#I know it's easier to finish a fic then post it

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Epic Buddie Fic Rec | March 31st-May 15th 2025 (PART ONE)

Hey guys.... long time no see ... 🙈

I've been really busy both at work and in my personal life, and I couldn't find the time to sit down and make the weekly recaps. (Part of that was planning a trip I am CURRENTLY on, making the most of this train ride to try and finish this goddamn post I started a week ago). As a result I have a month month and a half worth of fics to catch up on! Because of that, I'm gonna try and make the summaries shorter and the formatting easier because I have a lot of fics to go through! Also, I'm going to make one taglist for all the authors recced instead of tagging one by one for each fic!

Also, I am sorry to all the writers writing canon fics after 8x16, I just really haven't been in the mood to read about MCD. :/ Edit: godfuckingdamnit tumblr can't handle that many links but that just means I can yeet at least part of this rec into the void for now!!!!

@buckleyflower @exhuastedpigeon @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @shitouttabuck @useramor @evcndiaz @gigi-gigi @inell @cal-daisies-and-briars @songbvrd @challaudaku @pairofraggedclaws @tizniz @devirnis @facewithoutheart @greenbergsays @facewithoutheart @xylodemon @oh-stars @markofalover @spaceprincessem @coldbam @fruitsdontknow @chronicowboy

Complete

Boyfriend on standby by buckleydefender (Post-S8E7: Hotshots, Getting Together | 7K | G): Eddie realizes he’s gay, begs Buck to stop baking and gets a birthday cake and a boyfriend in one night

my place, my peace by buckleydefender (Eddie back from Texas, Getting Together | 8K | G): what happens when Buck becomes TikTok famous, people assume that Eddie is dead, then that they are married and eventually help them get together

🔥 maybe this time, I'll be yours, you'll be mine by Elgney (Canon Divergent, S2 | 22K | G): It's the 63rd Annual Los Angeles Fire Muster & Firefighter’s Family Day, and inter-station relations are about to get real friendly between stations 6 and 118.

can′t leave me alone by 42hrb (S8, Eddie back from Texas, PWP | 3K | E): “There wasn’t a line at the DMV, it was a miracle. I —” The words die on Eddie’s lips as he takes in the scene in front of him, his eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, a flush spreads over his cheeks. Buck must look a fucking sight and he knows it, his face hot with a mix of shame and arousal. He can’t look at Eddie, not when he’s still got a fucking dildo buried in his ass. Not when his cock is fucking leaking against his stomach. Not when looking at Eddie might be what sends him tipping over the edge, so Buck carefully looks at the wall behind him instead. “Y-you’re not supposed to be home yet."

ride it, my pony by weewooforever (Post-S8E6: Confessions, PWP | 4K | E): Eddie shifts again, lifting one leg over Buck’s lap so that he’s straddling him. And then Eddie starts to move and Buck’s brain completely short-circuits. Eddie’s hips roll forward deliberately, like he’s just letting himself follow the beat of the music. Then he rocks back again, and Buck feels the shift through every part of him. That’s when it finally hits him. This is happening. Eddie Diaz is giving him a lap dance.

to bake an orange creamsicle cake by agilerose (S8, Getting together | 3K | G): Buck and Eddie make a grocery store run to get ingredients for a cake, but instead of reading the grocery list, Eddie finds a note in Buck's phone all about him.

i looked at your face & i knew that i’d found it by fleetinghearts (Eddie back from Texas, Getting Together | 3K | G): or, it might be just slightly obvious that buck really, really likes to talk about eddie

🔥 if i have your heart forever by ipretendtobesane (Eddie back from Texas, Getting Together | 9K | M): The day Eddie returns to Los Angeles for good and the day he realizes he’s in love with Evan Buckley happen to be the same twenty-four hours, which makes sense, really, if you think about it. He was coming home. To Los Angeles, to the 118. To Buck.

Overflow Protocol by lethargicWaste (PWP | 10K | E): Or; Eddie finds out Buck has hyperspermia and is totally normal and sane about it.

in golden wednesdays (i see ocean blue eyes) by bibuckdiaz (Canon Divergent, Veterinarian Eddie | 12K | T): Veterinarian Eddie Diaz meets a man who turns his life upside down with his smile, his heart, and his adorable Golden Retriever puppy.

a fever you can't sweat out by evcndiaz (PWP | 5K | E): eddie chuckles at the sight of him, the sound of it so low and dark and cocky that buck swears to god he almost comes right then and there. “you’re a greedy little bitch, aren’t you?” buck moans.

SOS by paleredheadinascifi (Getting Together | 1K | T): Eddie: SOS Buck: ??? Eddie: How do you know if someone wants to kiss you Or, Eddie phones a friend. That friend just so happens to be the guy awkwardly avoiding eye contact with him on the couch.

no angels could beckon me back. by dylaesthetics (PWP, Nightclub | 3K | E): OR Buck wants to party with Eddie and ends up partying…Well, erm, hard.

Devour Me, My Love by giselleslash (Love Confessions | 3K | T): When Buck holds onto Eddie it quiets the noise and brings him back to himself. Eddie doesn’t want to need him, but he can’t stop. (basically Eddie being a freak about Buck. and then Buck being a freak right back.)

Thrill Me Like You Do by Inell (Getting Together | 2K | T): An unexpected kiss over breakfast dishes leads to Buck asking Eddie out for their first date.

Earth is a very small dot by paleredheadinascifi (Blind Date, Getting Together | 3K | T): Or, Buck goes on a blind date. Impossibly, so does Eddie.

🔥 your face has faded but lingers on by Daisies_and_Briars (Angel!Buck, Canon Divergent | 16K | M): After a minor injury, Eddie learns that for years Buck - who was lost in an accident years before - is his guardian angel. Now able to see and interact with Buck, the two develop an unusual and deep bond. One Eddie doesn't want to let go of.

Iridescence by songbvrd (Mermaid!Buck | 18K | E): When Buck's parents try to exchange him for Daniel's health, they're hit with unforeseen circumstances. 5 times Eddie tries to get Buck to open up and tell him the truth, and the one time Buck actually does.

five times buck and eddie talk about having kids (and one time they actually do it) by challaudaku (Established Buddie | 4K | T): It’s not the first time people assumed Christopher was Buck and Eddie’s son, and he is, really, but Buck’s still aware that he came into their lives, that he wasn’t always a part of it, however long ago that felt like. This isn’t going to be the last time someone assumes that, either, but every time sends a rush through Buck’s body, it makes him feel giddy. Having a kid. With Eddie.

made your mark on me by challaudaku (Post-Getting Together | 1K | T): “Was it too much?” he asks. “Too fast?” Eddie’s breaths are shaky and shallow, and then he gasps out, “Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?” - buck, and eddie, and deserving happiness

sweetness follows by pairofraggedclaws (Outsider POV, Getting Together | 4K | T): Buck and Eddie figure it out, through the eyes of Chimney, Hen, and Bobby.

gel jail by shortndiaz (S8, Getting Together | 2K |M): Buck hates Eddie’s hair gel. He sentences it to a life sentence in gel jail.

a spreading heat by Tizniz (Werewolf Eddie | 1K| M): But not today. Today, it’s like he’s unable to ignore the carnal want he has for Buck. And it’s a problem. OR: Eddie is starting his rut and has absolutely no idea.

