with a soft click. Muttering ensued. “You are not sleeping in the bath, Agent. You’ll freeze to death” he spat, running an anxious hand through his hair as he kicked shards of glass from the lounge window further inside the room.

You groaned, resting your forehead against the door-frame. Loki straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “Take my room.” he uttered, laden with ceremony. “I am a Prince of Asgard, I insist. My word is law. Obey me or face the consequences.” Your face titled towards him, your mouth twitching in a reluctant smile. Loki returned it. “I feel awful,” you whined, biting your lip.

How Loki wished you hadn’t bit your lip. Suddenly, your eyes lit. “Sleep in the room with me. This is dire straights and with those two being weirdos about it-” “-I couldn’t possibly.” he said quickly, catching what he thought might be disappointment in your eyes. The god’s feet shuffled on the floor, seconds ticking loudly. Even a blast of lightening couldn't destroy vintage clocks, apparently.

“On the floor...perhaps.” Loki said. “You could conjure a nice blanket?” you probed. “Some fancy pillows? A treat. No shitty blankets.” Loki nodded, hoping it looked reluctant. Despite it being a terrible idea, excitement twisted in his stomach. “You go ahead,” he said softly. “I’ll be right up.”

He savoured the shape of them on his tongue. It had been a long time, Loki thought wistfully as he watched you go, since he’d said those words.

You flicked the light on, before turning it off again.

Best to just go to sleep, and then...it will be morning. No chatting. Next door, in Thor and Steve’s room, a floorboard creaked.

You looked around the small space, bigger than yours. But the layout was roughly the same, Loki’s single bed slightly off-centre, near to the wall. A small wardrobe sat sadly in the corner, his collection of outdoor-wear hanging neatly. It was hard to place the feeling bubbling in your chest.

Nerves. Anticipation? You hadn’t been this nervous since the night you and Loki had first had sex. You smiled, remembering how the knowledge that lingerie sat snug beneath your casual clothes made you wish the night away before you finally fell into his bed. It had been the best night of your life. Until that point, anyway. We’re not having sex, you chided silently as you quickly pulled off your clothes and left them in a pile by the bed. We’re not.

But for a second, you couldn’t remember why.

Naked, you suddenly recalled that your nightdress was ash next door.

Fuck, you thought; before hearing the low creak of Loki’s ascent up the stairs. You briefly considered displaying yourself nude and draped over the bedpost with your legs spread. But you decided your ego couldn't take that kind of knock right now - not when a kiss had been too far. You darted to the wardrobe, grabbing something and shoving it over your head before leaping to the bed. Fighting the folds of his tightly packed blankets, you shimmied between the thin sheets. He knocked gently, twice. “Come in,” you said casually.

The sound of low gasps and girlish whispers echoed from next door. Or maybe it was the wind. Loki’s hand appeared on the doorknob, pushing at arm’s length. Tentatively, his face came into view, averting his gaze to the door jam. The sight made you want to scream.

“Are you decent?” he murmured formally. At your confirmation, his gaze found you on the bed, knees curled to your chest and one of his t-shirts hanging loose around your body. Casual. Totally casual. “Ah, I’m glad you found something suitable,” he said gingerly as he made his way quietly to the window and pulled the curtains.

A plump comforter unfurled from green light on the floor, one silken pillow at its top. Magic rolled over his body, revealing the pyjama bottoms he’d been wearing all week. The ones that clung to his ass, shifting like water as he moved.

You swallowed.

“This is all I have in the closet, I’m afraid” he murmured half-apologetically as he patted his heart.

His eye twitched, fighting a wink.

Deep valleys of his stomach muscle clenched as he breathed, the V of his hips carved and beautiful above the hem of the loose trousers. The bulge of his cock shifted in moonlight as he dropped to his haunches, arranging the pillow. You cleared your throat, straightening your legs. “It’s fine, thank you for...this.” He offered a curt nod as he quickly arranged himself beneath the blanket. Rolling onto your side, your fingers slid up your temple through your hair. "You think that Thor made lightening hit the cottage?" "Yes." Your nose wrinkled. "Why would he do that?" Loki snorted derisively as he fluffed his luxurious pillow. Goose down, from the sound of it. "He's trying to be mischievous," he said gruffly. "It doesn't suit him." You rolled back on the bed with a squeak, mind working.

“Goodnight,” Loki whispered in the darkness. The salutation seemed unfinished, somehow.

What felt like hours passed.

The god's breathing was steady, but he shifted every so often with a breathy moan you were sure was intentional. You curled deeper on your side, facing away from him. It was freezing, the usual chill of the cottage not helped by the gaping hole in the roof next door no doubt. Was he facing away from you too? You decided to indulge yourself, rolling over beneath a rustle of bedsheets. Loki lay on his side, facing towards the bed. Dark curls were strewn over his forehead, one hand under the pillow while the other rested by his stomach. The blanket was pushed down to his waist, moonlight illuminating the shadowed carvings of his body. “Can’t sleep?” he purred groggily.

