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devil-in-hiding · 6 months ago

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On The Run

Pt 3

At some point, Soap and Gaz fall asleep on the couch, sprawled across one another. Ghost is laid back in one of the recliners, struggling to keep his eyes open as Price’s voice lulls him to sleep from the kitchen.

You're not sure how long the two of you have sat here. It took Price an hour to finally open his mouth. He has hardly met your eye since he’s started talking, hands clasped together on top of the table.

The ache you felt in your chest for these men worsened the longer Price spoke. Proud military men, tired of seeing the monsters they hunted get slaps on the wrist for atrocious crimes. Making plea deals with lawyers, getting one way tickets into luxury cells when they should be six feet underground.

You don’t realise Price has stopped talking till Soap snores, causing Dixon to shuffle at your feet, all four dogs scattered around the kitchen floor. You look him over, taking in the man now that all his bravado has been drained, leaving only the raw human underneath. Blue eyes darkened by years on the force and then years behind bars, forced into proximity with the very animals he and his team longed to put down. You’re looking at a man who fought for what was right and when justice wasn’t served in a way he deemed fit, he settled it.

Price is staring down at his hands, and you’re worried he’s going to hurt himself with how vigorously he rubs his hands together. You don’t think, reaching across the table and grasping one of his hands in yours, running your thumb across scarred knuckles. “Don’t do that.” You scold, and his head whips up to stare at you, eyes wide, hopeful but hesitant.

He looks down at your hand holding his, then back at you. “You’re not…?” He trails off, clearing his throat as he sits up straighter, letting your palm slip into his. You’re not sure what word he was going to use, but you shake your head.

“I’m… I’m sorry you all had to…” You don’t finish your sentence, letting it hang in the air between you. You’re shocked to see tears pool at the corner of his eyes but he’s quick to blink them away.

“You’re not horrified by us?” He asks, and you can tell he’s trying to fight his voice from shaking. You clear your throat, but gently squeeze his hand when his grip loosens.

“You have done… horrible things. Inhumane things.” You start, trying to pick your words carefully as you scoot your chair closer to his. He watches you warily, but there is no denying the growing hope in those eyes. “But I couldn’t imagine seeing what you saw everyday. Hearing the things you’ve heard, having to keep that all to yourself. Seeing… monsters you’ve spent years tracking get served the minimum sentence with a cozy cell waiting for them.” His hand starts to shake, and your heart breaks seeing how hard he’s fighting back the tears pooling in his eyes. “We never would have actually hurt you, I swear on my life. We just… Fuck we had been running for fucking hours through those god damn trees and-“ His voice cracks, and you gently run your thumb over the back of his hand. “Why are you being so nice?” He almost spits the word, but his grip on your hand tightens.

Grounding.

“You did as I asked. You told me the truth.” You mirror his words from the barn, and he barks out a wet sounding laugh before covering his face with his free hand. “And you’re happy with that truth?”

“I’m happy you decided you could trust me enough with it.” You admit softly, and he stares into your eyes, and you don’t feel the need to look away this time. “Anyone else would have gone running for the hills.” He whispers, and you can’t help but smile.

“Not many places to run to, and if I’m telling the honest truth, there are worse things than killing human filth.” You shrug, and he lets out a bewildered laugh. “You can’t mean-“

“I do though. There are people in this world that don’t deserve the freedom they have, that have ripped apart the lives of others and continue living like they didn’t single-handedly ruin someone’s entire foundation.” Your words are a little more forceful than you intended, raw. And Price catches it, sitting up a little straighter, tugging your hand closer.

“You have your own monster, don’t you pretty?” He asks seriously, and you swallow, lowering your gaze to your clasped hands.

“I think that’s a story for another night.” You whisper, and you see him nod, before realization hits, and his eyes widen.

“You’re going to let us-“

“You are going to have to show me that I am not making a mistake by letting four wanted men stay in my house.” You interrupt him, but there’s a smile on your face. The next seconds are a blur and you suddenly find this giant of a man at your feet, kneeling in front of you and holding both your hands in his. His shoulders are shaking, head bent but you hear the hitch in his breath.