morning, noon and nightfall by devirnis (New Years Eve, Proposal | <1K | G): It’s been a chaotic day, but the best kind of chaos. Many hands coming together to help decorate, prepare the food, set up games for the kids — as well as discreetly squirrelling away additional decorations and a themed cake that has nothing to do with New Year’s Eve. Buck loves it, loves hosting a big party for his family in their new house, but he also feels like he hasn’t had a chance to talk to his boyfriend all day. Fiancé in — he subtly checks his watch — less than an hour. Probably. Hopefully.

we are human after all by facewithoutheart (Eddie in Texas | 3K | T): With Eddie in El Paso and Buck resting from a minor injury, Buck buys one of those robot cameras for watching pets so he and Eddie can hang out all day.

stress relief by greenbergsays (Post-Shooting, PWP | 5K | E): Set in the aftermath of the sniper shooting. Eddie is feeling frustrated and Buck offers a helping hand. (With added feelings!)

tell me what you need by weewooforever (PWP | 6K | E): It was supposed to be a one-time thing. He’d asked Buck for sex that day because he was desperate and looking for something to relax him. He thought it would burn off the need, get it out of his system. But it hasn’t. Not even fucking close. (Part 2 of wants and needs)

I told my friends you were the one by Elgney (Chris POV, Reddit | 2K | G): r/relationships ConfusedKid • 1 yr. ago : Hi. I’ve never posted here before but my friends can’t help me so maybe you guys can. I (12M) have kind of been going crazy trying to figure out what is going on with my dad (31M) and his best friend, B (31M). (Part 2 of make way for Buckling)

Water Lovers by xylodemon (S8, Getting Together | 10K | E): (Or: Five Times They Shared a Shower at the Station and One Time They Shared One at Home)

🔥 playing favorites by 42hrb (Pepa POV, Canon | 10K | T): Vignettes of Pepa and her favorite nephew throughout the years.

Pauses, then says, "You're my best friend." by this_is_moony_lovegood (Eddie Back from Texas, Getting Together | 7K | T): When Buck walks in on Chris kissing his best friend, Aiden, Buck and Chris settle in for an overdue conversation about love, family, and being brave.

shoulda been me by Tizniz (S8, Eddie Coming Out, Getting Together | 7K | G): Eddie goes on a date, realizes some things, and Buck handles it in a perfectly normal and rational way.

If you Give a Buck a Baby by scarmaddiewrites (Canon, Multiple POV | 7K | T): If Evan Buckley came with an instruction manual, the number one rule printed in bold, underlined, and possibly laminated, would be: If Evan is sad, give him a child.

vuelve a mi by markofalover (S8E17: Don't Drink The Water, Pepa&Eddie, Getting Together | 2K | T): “All these years, I tried to,” she says, pausing to inhale. “Set you up, and I didn’t know. That your heart already belonged to someone.”

sick of the chase but hungry for blood by spaceprincessem (S8E17: Don't Drink The Water | 1K | M): or buck and eddie kiss during the kitchen scene

easy by coldbam (S8E17 Coda, Getting Together | 1,7K | M): "Buck, are you single?" Eddie snorts, leaning back in his chair. "Pepa, don't start." She swats him lightly on the shoulder. "Oh, Eddie, hush. I'm just curious," she says, a picture of innocence before she turns back to Buck with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"

featherlight by coldbam (Canon Divergent, Eddie in Texas | 7K | G): Eddie snaps the picture, and sends it to Buck without thought. New neighbour stopped by to welcome me Eddie had been drinking his coffee, sitting outside on his back porch, trying not to get overwhelmed at all the shit he still had to do at his new place. The bird, a sweet little thing with a yellow face, was a nice distraction, flitting around, probably looking for food through the overgrown garden. It doesn’t take more than three minutes before his phone buzzes with Buck’s response. think thats a verdin!!! so cool!!

I Don’t See Your Mistakes by fruitsdoesnotknow (Eddie Back From Texas, Roommates, Getting Together | 7K | T): They're asked a simple question. "When did you fall in love with your partner?" This is how they respond.

seeing him in a new light by Tizniz (Eddie Back from Texas, Getting Together | 1K | G): The big question Eddie has is: has Buck always been this big?

bet the house (watch it fall) by withmeornotatall (S8E17 Spec | 1K | G): (OR: eddie goes back to confession)

Earth is a very small dot by paleredheadinascifi (First Date | 3K | T): Or, Buck goes on a blind date. Impossibly, so does Eddie.

WIP

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 11/? | 21K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 26/28 | 139K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path

🔥 for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 18/19 | 189K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

Shake the Disease by Daisies_and_Briars (Post-S8E15 Sick Day, Canon Divergent | 2/9 | 10K | M): Six months after a lab explosion which left Buck the only surviving active member of the 118, Buck begins to experience strange symptoms that lead him and Athena, both trapped in their grief, into the depths of a conspiracy that might be more fact than fiction.

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 17/? | 72K | Teen): Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time?

Podfic

[Podfic] I'll Eat You Instead of Chocolate (You're Sweeter Anyhow) by Favourite_alias for letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Buck, BDSM | 2.5-3h | E): When the 118 is called to deal with a "dog" that ended up in someone's house, Buck sustains a bite. It's fine, in fact it healed really quickly, and he doesn't see a need to make any fuss. The fact that he's craving raw meat, wants to be taken on a walk, and has a crazy strong sense of smell now are completely unrelated. Definitely. For sure.

[regulusrules]

The journey of writing MBARBYC is truly changing my perspective on a lot of things. I'm simply loving the fact that, for the first time ever, I'm writing a WIP, and how it's fueling me to become consistent, not just in updates but in life as well.

Honestly I have always avoided posting WIPs like a plague, but now? I'm finding it freeing in ways I had no recollection of before. The fact that there is always something to go back home to do - the fact that there are a few handful people reading your fic, waiting for you - and the fact that you're building a little community of friends who are willing to go to the end of its line with you.

Writing stops being about validation or kudos in WIPs, and instead, you're more interested in hearing your readers bash you with invisible maces for what you're doing to their favourite characters, or giving you multi-coloured hearts for healing them. And in these few comments, these few expressions of love, you realise we're all just sides of the same coin, sharing our love for fandom in different manners.

Truly freaking awesome

[myokk]

autumn🫶

[lesbianangeldust]

huskerdust fic where angel has a flashback/ptsd moment during sex and husk helps him manage it (I am totally not projecting nor do I want to read this for my own mental wellbeing)

[whattraintracks]

Behold! The next part of the self-indulgent Castle-inspired Morgadec fic =D

Shoutout to @deedo2313, your tags on part one made my day 🫂

Cops & Robbers Pt 2 - First | Next

[]

By the time Karadec arrives at the bank, it's barricaded and crawling with law enforcement. Looking up at the bank's façade, unsteadiness pools in his stomach. He isn't technically authorised to be here, but. Where else would he be? With a flash of his badge, he slips into the sea of personnel.

The mobile command center is situated at the nexus of police activity. As he weaves toward it, he passes teams of armored officers, spots snipers on every roof, and hears the thrum of a helicopter overhead. Wearing only plain clothes, he feels even more out of place, wholly underdressed and vulnerable. He can't imagine how Théa and Morgane must feel.