You closed your eyes quickly. “I’m cold, that’s all.” you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray the thundering of your sex. Just being in the same room, half-clothed, sleeping – the evidence of your desire for him slid uncomfortably between your thighs. “How rude, I should have given you my blanket-” There was silence, as Loki considered his words. “Do you want this blanket?” he asked quietly. You put all your mortal strength into making your teeth chatter. “N-n-n-no, you’ve already given me your b-b-bed-” “-You know, you’re making this very difficult for me, Agent” Loki chided from the floor. “The only other option is my-” he paused, making your heart stop. “Body heat” he finished.

“Both?” you whispered, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear it.

It hung between you. You opened one eye, catching the glimpse of his milk-slick silhouette rising silently, cast against the moonlight. The blanket hung from one fist, fingers clenching and unclenching. “Heat,” Loki mumbled quietly.

You wondered if he knew he’d done it.

He paced once, stopping at the bed’s edge. Your eyes met, the set of his jaw only softened by lightly parted lips. Lust burned in dark pupils, the energy making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Curls fell around his shoulders, the natural scent of his crotch lingering tantalisingly in the air above your nose. God, how you missed that. You shuffled over in the single mattress, realising at once that it would be a very tight fit. He cast a glance to the foot of the bed, and back again.

“Perhaps my brother is still awake, I should make my lodgings there,” he murmured regretfully. Your eyes widened. “But-” “Wait here,” he said firmly.

On his way to the door, he turned and threw the blanket to rest with a flourish over the bed. No sooner had his fingers wrapped around the doorknob and pulled, Thor’s voice came through the wall. Muffled, but unmistakable. ‘Good gods, Rogers...don’t stop,” the voice groaned. “Where did you learn to do that with your argh-f-fingers?’ ‘The army,’ came the abrupt response.

There was another fetid moan. Loki released the door-handle like hot coal while you covered your mouth with your hands. The god hung his head, tendrils of dark hair clouding his expression from view. “Alright...” he breathed stoically to himself before turning to the bed.

Each pace was measured as he drew closer, every creak of the floorboards making you ache for him with every fibre of your being.

“You are cold,” he said slowly, penitently, as his knuckles sank into the mattress.

One knee followed suit.

He tilted his head, biting his lip as his brows knitted with some unsaid thought.

“I can help with that, at least,” he murmured to the darkness.

Continued in Darkest Night, Brightest Day

A/N - If you're not screaming at the wall right now then I haven't done my job. Ps. If anyone can identify, in full, the actual cunning plan, you will win a prize. Tags @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @megschaef98

#the lakes #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #loki x female reader #loki angst #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki x you #loki x yn #loki laufesyon x reader #loki odinson #loki odison x reader #loki gif #loki series

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er1nne · 1 month ago

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interviewing drew for queer (do not copy or plagarize, original work)

The buzz of the red carpet was a living thing, pulsing with life as cameras flashed and excited voices carried over the barricades. You adjusted the hem of your pants again, smoothing it over your hips even though it didn’t need it. It was instinct, a way to channel the energy that simmered just beneath your skin. The red carpet was alive with energy, a sea of lights, cameras, and glamour that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. You stood at your designated spot, microphone in hand, scanning the line of arriving guests with practiced ease. This wasn’t your first premiere, but tonight felt charged with a different kind of anticipation.

You glanced at the crowd gathered just beyond the velvet ropes. Fans pressed against the barricades, their phones out, waving signs and shouting names. Somewhere behind you, another journalist was calling for their next interviewee, their voice competing with the noise of the evening.

You swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you waited for your next interview. Your grip tightened on the microphone, the smooth surface cool against your palm. You’d done this countless times before, but tonight was different. This wasn’t just any film premiere—it was Queer.

The buzz around the project had been relentless. Raw, intimate, and deeply personal, it had stirred emotions before a single frame had even been released. And now, you were moments away from speaking with one of its stars. Drew Starkey.

You glanced down at your shoes, adjusting your stance and mentally rehearsing your questions one last time. You were prepared. You always were. But there was something about him—something about the way he carried himself, about the way he seemed to pull everyone’s attention with such ease—that made your nerves feel sharper tonight.

When you looked up again, there he was.

He moved through the crowd with an effortless grace, his tall frame cutting a striking figure under the bright lights. The black suit he wore was simple but impeccably tailored, fitting him like it had been made for this moment. His hair was perfectly tousled, the kind of artful mess that looked casual but probably wasn’t.