“Price..” You murmur, a little nervous but you slip your hands free, slowly running your fingers through his hair, and you hear the sob that leaves him. He bunches up the loose fabric of your sweats in his fist, and you can feel his tears starting to soak through.

“You are a good person.” He chokes out, looking up at you and the look on his face has tears of your own threatening to spill. He looks exhausted, like every ounce of his energy has finally been drained, years of enduring visceral human indecency ingrained into every part of his being. And yet he is gazing at you like you are the first glimpse of the sun after week long rainstorms, constant flooding and devastation, the light breaking through the clouds to spread warmth on a new day.

“You’re still a good person too.”

Those words linger in the air.

You lose track of time as you sit there, running your fingers through his hair, this man who you’ve never met, who invited himself into your home, but has bared the darkest corners of his soul to you all in one night. Grimes had made his way over at some point, staring at Price with a concerned tilt of his head. He never did like when you cried, and you can tell he’s desperate to try and comfort this strange man in his home. He lays besides him, paws outstretched, inching forward ever so slowly.

“He doesn’t like that you’re upset.” You mumble, watching the way his eyes snap over to Grimes. “Even though I terribly upset his mama earlier?” He mutters, he and Grimes staring at one another.

“Grimes has always been a big softy. Dixon is the one who’s gonna hold a grudge.” An answering ‘boof’ comes from beside you, Dixon plopping his head back on his paws after making his stance known.

Grimes scoots forward until he can rest his big head on Price’s lap, nuzzling down and looking up at him expectantly, and Price gives you a hesitant look. You just nod, smiling gently. “You’re gonna be staying with four of them, better get yourselves acquainted.”

“What in the bloody fuck did I miss?” A drowsy voice mutters from the doorway, and Ghost stands there, taking in the sight of Price kneeling before you, still clutching your sweatpants, and you can see the downturn of his lips through his mask when he notices the dried tears on Price’s cheek.

You gently pull Price’s hands off your sweats, and he looks as though you just took away his favorite treat. “I’ll go grab some fresh blankets.” You hum, face warming when you can feel both of their gazes on your back as you walk up the stairs.

“Wait, does that mean-“ You hear Ghost start, and you’re shocked to hear it so soft, but their words are lost as you turn down the hallway. You slip into the bedroom at the end of the hall, making quick work of dusting off the dresser and small TV, gently stacking a pile of clean sheets and towels. This room already had two beds, you just hoped they were big enough for these giant oafs.

You just about scream when a pair of hands grip your waist, and you whirl around. “Price you have got to stop grabbing me now- Oh.”

It was Ghost, eyes unreadable as he stares you down, and you clear your throat, loosening your grasp just a bit but still attempting to push him off.

“You scared me, you need to stop-“

“Thank you.” He interrupts, and your eyes widen as he pulls you closer.

“I- Well you’re welcome, I couldn’t just-“

“Yes you could. You could send out right back outside, hell you could get a goddamn brigade of officers here and you would be justified for it.” He shrugs, but you frown, shaking your head.

“No. From… from what Price told me, you all made your own choices to help those the governments deem lesser than them. You helped people who have watched law officials let them down again and again.” You state firmly, wincing slightly as you feel Ghost dig his fingers into your hips. “Easy.” You scold, and he immediately eases up, but doesn’t let go of you, keeping you pressed to him and your heart skips.

“I’ll just finish-“

“Whoever divorces such a sweet little bird must have absolute shit for brains.” Ghost states, quite confidently, and you can’t stop the shocked giggle that slips past. “Absolute fuckin idiot.”

“You can’t win me over with flattery you know.” You huff, but he sees right through you, dark eyes taking in your flustered expression, and you feel heat burn your cheeks as you avoid meeting his eye.

“Mmm, we’ll see about that. Think it’ll get me pretty damn far.” He grins, and you smack his hands before pausing.

“Wait.” You mutter, prying his right hand off of you and lifting it up, inspecting.

Your teeth made a pretty gnarly imprint, already scabbing. “Ah don’t worry about that. I deserved it.”