He wonders, absently, what ridiculous clothes she's wearing today. He wishes he could see her. Wishes he'd said yes. To needing her, to there being a case. Maybe she wouldn't be trapped somewhere he can't reach her if he had.

He strides into the command center, and it doesn't take long for the RAID commander to notice him. "Who are you?"

"Commandant Karadec, Lille Judicial Police." He reaches for his badge, but the commander's more focused on an array of screens showing live footage around the bank.

"Pleasure to meet you," the man intones, "but I'm going to need you to step outside."

"With all due respect, sir," Karadec steps forward, "my partner is in that bank."

The commander turns abruptly. "We've got a cop in there?"

"She's a consultant," he corrects instinctively. "We were on the phone when the robbers took over the bank. She said there's four of them, dressed up in doctor's scrubs."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"They're armed with assault weapons. Various accents. The one I spoke with sounded American."

"You spoke with one of them?" He makes out the name Peltier on the commander's uniform. "What was the demeanor like?"

He pauses, remembering the chill he felt when the robber so casually threatened Morgane. "Calm. Very calm."

Peltier nods slowly, then turns back to the video screens. "Thanks for the intel. We'll do everything possible to get your partner out safe."

His stomach lurches. He has nothing left to leverage, but he can't—He needs to be here. To know what's going on, to be doing something. He works his jaw, trying to summon Morgane's endless charisma, her impish ability to worm into anyone's business.

"You missed your cue," Peltier calls over his shoulder. "You want to help your partner? Stay out of the way and let me do my job."

Karadec doesn't slam the door on his way out, but it's a near thing.

Gilles and Daphné are waiting for him by the police barrier, bobbing anxiously and checking for texts every few seconds. Daphné spots him first. "Did they tell you anything?"

"Only that my services aren't wanted," he scowls, and they deflate, concern and despair evident on their faces. He's reminded he's not the only one trying to look out for Morgane. He has a team who will back him up and is as eager to help as he is. They just need someone to direct them.

"Gilles, there's a unit on standby to storm the building; figure out what they know. Daphné, look for other robberies with similar M.O.s."

Reinvigorated, Daphné takes off, typing rapid-fire.

Gilles heads off in the other direction, but hesitates a few steps in. "Do they," he grimaces, "do they know anything about the hostages?"

Karadec exhales slowly. "I don't know."

Gilles nods, eyes scrunching sympathetically. "Good luck."

He nods back, reaching for his phone. If Peltier won't let him in, maybe Céline knows someone he can petition for more clearance.

But before he can even unlock his phone, someone calls out, "Commandant Karadec!" It's an officer from the command center. "Commander Peltier would like a word."

His return to the command center has Peltier's full attention. "You want to tell me what were you thinking?"

"Pardon?"

"As soon as I get our bank robber on the line," Peltier barrels on, "he says, and I quote, 'I will only talk to the Super Cop.'"

Ah.

"Yeah, I thought so." Peltier scans his face. "You wanted in? Well, you're in."

What? Karadec blinks, in shock. Of course, he'd like to be in the know without going over any heads, but "Sir, I don't have any training in hostage negotiations."

"And I don't have time to give you a seminar," Peltier snaps, "so think of it like this: do the opposite of whatever interrogation training tells you. Don't yell, don't bully, don't threaten him in any way. You do everything you can to keep him calm."

The sense of unsteadiness returns. He runs the advice over in his mind, rapidly attempting to weigh the pros and cons. This is his opportunity to do something and stay apprised of the situation inside the bank, but can he pull it off? What if he screws up? How many people could die as a result of his inexperience? He can't believe he rushed into this without a plan. Peltier stares him down, but he needs more time to think.

"Commandant. Are you up for this?"

A flash of red pulls his attention to the video screens. It's her car, illegally parked.

He's done a lot of new things for Morgane and made a lot of poor decisions. What's one more?

He squares his shoulders, facing the commander head-on. "Absolutely."

[porcelainvino]

how it feels to read off the gkm on live journal because i don’t want to make an ao3 acc

[audentesfortunaiuvatt]

At that stage of fic writing where the characters are about to kiss, and then I just can’t write anymore because the anticipation (and making sure to actually get it right) is too much lmao

[luvo27]

the snippets u’ve been posting… omg I’m already so invested in each and every one of them

:DDDD oh i'm so glad!!! yeah this is really me being like, wait no actually i love this concept and you know what? i AM good at writing and i like my stuff!!! it's a lot of fun!!!! and it's a super lot of fun to just post these unfinished snippets from abandoned wips in a nice low pressure no expectations kind of way and actually get to share them with people instead of letting them languish in my drive :DDD

oh also editing because i get so excited to chat that i forgot to say thank you. thank you simu!!!!!!

[eyepatchdate]

ok if i go with this AAAaM massacre!route dream idea. i DO have to figure out which goddess flynn would imagine being there (said goddess taking on a voyeuristic role, downplayed as the succubus barely needs to characterize someone uninvolved with the scene--aka VERY npc).

anyways. Current best answer to me is toki actually

[crows-of-buckets]

I need to draw my rook bc I actually do have some ideas for them I just. Have NOT been in a creating mood idk I'm so tired... Aoughgggh

[silverysongs]

quite a nasty ride

The ride back from London was terrible. Arthur’s ridiculous rhyme about the weather played in a loop in her head, and not for the first time did Guenevere curse the climate in England. Rain smacked on the top of the carriage, deafening when they passed under a copse of trees, and she closed her eyes against her pounding headache. The bruise throbbing underneath her eye and across her cheekbone kept her from leaning against the carriage wall.

Across from her, Sir Lionel sat scowling at the sword in his lap. She was certain he had his own bruises; she could see a line of dried blood trailing down his cheek even though his head was bowed. He hadn’t spoken to her except to apologize, profusely, face aghast, before they had set off again rattling down the road. As irritating and unpleasant as he was, she reflected, at least he had enough integrity to be remorseful.

Finally the noise of the carriage changed from rumbling to rattling—a sure sign that they were on cobblestones and not a dirt road. She couldn’t bring herself to feel relief.

Lionel dismounted first and then helped her down, surprisingly gentle. They made their way into the castle, painfully slow it seemed, or at least painful and slow. Her head still ached, and she had a suspicion that Lionel kept her hand tucked into his arm on purpose so that she wouldn’t stumble.

“Where to, ma’am?” he asked quietly.

She sighed. “The king’s office, Lionel.” She didn’t say thank you and he didn’t bristle like she thought he might.

They passed servants and knights as they moved through the halls, who watched their battered queen with wide eyes. She forced the corners of her mouth up to try and make an appearance of serenity, but she wasn’t sure it was very convincing.

Then Lancelot rounded the corner, and she felt a stab of dread. He stopped, bowed his head to her in respect, and then took a second look with narrowed eyes. “Your majesty—” he began.

“We were accosted by bandits on the road,” Lionel interrupted. “Entirely my fault. Which is what I’m going to relay to the king.”

“Your majesty—” Lancelot repeated, looking intently at her, but she held up a hand.

“I’m fine, Sir Lancelot,” she said, summoning the scraps of her imperiousness. “No need to hover. I’m retiring to my rooms as soon as we see the king.”