And then his eyes found yours, they locked on you like a spotlight, and for a moment, the noise of the red carpet seemed to fade. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, easy smile, and before you could fully process it, he was in front of you.

“Hi, Drew,” you greeted, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Welcome. How does it feel to be here tonight?”

His smile widened as he slid his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed but not careless. “It feels… surreal,” he said, his voice warm and measured. “Exciting, overwhelming, maybe a little nerve-wracking.”

His voice was low and even, carrying a weight that made you lean in slightly.

“Nerve-wracking?” You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That’s the trick,” he replied, leaning in just slightly. His voice dropped, soft enough that only you could hear over the noise around you. “Pretend you’re calm long enough, and eventually, people start to believe it.”

“That’s a powerful way to put it,” you said. “Queer has been described as raw, vulnerable, and deeply human. What drew you to this project?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as though searching for the right words. “It’s a story that matters,” he said finally. “It’s not just about one experience—it’s about the universal truths that connect all of us. Identity, love, loss, finding your place in the world. It’s messy, and it’s beautiful, and it’s real.”

The way he spoke, so deliberate and thoughtful, made your chest tighten. This wasn’t just another press soundbite—it was personal.

“And your character,” you pressed gently, “what was it like stepping into his shoes?”

Drew’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but there was something introspective in his expression. “Challenging,” he admitted. “And not just because of the emotional depth. It forced me to confront parts of myself I hadn’t looked at in a while. That’s what great stories do—they reflect you back at yourself.”

You nodded, his words resonating in a way you hadn’t expected. The noise of the red carpet faded further as the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

“What do you hope audiences take away from it?”

He exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing as he considered your question. “I hope they see themselves in it,” he said. “Even in the parts that feel uncomfortable. Especially in those parts. Because that’s where growth happens.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a ripple through you, and for a moment, you forgot the cameras, the crowd, the lights. It was just Drew, standing in front of you, baring a part of himself that felt achingly human. As he spoke, his hand gestured lightly, and for a moment, his fingers hovered near yours—close enough that you felt the faintest hint of warmth.

“That’s beautifully said,” you replied, your voice softer now.

His eyes held yours for a beat longer, and then his smile returned, lighter this time. “Thanks. You’re making this way too easy, by the way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Easy?”

“For me,” he clarified, his grin widening. “I usually have to work harder for good questions.”

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension in your chest. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

As the interview wrapped up, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “By the way, you’re good at this.”

The words sent a flicker of warmth through you, and you barely managed a reply before he was gone, disappearing into the next wave of flashing cameras. The warmth of his compliment lingered long after he pulled away, his grin softening as he straightened and offered you a small wave before heading to the next reporter.

Later, as you replayed the conversation in your head, the memory of his gaze lingered most. It wasn’t the kind of look meant to charm or deflect, but one that seemed genuinely curious, as though he were studying you in a way that felt both disarming and personal. The faint warmth of his compliment echoed in your mind, and though you tried to shake it off as professional politeness, a part of you couldn’t ignore the quiet connection you’d felt in that moment. It wasn’t just another interview—it felt like something more.

AN: i can't wait to see queer! love drew to pieces

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #xreader #x reader #୨୧ written by erin ୨୧ #writtenbyerin #🎀 ‧₊˚ ⋅ er1nne #drew x you #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fluff

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happilyhertale · 2 years ago

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Voiceless - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Summary: As the princess of the realm, the gates of the world are open to you. But after one fateful night, everything seems to change for you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Author’s note: Hey you (:

Another story, requested by a dear Anon (: Thank you for this request!

I hope you will enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Warnings: Violence, blood, fluff

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

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You lean your body against the wall and feel the coldness of the walls flow through your body, while distant echoes reach your ears. The graceful footsteps of servants echo through the corridors, accompanied by soft conversations that float delicately in the air. You hold your breath anxiously and remain hidden, fearing that the slightest sound might betray your presence. Only when the whispers have faded and you are sure they are gone do you let out a sigh of relief and the tension in your chest eases.

With newfound courage, you carefully disengage yourself from the wall. With a deliberate step, you walk through the winding corridors of Driftmark Castle. The dimly lit corridors, a secret labyrinth of shadows and secrets, bear witness to your clandestine excursion. Unnoticed by the outside world, you have escaped from your chambers, driven by a longing to glimpse the heavens once more before returning to the turbulent confines of King's Landing.

You have heard much of the island's enchanting night sky, where the stars appear with effortless brilliance, undisturbed by the burdens of a densely populated city. In this vast expanse of darkness, the stars shine, casting their celestial glow on the calm waters that surround the shores. And so, driven by this longing, you navigate the corridors of the castle, propelled by an inexplicable pull towards the sky that dances above the shores of Driftmark.