“C’mon you big idiot, before you let that thing get infected.” You order, pushing him towards the bathroom and he lets out a loud laugh, the sound causing butterflies to seize your stomach.

“Yes ma’am.”

#cod #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #tf 141 x reader #cod john price #cod gaz #cod ghost #cod soap

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moonstonejpg · 3 days ago

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ours (k.bakugou x reader)

"your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong in"

sum. bakugou is having a bad week, thankfully his girl is always there to make the bad days a little better

cw: a little angst, fluff at the end!

i hate hate hate paparazzi!! loosely based off of this and the song ours by taylor swift

It had been a rough week for Katsuki.

First, the hero rankings were announced, and he found himself at #15��not even in the top ten. And he swore it didn't bother him, that the rankings were just a stupid popularity contest. But you saw the way his shoulders slightly slumped in disappointment and the way his fists clenched so hard that the half-moon imprints of his nails in his skin stayed for hours after you had smoothed his fingers out.

It broke your heart to see him like that—and then yesterday he got into a silly fight with Izuku, one that was filmed and taken way out of context by thousands of people on the internet. Which in turn prompted the resurgence of people saying he didn't even deserve to be on the list at all, let alone at #15.

bakugou is mentally unstable lol

i worry about his gf tbh, those anger issues are a huuuge red flag

right?! i hope that poor girl gets out of that

she seems so sweet, he’s probably threatening her or something

It was just one hit after another for him.

And now, as he stares out the window at the crowd of paparazzi with a clenched jaw, the only thought in your mind is how this is strike three. All he wanted to do was take you out for a nice dinner to thank you for being so supportive this week, but he couldn't even do that without a swarm of media leeches waiting outside.

"Kats, we don't have to go. We can just stay here." You say quietly, worried eyes set on his tense shoulders.

"No," he growls, "I'm not letting them ruin this too." He positions himself in front of you before taking a few hesitant steps out the front door of your shared apartment building.

His warm hand envelopes your own, fingers threading through before tugging you behind him, half shielding you with his large body. The flash of the cameras and the noise of the crowd makes your vision blur, but Katsuki is moving fast, fingers tightly gripping your own while his gaze is laser focused on the awaiting black car parked on the other side of the street.

Everything is moving so fast, the shouts of the various reporters melting together around you. But you can't hear a word they say, the sound drowning out any specific words, until—

“Why him?”

And you nearly miss the step below as you freeze. The question has you rearing back as if you'd been hit, your eyes dancing towards the sound of the question. You see him right away, a male reporter who is nearly frothing at the mouth for a reaction. The reporter leans forward, eyeing you hungrily as he waits for an answer. And usually, you wouldn't give them any time of day, the daily harassment towards you and every other pro-hero and their significant other almost daily a good enough reason toignore any of their probing questions. But how could you ignore this?

“Why him?” you parrot back, white-hot anger burning through your body at a rapid rate. You don’t think twice before you’re ripping your wrist out of the blonde's hand and taking angry strides towards the reporter. You're nearly toe-to-toe with the man, and while he is a full head taller than you, he shrinks a bit from the look on your face.

Katsuki comes up beside you, gently tugging at your wrist.

“It’s not worth it.” He says lowly, looking down at you with something like sadness tinged in his eyes. And your heart cracks, picking up on the one thing he isn’t saying but you know he’s thinking.

That he’s not worth it.

And you can’t have that, you can't have Katsuki thinking that he isn’t worth any of this, because he is. He is worth everything, and despite being in each other’s lives for years now, the fact that he still doesn’t see that is devastating.

Your body begins shaking from a mix of anger and adrenaline as you look at the crowd around you. A slow hush falls over the crowd, as if they are waiting with bated breath to see what you have to say.

“Because he is the kindest human I have ever had the pleasure of knowing; kinder than any of you will ever be. And what has he ever done to you to make you so obsessed with twisting every move he makes, every word he utters into something that makes him look like the bad guy? And for a quick buck? You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” After shooting a glare around the crowd, you keep your chin high as you grab a stunned Katsuki’s hand and drag him towards the car.