She meant it as a dismissal. He pressed his lips together very tightly, face a blaze of fury, but he nodded. “Sleep well, your majesty,” he said, and turned sharply on his heel back the way he’d come.

She had known he would be angry, and she was already exhausted by it. He had hated Sir Lionel since he joined the Table, and this would only made him hate Lionel more, which would create an even larger chasm between the English knights and their single French compatriot. And besides that, he would regret his anger—she could practically see him at the Table, shrinking himself to be smaller, shifting guilty glances her way—and he would treat her as though she were made of glass for the next few days, scared of hurting her more.

Lost in her thoughts, she was almost surprised when they reached the king’s office. The door was open, and she could see him at the desk, surrounded by uneven burning tapers, gnawing on the end of a quill. What a terrible habit, she thought, but even through her fatigue the thought was fond.

He looked up when they entered, smiling. “Genny! And Sir Lionel,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you together.”

“It’s not for a happy occasion, your majesty,” Lionel said heavily.

The smile faded from the king’s face, and he rose from the desk. “Sir Lionel,” he said, suddenly very serious, “why does my queen have a black eye?”

Lionel cleared his throat. “We were coming back from the fair and we were attacked,” he said. “There were highway robbers, waiting for some unsuspecting carriage.”

The king didn’t take his eyes off her face. “And you were unsuspecting?”

She heard the note of danger in his voice. “Arthur,” she said tiredly. “It was raining, and it was growing dark. He fought all three of them off once they were on us. Don’t judge him too harshly.”

“On the contrary, your majesty,” Lionel insisted, “I take full responsibility for whatever punishment you would give me.”

Arthur gave a long and hard look at his knight. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, only that like Lancelot, he was angry. When Arthur felt any strong emotion, he talked, and right now she could feel a tirade building. Please, she wanted to say, even though it was childish. Please don’t argue. Please don’t raise your voices. Just leave and let me go to sleep.

“I will think on it, Lionel,” he said finally. “I’m not in the best state of mind right now, and I’m afraid I’d be unjust. But I do thank you for getting the queen safely home.”

Lionel bowed his head. “Your majesty.”

Arthur watched him leave. His eyes flickered back to Guenevere’s face when the door scraped shut. “You could have been killed,” he said quietly. “They could have held you for ransom. Or taken you back to France.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” She was trying to be ironic but she could hear it fall flat.

His expression softened. “Let me look at you,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her to a chair. “Sit down. How did this happen?”

He was reaching a hand to her face, and she sighed. “When they jumped the carriage, one of the men slammed my head against the window,” she said. “I think they were trying to knock me out.”

He touched her chin, gently, and moved her head to the side so that he could see. Whatever he saw there, he winced at. “You’ll be a sight for a few days.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she asked, scrounging up some dry wit.

“Believe it or not,” he said, peering at her hair, “when you’re fighting a war someone’s bound to fall off a horse. We all learned what to look for pretty quickly.”

His tone was light, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want to think of the war. And horses made her think of the bandits, and she had determined not to think of them tonight, not when the memory still made her heart speed up.

He probed at her scalp and she flinched. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “You might have a headache in the morning, but you’ve got quite the goose egg, so I think you’ll be all right to sleep.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

His eyes showed surprise. “For what?”

“For not getting angry at Lionel,” she said. “For not starting a duel for my honor right here in this office.”

He smiled. “Believe me,” he said, rising and fetching a damp cloth, taking her face gently, rubbing the dried blood away from her face. “I’m angry, all right. In fact, I’m tempted to cancel the cattle show in London henceforth. Forever.”

“But?” she asked, then winced as he moved to her scalp. He stopped for a moment, and his hand dropped to her shoulder, steadying, almost as though he hadn’t thought about it.

“But,” he said. His eyes, so blue, and soft like water. “I was telling the truth. I didn’t think I would be fair to Lionel if I dealt him a blow here in this room.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek very hard, to not show her disappointment on her face. “I see.”

“And,” he continued, focused again on her head, “besides all that, you looked exhausted.” His eyes darted to her face, very quickly, and then away.  

Now she was smiling, despite the stinging pain as he tried to be gentle with the cloth. “I see,” she said again in a lighter voice.

He worked silently for a few more moments, and then finally leaned away. She was sorry for the loss of him. “Well,” he said, “that’s the most of it, anyway.”

The relief must have showed on her face, because he smiled. “What a day you’ve had.”

“Wait till you hear about the cattle,” she said.

He laughed. “Come on, Genny. To bed with you. You can tell me about the cows tomorrow.”

[musical-chick-13]

What if I made this as off-putting as possible instead of romantic.

[raksh-writes]

I have Finally finished the first chapter of my Master's thesis! 🥳🥳 Im like at least half a year late and have around 2-2,5 weeks to write the whole ass next chapter so Im COOKED still but oh well :') Im gonna take the rest of the day off to let myself marinate in this small win and then from sunday on it's gonna be a grind of reading material and trying to write at least the first version of the next chapter so hopefully my (truly wonderful :')))) supervisor (who sprung the '2 chapters minimum to pass' ultimatum on us Last Night) hopefully lets me pass and then I can work on all the bells and whistles of making it a proper chapter 🙈 But yeah, first a break for the mental health and hopefully teaching my brain its fun and nice and totally worth it reaching a goal 👌

[cleo-fox]

Safehouse

Summary: This mission wasn't supposed to go as badly as it has. There wasn't supposed to be a blizzard, you weren't supposed to get snowed in at a remote cabin, and there certainly was supposed to be more than one bed. And none of this would be a problem were it not for your completely irrational, ill-advised crush on Loki.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, p in v sex, fingering, workplace crushes, There Was Only One Bed.

A/N: I didn't think this was going to be the next fic I posted, but this has been 95% finished for over a year and I just figured out the final 5% in the last 72 hours. Don't ask me how my brain works because I truly don't know sometimes. Also, perhaps after you read this, you will think "hey, I would like to read another fic that involves railing Loki in the middle of a blizzard." Well, my friend, then you should read Some Things Are Easier to Say in the Dark by the great @loki-cees-all because not only is there a blizzard and one bed, it is also beautifully written.

You didn’t expect this mission to go as badly as it has.

It was supposed to be quick, one of those tidy in and out things that almost feels routine—or at least as routine as things ever get in this line of work.

No one counted on a fucking blizzard, though.

It comes upon you suddenly enough to feel suspicious—one moment, it’s slate grey skies and barely a puff of wind and the next thing you know, the wind is howling and whipping at your coat and you can barely see three feet ahead of you.

“What the fuck is this?” you shout at Loki, who looks just as perplexed as you feel. “I thought you said the radar was clear.”

“It was,” he says, frowning. He taps at the screen of the device, an overly complicated piece of tech that you’d delegated to him because Tony’s brief training sessions had made your eyes glaze over. Still, though, you know enough to tell that you’re looking at a weather map and there’s absolutely no sign of the storm that’s howling around you.

An uneasy feeling is bubbling in the pit of your stomach and prickling up the back of your neck. Everything about this feels wrong.

“We need to find shelter,” says Loki. You know him well enough to tell that he’s pretending to be really calm and unbothered because he doesn’t want you to know that something’s wrong. Normally, you’d call him out on that bullshit, but the creepy crawly feeling running up your spine coupled with the storm that doesn’t seem to exist has you itching to get inside as soon as possible.