The day was accompanied by sadness and cast a shadow over the hours that passed. Your mother urged you and your brothers to be moderate. You were not supposed to frolic, but just stay by your family's side. So you and your brothers mostly just stood around nodding and smiling at the adults occasionally. But all you really wanted to do was frolic in the dunes with Aemond.

Today was the sad occasion of Laena Velaryon's funeral, a painful spectacle. Her daughters Baela and Rhaena have your full sympathy. The very thought of suffering such a devastating loss as that of your own mother Rhaenyra sends a shiver down your spine.

Lost in thought, you approach the exit of the castle. Your reverie was abruptly interrupted, however, and you were jolted back to reality as you perceive low murmurs that soon swelled to a tumultuous clamour. The echoes of discontent turned into cries of frustration and carried the weight of a brewing tantrum. You quicken your steps and approach the source of the uproar, only to be abruptly stopped.

You thought you were the only one awake. Yet here are your brothers standing in front of Aemond and they are shouting at each other. Baela and Rhaena are behind your brothers. You notice immediately that no one is standing next to Aemond. You walk towards the group, but no one seems to be paying attention to you.

"What's going on here? Jace?" you ask.

Jace finally turns his head to you, "Go back to bed, y/n!" he says to you.

But you don't listen to him. You walk on and stand next to Aemond. You see the corners of Aemond's mouth pull up briefly and barely noticeably.

"What's going on here?" you ask again.

"Aemond has claimed Vhagar! Vhagars is our mother's dragon!" shouts Rhaena.

Your eyes grow wide. 'Aemond has what?‘ – immediately pops into your mind. But you can't help feeling a little proud for Aemond.

"Your mother is dead," Aemond says suddenly. Your head snaps to the side, "Aemond!" you hiss.

But Aemond seems to pay you no mind, "Vhagar has a new rider now!" he says proudly.

"It was my right to claim her!" retorts Rhaena.

Before Aemond can reply, you lightly take his arm and try to pull him back a little. You know that arguments between them can escalate quickly.

"Rhaena... it is not written down anywhere who can claim which dragon and when..." you say quietly. "Dragons decide for themselves who they want as a rider," you say a little more confidently now.

Rhaena gives you an angry look, "How would you know? Has your mother died yet? Have you had any experience with who claims her dragon?" she hisses at you.

You are a little startled and take a small step back.

"Shut your filthy mouth," chimes in Aemond and suddenly he shoves you behind him.

"Maybe your cousins will find a pig for you to ride. It would suit you," he says with a sneer.

Rhaena suddenly goes for Aemond, but he grabs her and pushes her to the ground. When Baela suddenly stands in front of him and punches him in the face. He didn't expect that, he goes down. You cry out slightly.

As if of your own accord, you suddenly stand next to Baela and push her away to keep her away from Aemond.

Aemond gets back up, looking hateful. He has clenched his hands into fists and is breathing heavily.

"Attack me again and I'll feed you to my dragon!" he says angrily but still with pride.

You look to him, "Don't do that Aemond..," you say quietly.

He looks at you, his gaze softening a little. But he is immediately distracted again when he notices Jace coming towards him.

But it's too late, Jace punches him square in the face. You cry out.

"No! Jace!" you scream, trying to pull him away, but Jace just shoves you aside. He tries to hit Aemond again. He punches several times in Aemond's direction, but to no avail. Aemond deflects each blow. Until Aemond kicks at Jace and he simply goes down.

Suddenly there is a scream from Luke and he tries to go for Aemond. But Aemond just punches him in the face.

"Aemond!" you shout, and run to Luke, who is on the floor. His nose is bleeding and he is whimpering softly. You try to comfort him.

When you turn back to Aemond, you see the others coming at him. Aemond is lying on the ground and the others are standing over him. They kick and hit him. You stroke Luke's head once more before running back over to the others. You get hold of Rhaena's hair and pull her away from Aemond. She struggles, but you push her away, "Stop it now!" you shout at her.

Jace turns to you briefly when he hears you scream. But at that moment Aemond kicks him to the ground again.

Aemond stands again, breathing heavily. Luke goes towards him, but Aemond just grabs him by the collar. Suddenly you notice him holding a rock in his other hand and raising it menacingly. You are too frightened to react.

"You will die in the flames, just as your father did!" he hisses at Luke.

You just gasp out, "Aemond! Stop that right now!"

But Aemond is too angry to even notice anything else

"Bastards," he says hatefully.

"Aemond! Are you out of your mind?" you say angrily. You walk towards the two of them. Luke just whimpers softly, "But my father is still alive..," he says quietly.

Aemond looks surprised, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?" he says.

"Aemond. Stop it right now," you say to him again.

Luke has tears in his eyes

But suddenly Aemond pushes you to the ground and now you're irritated, but then you see Jace coming at Aemond with a dagger. It takes you too long to process this.

But then Aemond hits Jace with the stone. You get up and go back to Aemond, wanting to pull him away from the group, "Stop that, Aemond! Come with me" you shout.

You turn back to Jace and at that moment you feel a searing pain. You grab your neck and your hands are instantly wet. You hear a blade fall to the floor. You immediately look to Aemond in panic, tears are in your eyes. You are in pain and you start breathing faster. You can't scream and you panic even more. But instead Aemond screams.

"I will let you burn!!! You will die for this!!!" he screams over and over. You slump down and cry silently.

"No!", Aemond shouts and is immediately at your side.

"It's going to be alright! Y/n! Please..," Aemond says almost pleadingly.

"Y/n!" shouts Jace as he realises what he has done, kneeling beside you as well.

Aemond stands back up. He breathes heavily and feels an incomprehensible rage inside him. The rage inside him feels like nothing he has ever felt before. He still has the stone in his hand. He lets his gaze wander to the stone as his chest rises and falls, heavier and faster, again and again. He raises his hand and wants to hit Jace with the stone.

When all of a sudden Luke yells out. At the high-pitched scream, you look up. He has the blade in his hand and swings it.

Aemond notices too late, but suddenly he screams out and holds his eye. You have never heard such a pained scream. You push Jace away from you, desperately trying to crawl over to Aemond. By now your hands are covered in blood and dust, your own pain completely forgotten. You kneel by Aemond's side and are only distantly aware of Jace shouting at Luke. It slowly dawns on both of them what they have done. Rhaena and Baela stand terrified in the corner, not daring to say anything.

You, on the other hand, want to say something. You try to speak. You open your mouth and try to force words out of you. But no matter how hard you try, your throat only hurts. Every time you try to say something, it feels like nails are being driven into your throat and more blood runs down your throat. The front of your dress is now soaked with your blood.

You grab Aemond by the shoulder and try to turn him towards you. As he lies on his back, he whimpers and you see more blood. Your whimpering mingles with his and you let out a soundless scream. His blood mixes with yours on your dress as you lean down and try to embrace him.

Suddenly the Kingsguard comes running.

Tears run down your face. But the tears are not an expression of pain, but of helplessness. Because Aemond lies screaming on the ground and you can do nothing to help him. His hand covers his left eye. More and more blood seeps through between his fingers.

You are only distantly aware of being taken aside, you only have eyes for Aemond.

Everything happens so quickly. And the next moment you are in the throne room. The wound over Aemond's eye is being stitched. He is sitting on a chair and a maester is standing in front of him. You are lying on a couch with two maesters bending over you. You have been given poppy juice and are light-headed. After the bleeding has stopped, your throat will be stitched. Tears keep running down your face. When the maesters have finished, you turn your head to Aemond. You see him contort his face in pain as the maester applies the needle. You try to sit up, but the maesters push you back.

"You should lie down for a while, princess," says one of the maesters.

You want to answer, but when you open your mouth, no words pass your lips.

The maesters cast a meaningful glance at each other. At that moment your mother comes storming into the throne room. She goes worriedly to your brothers and hugs them briefly. But quickly she continues to look around, her eyes searching for you. And then she sees you and horror is written all over her face.

She comes rushing towards you.

"Y/n!" she calls. With her soft hands she takes your face in her hands.

"My girl, what's wrong?" but you can't answer and that scares you even more. Tears well up in your eyes. Your mother looks at the maesters, "What is going on? Why can't my daughter speak?" she asks demandingly.

And then the maesters explain to her that you will probably never be able to speak again.

"A silent princess...", your mother murmurs with tears in her eyes.

Some years have passed since then and you have come to terms with the situation as best you can. The scar on your throat has healed completely, but it still makes you uncomfortable. In the evening, you sit in front of the mirror and apply ointments to the scar, hoping that one day it will hardly be visible. But you can't stand the sight of it for long.

Usually the scar is covered with a scarf to hide it from prying eyes. You are very ashamed of it and it burdens you even more that you can never speak to the lords and ladies of the court. Nevertheless, you have learned to observe your surroundings carefully and to notice the smallest changes.

But this has also led to increasing isolation. Still, Aemond can be found by your side most of the time. Even before the accident you had felt a certain closeness to each other, but now you are connected because of your shared loss. Aemond shares much of his day with you, telling you about the books he is reading. Sometimes he even assures you that you are not missing anything by not taking part in the conversations at court, as they are all trivial and boring.