“There’s a safehouse just west of this hill,” he continues, tapping at the screen.

“Let’s go, then.”

The trek to the safehouse is fairly demanding, even though the distance is short. You’re walking straight into the wind, which seems to grow stronger and more biting by the minute. The snow under your feet grows slick with ice and your pace slows to a crawl, though even that doesn’t stop you from slipping.

The safehouse turns out to be an unassuming cabin that’s a little too shabby to be rustic; in the biting wind and dim light of the storm, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You make it to the door and a few minutes later, you’re inside. 

The cabin has been unoccupied long enough to put a light layer of dust on some of the furniture, but not enough to render anything musty or moth-ridden. It is charming in a way that you don’t normally see with S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouses—handcrafted furniture that’s a little rough around the edges, pine board floors, a squat wood burning stove in the center of the room that makes you want to curl up and read a book. It’s…homey and maybe even comfortable, two qualities that S.H.I.E.L.D. is decidedly not known for. It’s a welcome surprise, given how this mission has gone so far.

Loki bolts the door the moment you’re both inside and quickly turns his attention to the windows. 

“I’m putting up wards,” he says. There’s a grim set to his jaw that you don’t particularly like, largely because you only see it when something is wrong.

The back of your neck prickles.

The wood burning stove is not merely decorative—it’s the cabin’s only heat source. There are a few places that are intended to blend in no matter what—you suspect this is one of them. You manage to get a fire going and you settle yourself in front of it while Loki works. You know enough to not interrupt him, even though you feel like you’re about to bubble over with questions.

It takes him a while to finish warding all the windows and you notice he shuts the curtains for each one once he’s finished, which sends another chill up your spine. When he finally joins you by the fire, he looks a little tired.

“So, I take it you can’t just magic that storm away or something,” you say, with a casual sort of tone that sounds strained even to you.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he says, which you sort of expected. The set of his jaw is still tight. “And even if it did, this isn’t an ordinary storm. Someone is doing this.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression.” You pause, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. “Any idea who?”

He shakes his head. “Someone very ancient. Angry.”

You exhale. “Great. Do I want to know what the deal is with the curtains?”

“We should not look outside after the sun sets.”

The skin on the back of your neck prickles. “Why?”

There’s a reason that they call Loki “Silvertongue:” he is a compelling, eloquent speaker. And the somewhat irritating part is that he can do this extemporaneously and effortlessly—he doesn’t need to think about it at all.

So the fact that he pauses for a moment to think scares you a lot. His gaze drifts to the fire, quiet and thoughtful, as though he might find his answers written in the embers.

“Imagine every ghost story you heard as a child coming true,” he says finally.

You don’t like how spare he is on the details, but an icy chill works its way up your spine and you get the eerie sense that someone is listening. Suddenly, you don’t feel like asking any more questions.

“Okay,” you say softly.

*

Being in close quarters with Loki is…something.

There was a time early on, back when you first started working together when you thought something could maybe happen between the two of you. It was hard not to���Loki is attractive, certainly, but he has a particular magnetic quality that can make a stadium full of people think that he’s talking just to them (incidentally, this is also one of the qualities that gets red flags and warnings added to his file at S.H.I.E.L.D.) When you experience that up close, well…it’s intense, to say the least. It becomes easy to believe that his smiles mean something more, that he sees something intriguing in you.

Your feelings for Loki aren’t exactly a crush, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Crushes are silly infatuations that make people do incredibly stupid things and entertain incredibly stupid hopes. You are a professional with a good head on your shoulders: you know better. You’re attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter because nothing is going to happen.

Perhaps more importantly: Loki is a god and you are not. You have a good relationship—your banter comes easily and he seems to enjoy talking to you more than he likes talking to the average person—but it’s strictly professional and that’s all it ever will be. The fact that you’ve been working closely together for three years without a hint of anything romantic only confirms your theory. He’s your colleague, nothing more.

Except…being trapped in a small cabin with him is dredging up a whole swarm of feelings that you would have sworn you had gotten over.

And the storm is showing no signs of stopping.

And there’s only one bed.

It’s a fucking cliché, the kind of thing you’d roll your eyes at if you saw it in a movie or read it in a book, but you’re a professional and you’re also not sleeping on the floor. Besides, you’ve both got sleeping bags and it’s a double bed—it’s not like you’ve got to curl up together or anything.

Not that you’d complain if you had to.

Which, again, is another feeling you thought you were over.

The wood burning stove is doing its best to keep up, but it’s still no match for the storm outside, even though Loki’s done something to the logs to keep them regenerating as they burn. You dig out an extra pair of woolen socks from your pack and pull on your fleece over your sweater and long sleeved thermal. You pile your coat on top of your sleeping bag, along with your share of the scratchy wool blankets you’d pulled out of the cedar chest by the foot of the bed.

Loki watches you with the lightly amused look that always feels like he must be quietly making fun of you.

“What?” you say as you settle yourself under the blankets. “Some of us are delicate mortals who find the cold a little uncomfortable.”

“I said absolutely nothing,” he says, though the glimmer in his eyes undercuts his point.

“You were thinking it.”

“Oh, the things I think of would turn your head, darling.”

You know that there’s no innuendo specific to you in that statement, but your body reacts like there is: your heart and stomach do a complicated series of flips that would put trapeze artists to shame and a heavy, familiar heat stirs hopefully in your hips. Outwardly, you roll your eyes at him and focus on arranging the blankets over your legs. 

“I’m well aware that your mind is a kaleidoscope of horrors,” you say.��

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s horrors so much as—”

You recognize that look in his eye: it is the herald of something wildly inappropriate. And while you’re no prude, the reality is that you’re about to share a bed with him and you will have no outlet for whatever feelings of lust this will inevitably provoke. Time to change the subject to something as far away from sex as possible, which happens to be whatever creepy fuckery is happening outside. 

“Speaking of horrors: why are you being so cagey about what’s going on out there?” you say.

You almost feel a little guilty as the teasing expression disappears from his face and settles into something grimmer. “It’s safer this way,” he says as he sets about preparing his own sleeping bag and blankets.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” you say.

“I know.”

It occurs to you that this is a perfect example of the cryptic bullshit that makes his intentions so hard to read. Is he saying this because he cares about you? Is he trying to prevent problems down the road? All of the above or something else entirely? Nobody fucking knows, least of all you.

You scowl at him and he looks completely unbothered, which is typical.

“I hate it when you do this, you know,” you say.

There’s a slight twitch to his lips that could be a hint of a smile and you’re embarrassed by how giddy that makes you feel. 

“I know,” he says.

“It makes me feel like you don’t trust me or something.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks at you and his face is so honest and open that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Of course I trust you,” he says.

There’s something unsaid in his expression and you’re not quite sure what it is, but it leaves you with a warm glow in your chest.

“Okay,” you say softly.

For the briefest of moments, the difference between god and human doesn’t feel so impossibly vast.

But it’s only a moment.

*

You fall asleep quickly, even with Loki lying so close by that you could count his breaths if you wanted to.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. The wind is still howling outside. Your mouth is dry and you fumble on the nightstand for your water bottle. Your fingers close around empty space and it occurs to you that you’d left it over by the fire.