And you answer him tirelessly with the art of writing. Every morning, when the busy maids help you to dress, you carefully tie a small roll of parchment around your wrist. In a tiny pocket that you have carefully attached to your dress is a precious piece of charcoal. These humble tools serve as channels for your communication.

On this roll of parchment you write all the feelings and thoughts you wish to convey. Your bold and solemn as well as sometimes cheeky responses find their eternal place on this paper that will forever go down in history. Somehow you like the idea that everything you share will be recorded. Unless, in a fit of frustration, Aemond throws your cheeky answers into the nearest fire and tries to give you an annoyed look. Then you can't help a slight chuckle.

Over the years, feelings have been stirring within you. You have watched Aemond grow into an impressive young man. Even in his clothes you notice the muscular development of his body through his hard training. This thought pleases you immensely. Sometimes you cannot suppress a giggle when you meet him after training - sweaty and breathing heavily. Aemond then looks at you in confusion, but you just shake your head as your cheeks redden slightly.

Likewise, you enjoy your quiet moments together. You just sit together then, giving each other comfort. Just as you suffer from your scar, Aemond suffers from the scar that adorns his face. And he cannot cover it as easily as you can cover yours. But your conscience still torments you often because you could not protect Aemond back then. You may have lost your voice, but Aemond has lost half his sight. Since birth, he has had to fight for everything he has, and it seems that nothing will ever change. But the fact that you could not prevent your brothers from going against Aemond and that he had to give up his eye for it, eats away at you and gnaws at your inner self.

When the overwhelming feeling spreads through you, you do not even seem worthy to enjoy his presence or attention. As you stand in the training yard one day, your thoughts are once again corroded by this guilt. An uneasy state fills your chest and a pressure makes itself felt. Suddenly, however, you are torn from your thoughts. Aemond stands before you and a smile adorns his face.

"I have not seen you at all today," he says softly and his smile widens.

You smile too and take your small roll of parchment in your hand.

"I've been hiding from you," you hold out to him on the paper.

He chuckles briefly and suddenly holds out a small flower to you

"I saw this and thought of you," he says softly. With delicate grace, his fingertips caress a delicate strand of your hair and gently stroke it behind your ear. As if guided by nature's whisper, he lovingly nestles a flower in your curls and adorns you with an enchanting touch.

You are overwhelmed by the sheer grace of his gentleness

"Will you wait for me until the training is over?", Aemond asks you, but your mind drifts, deaf to his words.

The suffocating weight in your chest persists and grows stronger. It feels almost unbearable that he has such endearing qualities and showers you with care while you have been powerless to protect him from the clutches of your own brothers who are responsible for his painful loss.

"Y/n?", Aemond asks you again to get your attention.

"I can't read your mind yet, you have to write it down," he says teasingly.

But your eyes suddenly fill with tears – Aemond's gaze instantly panics.

"Y/n? What's wrong?" he asks. He wants to caress the softness of your cheek to soothe you. Unfortunately, fate intervenes and as he reaches out to caress your cheek, you turn and hurry away. Aemond is visibly irritated, but he cannot resist and follows you.

"Hey! Y/n, what's wrong?", Aemond calls after you.

You walk into the gardens and wipe away your tears.

By the rose bushes, Aemond reaches you and grabs you almost gently by the arm. He turns you towards him and you look at him.

"Hey..." he says gently, wiping away your tears.

"Tell me what's wrong," he adds.

You hesitate at first. But then sob quietly and then take the parchment in your hand.

"I'm sorry," you write simply.

Aemond reads these words again and again. His eye dart over the paper, as if he wants to grasp something that is between the lines and still eludes his eye.

"What exactly do you want to apologise for?" he asks you quietly after a while.

You sob quietly and start writing again.

"That I could not prevent it," he reads next.

Again his eye dart over the paper several times.

He looks up, "That you couldn't prevent what exactly?" he asks you.

Now you are starting to look annoyed.

"Pardon me, y/n, I can't figure it out," he says.

You write again, "I thought you were smart?" reads Aemond this time.

He looks up at you again.

"What's bothering you?" he says and sighs.

You start again

"I couldn't stop Luke from taking your eye. I left you alone, so to speak... It still gnaws at my conscience," with each word Aemond reads, his lips move slightly. He slowly looks up at you.

"You silly... It's not your fault I lost my eye after all... You didn't swing the dagger," Aemond says softly.

But you shake your head and start writing again.

"I should have stopped Jace and Luke... I could have done more. I should have just taken you and walked away with you. Neither of us would have been hurt. You could still see with both eyes and I wouldn't have to write on those stupid pieces of paper. I don't deserve your attention," you hold out to him on the paper.

Tears well up in your eyes again and as Aemond looks back up, shaking his head slightly.

"No," he says simply, taking your face in his hands.