You lie still, staring at the ceiling. The blankets have warmed up with your body heat and you’re not keen to brave the chill of the cabin. You could wake Loki up, maybe ask him to summon your water bottle to you. You nearly snort with laughter at the thought. That would go over well.

After a moment, you muster up all of your strength and willpower and haul yourself out of bed.

It’s not as bad as you thought it would be, in the end. You pad over to the fire and take a long drink from your water bottle, which turns out to be almost empty. You go to the little kitchen to refill it, idly listening to the wind howl outside.

You wonder if it’s still snowing, if the snow is piling up in drifts against the doors and windows, freezing you in. The thought of being stranded here with Loki is admittedly appealing.

Your brain is still a fuzzy from sleep and you’re a little distracted thinking about being snowed in with Loki and for just a moment, you forget what he said about not looking outside. You reach up to the kitchen window and push the fabric of the curtain aside to see how bad the snow is.

You’re not frightened at first because you only see shadows, but after a moment, you realize that the shadows are moving in an unnatural, broken sort of way, like someone had sculpted them into rough facsimiles of people and commanded them to walk, without really explaining what walking was.

Quite suddenly, they all turn and look at you. Or they would be looking at you if they had eyes. There is simply a void where their faces are, though somehow you can tell that their mouths are open, gaping and hungry, showing all of their teeth.

You feel something hook into the thread of your thoughts, tugging and pulling at your mind. The world tilts on its axis and there’s a sharp and white hot burning at the base of your skull that makes you cry out.

In the haze of pain, you think to yourself that it’s like they’re trying to take your soul and the shadows grin at you with too many teeth and a hissing, sibilant chorus of voices says, yes, we are hungry. So very hungry.

You know in that moment that they intend to kill you.

You are leaning closer to the window, your thoughts growing dark and murky as something saws away at the thing that tethers your soul to your body and there is so much pain and all of those horrible spindly hands and grinning mouths are reaching for you—

Someone is grabbing you around the waist and you scream because you think this must be the end, but instead, they’re pulling you away from the window and yanking the curtain closed and you realize it’s Loki.

There is a flash of green light and the connection between you and whatever is outside breaks abruptly and the pain retreats to a dull ache, like your body is carefully starting to repair those shredded, fraying threads that the shadows were tugging on. 

Loki’s eyes are wild and he looks at you like he half expects you to disintegrate or melt into the shadows. You are suddenly shaking so badly that your legs start to buckle.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” you say through chattering teeth. The cold you feel is bone deep and unnatural. “F-f-forgot.”

“Foolish girl.” He says it without malice, almost with affection, though his face is drawn tight with something like worry. Your legs are about to fail you, but he’s right there before they can, scooping you up into his arms like it’s nothing.

You snuggle up against his chest almost automatically, your body instinctively seeking out heat. “S-s-s-sorry, c-c-c-cold,” you manage to squeak out.

“I know,” he says and it almost sounds gentle. He is carrying you across the room and climbing back into bed with you in his arms, drawing the pile of blankets and sleeping bags over the two of you. 

The wind howls and you shudder, realizing for perhaps the first time that it may not be the wind making those noises. Loki stiffens, his grip on you tightening. 

“Did you see their eyes?”

You shake your head.

You feel some of the tension leave him, though not all.

You have so many questions, but that unnatural, bone deep cold is making you sluggish and sleepy and your teeth are chattering so hard you wonder if you’d even be able to speak at all.

“You need to rest,” he says. The cold feels like the sort of thing that could easily claim you while you sleep and he must see that fear reflected in your eyes because his expression softens ever so slightly. “Rest. I’ll keep you safe.”

You don’t like how quickly that line melts you. You tell yourself that it’s only because you’re so cold and tired, but you know that’s not entirely true. 

You allow your head to drop to his chest and he readjusts his grip on you, smoothing one hand against your hair, resting his chin on the top of your head. You try to catalog all of the different senses—the way he smells like snow and pine, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you—but sleep is pulling insistently at your eyelids and you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

“Rest,” he says, and this time it sounds like a command.

Your eyes slowly slide shut and sleep finally claims you.

It seems like you sleep for a long time. Your dreams are strange and unsettling and have an odd sort of veneer, like they’re real but not quite. 

The first time you wake up, it’s because of a nightmare. You are back at the window and the things outside are threading their fingers underneath the panes, reaching for you with their spindly hands, clacking their too sharp teeth. You don’t know where Loki is and you’re trying to back away as they reach for you, and one of them is wrapping its fingers around your wrist and you can see its eyes and—

You thrash out in your sleep and gentle hands are soothing you. You wake abruptly, shaking, blearily looking up at Loki’s face.

“They—they were coming for me,” you manage to sputter out.

“Shh.” Loki is stroking your back. “You’re safe. I won’t let them harm you.”

Your pounding heartbeat takes a moment to settle, but the gentle pressure of Loki’s hands on your back calms you slightly. There’s a tenderness in his actions that you don’t necessarily expect, but it also feels so right and natural that you wonder how you could have ever been surprised by it.

“What are they?” you ask.

“That’s an answer for daylight, love,” he says. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe.”

You want to protest and push for answers, but you’re so very tired and he’s smoothing your hair again and you can feel exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, ready to pull you back under.

“I’m holding you to that,” you manage to mumble at him. “I’m not going to forget.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Sleep, darling.”

You fall back under.

Your dreams are still wild and strange this time around. You wake again a few hours later, teeth chattering and tears streaming down your face. Loki wraps you even more tightly in his arms, drawing more blankets over the two of you, conjuring an additional pile of furs. You try to tell him to save his magic for the wards and the fire, but he hushes you and mutters something about how that’s not exactly how it works, even though you’re pretty sure it is.

You sleep again.

You have a half memory of him quieting you and pressing his lips against your forehead, but you’re not quite sure if it’s real or wishful thinking.

When you wake again, it’s still dark and the wind is still howling. The cold has retreated somewhat—it’s not as sharp, not as biting, but you still need the warmth of the blankets and Loki’s arms to keep it at bay.

You’re a bit more clearheaded now, so there’s part of you that feels a little embarrassed about what happened. It was a stupid mistake. Rookie level. You know better.

“Are you awake?” Loki’s voice rumbles pleasantly against your ear.

“Sort of.” You hope he continues holding you. You’re not quite ready to give up his warmth or his arms just yet.

“How is one ‘sort of’ awake? Either you aren’t or you are,” he says.

“I’m very talented,” you say. It’s not particularly funny, but he humors you with a soft laugh, more exhalation than anything else.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Still cold,” you say. While it is true, you’re also secretly hoping that the more you emphasize this, the more likely he is to continue holding you. “It’s better than it was, but it’s still bad.”

As if to prove a point, a shudder works its way through you. Loki shifts, rolling over so his body covers yours, pulling the blankets up so they cover your shoulders. It helps, but there’s now a degree of intimacy there that makes your heart stumble in your chest and your breath catch in your throat. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but with his green eyes bright above you, you can’t help but hope he does.

Leave it to him to ruin the moment.

“That was very foolish of you,” he says, his expression becoming serious and his voice taking on that hard edge that you only hear when he’s trying to pick a fight.

You exhale sharply. “Are you seriously trying to do this right now? I told you it was an accident. I was half asleep.”

“I’m not fond of close calls,” he says tightly.

“Oh bullshit,” you snap. “You fucking love chaos, don’t tell—”

“It’s not chaos, it was foolish and dangerous—”

“For fuck’s sake, do you think I’m not aware of that? I’m not—”

“You could have died.” He’s not yelling, but he’s raising his voice and there’s an unexpectedly strained quality to his tone that you don’t know what to do with. “It’s not chaos, it’s not an accident, it’s—”

For a moment, he seems like he might be at a loss for words, and for some reason, this enrages you.

“It’s what, Loki?” you say with more venom than you intend. “Please enlighten me, since you’re such a fucking expert.”

You’re not quite sure what line you’ve crossed, but you think it must be an important one based on how angry he looks.

“You truly are infuriating,” he says. “You nearly get yourself killed and you have the audacity to speak that way to me after I save your life!?”

And before you can say a word, he brings his mouth down on yours in a bruising kiss.

His tongue sweeps past your lips, seeking out yours, demanding and hungry. Your response is reflexive and instinctive, your lips parting, tongue meeting his. You return his kiss, even though you’re still a little mad at him and he’s maybe still a little mad at you. But his mouth loses that hard edge as you kiss him back, his touch turning softer, more tender, but still urgent and wanting.

“Do not scare me like that ever again,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you in between words, each pause punctuated by the soft caress of his lips, the silky warmth of his tongue. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

You are astonished and somewhat perplexed. “I…I didn’t even know that you…that you wanted this—“

“Darling, I have thought of little else.”

His mouth covers yours again and you are drowning in the feeling of him. The cold that has settled in your bones is melting like snow in springtime. You move your hands along his shoulders, tentative at first, then a little braver. You thread your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it is. He deepens the kiss, his fingertips tracing the curve of your cheekbones. 

It’s dizzingly good and you want more. You need more. You arch against him in a clear invitation, reveling in how perfectly his body fits against yours. He sighs and presses back against you briefly before pulling away.

“You should rest,” he says, his voice slightly strained. “You experienced some very powerful magic—I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

“I won’t,” you say, tugging him back down to you. He allows this for a moment, his hands cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss with toe curling intensity.

And then he draws back.

“You really do need to rest,” he says.

You shake your head. “I need you, Loki.”

His lips and tongue are just as insistent as yours when you pull him back into a kiss. You can feel him growing hard against your thigh and when you wrap your legs around his waist and rock your hips against him, he groans and nips at your lip before withdrawing again.

“Darling,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I can stay on my back,” you say.

“Appealing as that is, you’re rather ignoring my point.”

“And you’re ignoring mine,” you say, rolling your hips again. His eyes close for a moment as he presses back against you, his hand sliding along your thigh. Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down into a kiss that he returns without protest.

You catch his lower lip between your teeth and he sucks in a deep breath as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” you breathe. “I need you so bad.”

He groans as he lowers his head to the column of your throat. “I’m trying to keep you safe and you’re tempting me like this.”

“Touch me and tell me I need to rest more than I need you.”

It’s a bold thing to say and your heart pounds with anticipation as you feel him nip at your collarbone. His hand pauses at your hip, so close to where you need him. You wait a moment and then take his hand in yours and guide it underneath your waistband and between your legs. He lifts his head, gaze snapping to yours and the moment that his fingers graze your slickness, you know that you’ve won.

“Oh, you’re dripping,” he says, his voice dropping and his eyes darkening with lust as his fingers swipe across your clit.

You’re tempted to tell him that you told him so, but this still feels so fragile and tenuous that you settle for a more flattering truth: “Loki, I need you.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He shifts on top of you so that you feel the hard press of his cock against your hip.

“Same thing that you’re doing to me,” you say. “Which is why I need you to fuck me.”

He sighs, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “You really ought to rest.”

“I can stay on my back,” you say. “You can take me really slowly and gently. Think about how good that will feel.”

“Darling,” he says. You can see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes and you know that you’ve almost won. You feel your orgasm starting to coil like a snake in your belly and you moan, rocking your hips with his hand.

“Loki.” You lick your lips. “Don’t you want to feel me come on your cock?”

You know the exact moment he gives in—you see it in his eyes. Less than a second later, he’s sliding one long finger inside of you and curling it just right.

“Not before I finish what I started.” His voice is a low growl.

“Yes,” you breathe, letting your head tip back against the pillow. “God, that feels so good.”

“I can feel you trembling,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you going to come for me already? I’ve barely touched you.”

“I told you: I need you,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening in a very attractive way. “You’re not getting pert with me, are you?”

There’s a particular tone to his voice, a sternness that makes you shiver. Something to explore later, perhaps—right now, you need him too badly to play games.

“No, just trying to emphasize that I need you.”

“Are you really that desperate for me? Do you really need me that much? Surely you could touch yourself, surely you don’t need me that badly.”

You know that he’s saying that to amp you up, to tease you. But you are also so desperate to come that the idea of not having him is beyond comprehension.

“I do,” you say, a bit of desperate note making its way into your voice. “I need you, Loki, I need to come for you, need you to fuck me, please don’t make me wait, please, please, please—”

He stops your mouth with a kiss as he eases a second finger inside of you. “I’m going to take care of you, sweet thing,” he says as you gasp at the stretch. 

His fingers are curling inside of you, his thumb working your clit in small, tight circles that are pushing you closer and closer to the edge as a fantastic pressure builds inside of you.

“Oh, that’s it.” His eyes are dark, pupils wide and lust-blown. “I can feel how close you are.” He brings his lips to your ear. “Come for me and then I’ll fuck you properly.”

Your breath hitches as you reach your peak. “Oh god—I—fuck, I’m coming, I’m—”

Your voice cuts out as you come, pure pleasure blooming low in your hips, your back arching against the mattress as Loki works you through it, murmuring soft encouragement as he watches you shake in his arms.

“You’re beautiful when you come undone,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Utterly stunning.”

You fumble for the waistband of his pants, your fingers slipping over the fastenings. “I need you,” you say, tugging at the fabric.

His mouth curls into a smile, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you quite certain?”

Leather yields to warm skin and you slide your hand into his pants, wrapping your fingers around his cock. He inhales sharply as you stroke him, his eyes turning dark.

“You’re presenting a very compelling argument,” he says.

“Think about how good you’ll feel inside of me,” you say, gently increasing the pressure on his shaft as you move your hand.

“Norns, woman.” But he’s rolling on top of you as he says this and sliding his pants off his hips. He pauses briefly to divest you of your pants and underwear. A shiver works through you during the brief moment when your bare skin is exposed to the chill of the room…and he notices right away, hesitating slightly as his brow furrows in concern.

“Don't you dare stop,” you say. “I don’t care if I get hypothermia and die, I will straight up implode if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He chuckles, pulling more blankets around the two of you as he settles himself between your thighs. “Are you always so demanding?”

“Look, you’ve been teasing me for the last twenty minutes and you’ve been strutting around in those fucking leather pants for a lot longer, so forgive me if I’m a little impatient.”

He pauses above you, his expression deadly serious. “Let's get one thing quite clear, my love: I do not strut.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes and you smirk back at him. “You totally do.”