"No. It's not your fault," he says to you. With his thumb he gently wipes a tear from your cheek.

"If it hadn't been for you, far more would have happened. Perhaps one of us wouldn't be alive," he says to you.

You want to shake your head again, but his hands won't let you.

"I don't care how much you resist... it's not your fault and you are the only person on this cursed earth who deserves my attention," he says softly.

You notice him slowly lean forward. Your breath catches and before you realise what is happening, his soft lips are on yours. Gently they nestle around your lips. You close your eyes and give in to the feeling.

His tongue explores yours and the feeling of being so close to him is as sweet as a warm summer day. You feel the warmth emanating from him and it envelops you completely.

After a short time, Aemond releases his lips from yours. He leans his forehead against yours.

"Don't ever think like that again... You saved my life... In that horrible night and afterwards... When you were always by my side," he whispers, his lips inches from yours. You just smile and let your lips meet his again.

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @believeinthefireflies95

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lamemaster · 6 months ago

Text

Return of the Traitor

Request: Literally no one. Not a single soul.

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: fluff, fix it-ish?

Summary: You have returned to Himring, to him, whom you are no more than a traitor.

AN: This has been in draft since Himring fell...

"With all due respect," the realtor squeaked, his voice a strained octave higher than usual. "This property has been on the market for centuries. Every venture initiated here has ended in heavy losses, not to mention the…spectral reports." He shot a nervous glance towards the crumbling ramparts.

A grim smile played on your lips. "Losses are one thing," you drawled, tracing the rough stone of the wall with your fingertips. "But some things are worth the risk, wouldn't you agree?" The realtor, a man whose immaculate suit seemed woefully out of place amidst the decay, coughed nervously.

You were back in Himring, the once-proud fortress of the first Feanorion. Centuries had passed since the ocean reclaimed it, but time seemed to hold no sway here. The wind howled through shattered windows, carrying whispers of a forgotten past.

The ancient craftsmanship still held. "Damn elves and their unrelenting craft," you muttered under your breath.

Ignoring the realtor's stammering protests, you strode purposefully into the dark halls. The halls of your dear nemesis. Wondering if you would have the pleasure of stumbling upon his wraith.

Hope, a fragile thing nurtured by years of longing and yearning, flickered in your chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, you would find him here. Maedhros, your nemesis, your lover, the ghost who unknowingly haunted your every waking moment.

You came looking for the unfairly handsome elven lord, who remained the most charming single-handedly, you snickered at your joke imagining the eye-roll Maedhros would have rewarded you with had you uttered such words in his presence.

The past. A time when love bloomed effortless and potent, strong enough to lure you across the vast expanse from the Eastern lands to stand at your lord's side.

But was he still your lord? The guilt gnawed at you, a constant companion. After everything you'd done, such a title felt like a cruel joke. Not a lord, not a friend, not even a lover could you ever deserve after causing the fall of Himring.

You, Ulfang the chieftain, became the fall of Himring. You, who was the cause of estrangement of the firstborn and secondborn. The idiotic chieftain who lost everything in one gamble. The weight of that choice, the burden of countless lives lost, pressed down on you like an invisible mountain.

Now you stand, entrapped in the gray area of past and present. Even death had failed to take Maedhros away from you. He lived still in your mind, body, and soul.

"I am here Maedhros," you whisper to the winds that rush through his fort. "Try not to kill me." You add as a second thought.

Day one started with a bang. Or, more accurately, a clumsy stumble. Despite a surprisingly good night's sleep (considering the freezing halls and the weight of the past), you woke up way past sunrise.

Stumbling outside, you squinted at the sky, a canvas of swirling gray. Rain, fantastic. Just what you needed. But a frown did little to deter you.

With a disgruntled sigh, you hefted the "saplings" you'd dragged all the way to the fortress. "Saplings" being a generous term for the small, but decidedly unyielding trees you clutched in your arms.

These weren't your typical saplings. No sir, these were chosen with meticulous care. Flowering Jasmines, delicate Gardenias, and yes, even a tangled mass of Rose vines – a blatant nod to Maedhros' preferences.

If Manwe had rain planned then you might as well make use of it.

Of course, you hadn't forgotten about practicality either. Tucked amongst the fragrant blooms were a healthy assortment of vegetables – you weren't about to starve to death while playing gardener.

Perched precariously on the crumbling balcony, you busied yourself adding some delicate periwinkles to the mix. That was, until your foot met a rogue root with the grace of a drunken bear. With a surprised yelp, you went sprawling – a tangle of limbs and saplings tumbling down towards the damp earth below.

The first sensation that registered was the bite of freezing rain stinging your face. Then came the thrum of pain, a low ache traveling from your shin all the way up to your hip. You lay there for a moment, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on your body.