He lines up the tip of his cock with your entrance. “I walk with the gravitas and stature appropriate to my station.”

“You strut and I know you strut because it’s extremely distracting.”

His smile is sly. “Tell me more about how I distract you.”

“You make me think about doing this with you.”

The tip of his cock eases into you. “Do I? How often, would you say?”

“All the time.”

He sinks in another inch. “All the time?”

“Mmmhm.”

One more inch. “That does sound terribly distracting.”

“You’re still trying to tease me,” you say and he grins and gives you another inch.

“You wouldn’t want me as much if I didn’t.”

“I’d want you always, no matter what.”

His gaze turns serious and he leans into kiss you, his hands stroking your cheek as he sinks into you fully, all the way to the hilt. You gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate him, your legs wrapping around his waist to hold him even closer. He’s still for a moment, his eyes shut.

He opens them.

“I’ve waited so long to have you,” he murmurs.

“You have me,” you say. “You always have.”

He kisses you deeply as he starts moving, slow as honey, sweetness in every thrust of his hips or touch of his lips. He fills you in a way that you’ve never experienced, his cock bumping up against that tender place inside you, making you gasp and pull him deeper. 

It builds slowly and steadily, the muscles of your cunt tightening as he takes you higher. You shudder as your climax builds.

“That’s it, my love,” he breathes. “That’s it.”

You inhale sharply, your orgasm swelling within you, rising, about to pull you under. You ride that wave, your hips rocking with his. You try and hold on for as long as you can because he feels so good and you don’t want it to end, but eventually, it becomes too much.

You keen and he kisses you. “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”

Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and all your muscles tense and release as you come. Loki sucks in a sharp breath, brow furrowing.

“Fuck.” His pace increases slightly. “You’re divine.”

Less than a second later, he’s also unraveling, his expression of ecstasy particularly beautiful in the flickering firelight. Even in the hazy afterglow of your own pleasure, you can’t help but stare at him, utterly spellbound.

As soon as he catches his breath, he kisses you deeply and slows to a halt, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

“I don’t want to say I told you so—” you start.

“That’s a lie.” His reply is prompt and accompanied by another deep kiss.

You smile against his lips. “Okay, maybe I did want to say I told you so.”

“Better.”

You feel pleasantly loose and sleepy, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. He seems to notice your fatigue and raises an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I say I told you so?” he asks as he slowly eases out of you.

“Mmm, but it was so worth it,” you say. “So I’m basically right.”

“That’s not how that works,” he says.

“I’m not listening to you,” you say. “I need to recover my strength.”

“Now you’re just being pert.” He shifts to his side and draws you close so he’s spooned up against your back.

“You like it,” you say, barely stifling a yawn.

“Mmm, I do,” he says, drawing the pile of blankets back over you both. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah, but don’t go anywhere.”

You feel him smile as he presses a kiss against the back of your neck. “I don’t intend to.”

“Good.”

You both fall asleep like this, wrapped around each other, warm and safe from the storm outside.

[letstrywritingmaybe]

I’m only halfway through Royal Blood’s album (I know I should be better. I’ve been slacking music wise *sigh) and it’s so much softer sounding than their other albums. I haven’t looked up the lyrics yet since I usually like to do the first listen just as is. Idk how I feel yet, but I do know I Wish I Cared Less is absolutely due for an update. Especially since I have more songs now. I have a very clear ending and it’s been the same ending I’ve planned from the beginning. I’m just not sure how I’m getting there yet cause I’ve changed my mind a million times. And though I love this verse I really think it needs to end, I don’t like when things are dragged on too long (I’m looking at you Asian dramas cause is 100+ episodes necessary!?! But also det co. Just end so I can stop caring. End my misery and don’t ship bait me cause that fucking sucks ass. I’ve been betrayed before and I’m still bitter). I opened up the doc after forever yesterday and worked on it a little. Since I’m done with the September prompts early, I’m hopefully gonna dedicate the rest of this month to finishing at least the chapter. I feel like it could end in maybe two more? I’ll be one more step closer to freedom. But that really means I won’t feel as bad when I start posting the midnights album fic (which I still need to finish too… it never ends I swear *sigh)

Update: this new fic on ao3 just got me so bad. I have to lie down. I mean I’m already laying down but Omm. I need a moment. I’m telling you CoAi fics written in Chinese just hit different

Update 2: okay now that my Steelers have won and I’m done crying over the win, I can go back to reeling over CoAi. Or I guess shinshi. If you can read fics in Chinese, do yourself a favor and read the latest fic by EvaRosalene cause it is so good! I just finished leaving my comment after thinking about it the whole day after reading it and I’m just… honestly my comment cannot hold a light to the fic, but I had to gush. I pride myself on being a great commenter, even if it’s just me rambling a lot. But it’s always genuine and it’s always me getting in my feels. Especially my long comments, like sorry but I can’t shut up if I really like something. I will let you know it! But anyways, go read the fic. It’s so good!

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: A Gravity Falls comic set in dark-lord-of-awesomeness' shapeshifter Stan AU, in which Stan got stuck looking 17 because he doesn't know what his face is supposed to look like.

Stan and Fiddleford are sitting at the kitchen table.

Ford, passing by holding a cup of coffee: "What are you doing?"

Stan: "Trying to find a fake ID with a face fit to be around a kid. In case I get pulled over." He squints at his ID cards. "Andrew you're terrifying. Hal you're a creep. Madame Mystery is a weird old woman… Mr. Mystery is a weird old man…"

Ford, pouring a cup of coffee: "Why don't you just be yourself?" Then aside, "Hm. That sounded more like an inspirational children's cartoon than I intended."

Stan: "Well the ID with this face on it expired years ago, and I refuse to admit I'll be stuck with it long enough to need a new one."

Ford, grimacing and sipping his coffee: "What about your face? The right age? Why do you need to be someone else?"

Stan, looking away uncomfortably: "Look your options are this face, which I don't have a drivers license for, someone else, which I do, or you." He points at Ford. "Your face. Me pretending to be Stanford Pines."

Outside of the panels, text reads 'the classic Stan "points at you and said something rude" deflection tactic'

Fiddleford: "We do have a license for that face!"

Stan: "See? Listen to your boyfriend."

Fiddleford: "I am NOT his boyfriend."

Stan: "Whatever you say, guy whose name no one has told me." End ID.]

im home from work bc i Got Injured so im indulging myself by finishing and posting an incredibly noncanonical joke i made about @dark-lord-of-awesomeness's shapeshifter Stan AU (fic here). stan has since learned fiddleford's name unfortunately, but i love to bully him.

[sorry about no id but i injured my hand and typing this took a really long time] EDIT! i added an ID! In retrospect the presence of both ID as in identification and ID as in image description is a little bit confusing and I apologize for that. Also I didn't actually type it, I tried out my computer's voice to text, which made making this much easier! because I still only really have one hand

bonus: things i couldnt make them say but which theyre thinking anyway

[ID: Two panels from the above comic, one of Ford's face and one of Stan's face. Behind Ford, text reads: "He doesn't want to stick around. I abandoned him and he left and found his real family and I lost my chance to be his brother." Behind Stan, text reads: "I can't look 28 because I don't know what I look like and if I make it up then I'm turning Stan Pines into a character but he's NOT a character he's me." End ID.]