Suddenly, the air seemed to shift. A new sound, a soft rustling perhaps, or a presence that settled on the world like a heavy cloak. Your breath hitched in your throat. Maedhros had finally graced you with his… attention.

A slow smile spread across your face, a blend of sheepishness and something else – a spark of defiance, a hint of something you hoped wasn't misplaced hope. "Well, hello there," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rain.

Falling from the balconies, getting trapped in musty rooms – these became your daily routines. The aches and pains were starting to accumulate, a dull throb in your ankle a constant reminder of your latest tumble. Despite the new collection of scratches and a growing limp, your spirit remained defiant. You were, after all, the same old you.

"By eru! Auugh-" You spit your soup coughing unrelentingly in the lonesome dining hall. "Oh my, that almost took me out," you panted, your tongue feeling like a desert after a sandstorm. "Soup of death, or perhaps a bowl of salt with a reluctant splash of broth?"

"Did not know death made trolls out of elves..." you chuckle giving up on the idea of dinner. "Or is it just you, my love?" You speak to the empty room. Bemused that the idea of Maedehros' antics.

Pushing the offending dish away with a grimace. Giving up on dinner, you surveyed the desolate hall. A flicker of sadness crossed your features as you noticed a chipped teacup lying forgotten on the floor. It was a simple thing, but it reminded you of a brighter time, a time when laughter filled this room.

A sigh escaped your lips. Why torture yourself with such memories? With a determined glint in your eye, you pushed yourself up from the table, ignoring the protest from your injured ankle. You were here for a reason, and a little soup-induced near-death experience wasn't going to deter you.

"Do whatever you must," you declared, a hint of bravado lacing your voice. You addressed the empty room, a bemused smirk playing on your lips. "I will not leave." As if on cue, a sudden crackle erupted from the fireplace behind you, sending a shower of sparks dancing into the air.

"I have nowhere else to be," you continued, feeling a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. He was here. He had to be. or you were having some very personal conversations with a random spirit.

A cold gust of wind swept through the hall, extinguishing a nearby candle with a hiss. You shivered, a flicker of vulnerability replacing your bravado.

"And if you think killing me will rid you of my presence," you continued, your voice gaining strength with each word, "you are sorely mistaken. This time, I will not leave. Not even in death. So pray to your Valar that I do not die and join you as a wraith, forever tethered to this accursed place."

You declare with borrowed confidence from your stupid past self.

Maedhros loathes you. He despises you. The way you are different yet achingly familiar, the way your body moves in a similar fashion, yet your hair shines differently in the sun – it is a constant torment.

He despises the wretched hope that blooms in his chest at your sight. Hope before, resentment. A racing heart before a broken one.

But he is not unchanged either. Times have worn him into a resentful sprite. A wraith instead of the elven lord you remember. A bitter existence opposite of what you remember.

At least that's what he tells himself as he watches you passed out in the rain or when he sees you throwing away another inedible dinner.

He wants you gone. He yearns to be free from the constant reminder of his failures, the embodiment of a love that has brought him nothing but ruin.

He will never offer you the solace you crave, the forgiveness you desperately seek. Love, absolution, even a semblance of the tenderness he once held for you – these are things he has long since locked away, burying them deep beneath the layers of his self-imposed exile.

At least that is what he tells himself.

He wants you gone, yes, but the thought of you suffering gnaws at him like a persistent ache.

He will never admit it, but he finds himself drawn to you. Following you into his own, long-abandoned chambers was an act of… what? Curiosity? A morbid fascination? Whatever it was, the sight of you dusting the ancient tomes he hadn't touched in millennia sent a jolt through him.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to warp. You were both in the same room, you dusting the shelves, talking in your usual way, oblivious to his presence.

And for once, Maedhros allowed himself to simply look at you. Not with the burning hatred he has cultivated for so long, but with a… a wistfulness he can not explain.

He even finds himself replying to your nonsensical chatter about fearing toads. It is a small indulgence, a rebellion against the prison of his own making.

The illusion is shattered with a deafening crack. The rickety bookshelf groans and then collapses, a cascade of heavy tomes raining down on you. Maedhros reacts on instinct, a desperate lunge forward that would have been pointless given his form.

As expected you pass through his outstretched arms, a wisp of smoke, landing with a surprised yelp on the dusty bed. A cloud of dust erupts, momentarily obscuring the room. When it settles, his breath hitches in his throat.

Your eyes are wide and startled, fixed on him. Your mouth is agape, and your eyes, glistening with something other than dust?

A tremor runs through Maedhros, with something he dare not name. Could it be…? No. It had to be just the dust. Just the dust.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion #maedhros x reader #maedhros #ulfang

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