You gently push him in, keeping a hand smoothed over the back of your dress as you crawl in after him, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

The car ride to the restaurant is eerily quiet, and as the adrenaline begins to leak out of your body, your brain catches up to what you did. And yeah—they did need to be told off, but you start to wonder if this is something that will get him into trouble.

You weren’t a hero and you didn’t have a lick of media training, why did you think causing a scene would be a good idea? The thoughts spiral in, and you want to bury your face in your hands as dread slithers its way into your stomach.

When you get inside the building, you are ushered towards the back of the restaurant by the host, presumably to where your table is located. But before you round the corner, Katsuki is tugging you into a dimly lit closet, fingers making quick work of the lock. Even after the door is bolted shut, he stands and faces it, as you just watch the outline of the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Kats?” You say quietly, a hand hovering over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just—”

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh pushing its way out of his mouth.

“No, you—” He shakes his head again, then turns around to face you, his body crowding you up against the wall. His eyes are dark, twinkling with emotions you can’t place. Both of his hands come up to gently cradle your face, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?”

You blink up at him, confused.

“Not only was that the hottest thing I have ever seen, but—well, that was the first time anyone has stuck up for me before.”

“I would do it again—anything for you really. You’re worth it. And I know that’s hard for you to believe, but you are. They can say whatever they want, but I know in my heart that I do not deserve you, and that you ” You say quietly, eyes locked on his. He smiles, eyes shining, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” He whispers in the dark of the room, thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“I love you Kats.”

“I love you too. Now, how about we ditch this place?” He asks, leaning back to tug at his tie, before bending forward to loop it around your neck. “I think that new ice cream parlor is open. So, sundaes on me?”

You nod, a giggle escaping when he bends down and tugs the ends of the tie, your body falling into him. He lets out a gentle laugh, the sound like a gentle breeze on a hot day. It has your smile stretching across your face, your heart singing in response.

He reaches down to unlock the door, but when he flicks the lock back, nothing happens. Katsuki tries again, but again, nothing happens. It doesn’t budge, not the second time he tries or the fifth, or even the tenth time he tries. On the eleventh try his hand slips from the lock, his eyes colliding with yours.

It’s silent for a few seconds, and then a laugh bursts out of him, followed by another and another. The sound has the grin staying locked in place on your face, relief flowing through you at the change in his mood.

“We—we’re stuck.” He gasps out, hands falling on his knees as he hunches over, deep laughs spilling out of him. It isn’t long before you are on the floor next to him, trying to catch your breath around your own laughter.

#mha x you #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha fluff #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #katsuki #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x you #katsuki bakugou x you

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lorialia · 24 days ago

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⋆ sweet temptation ⋆

pairing: best friend!han jisung x fem!reader

genre: smut, minors dni.

summary: you and your best friend accidentally devour an entire box of sex chocolates while watching a pirated version of the movie ponyo. now you're left to deal with the consequences.

a/n: this came about after i submitted a similar thirst for @daydreams-after-dark 's birthday month event . . . so if you're seeing this, hi :) thanks for the indirect motivation to start a skz blog and post this. i hope you all enjoy ♡

warnings: dom!hanji, sub fem!reader, accidental use of sex chocolates/aphrodisiacs, dry humping, unprotected sex, very messy and wet, creampie, pet names(baby), possessive language, multiple orgasms, technically there's no verbal consent but they're both enthusiastic

"This is bullshit. I swear it is."

“What do you mean?" Jisung says, staring at you accusingly from across the couch. His wispy black hair falls in front of his round glasses, and his fingers reach up to brush it away so he can give you a halfhearted glare. "I put Ponyo in B-tier. That means it's good."

Your nose crinkles in pure disgust, absolute horror at the dingy laptop placed on your best friend’s ottoman. The screen glitches every once in a while, but you see the brightly colored tierlist clear as day. There’s Ponyo—one of your favorite Studio Ghibli movies of all time, a masterpiece of visual art and fairytale storytelling—in B-tier. Middle of the road. Average.

“It deserves better than just good!” You insist, convinced that he has the worst taste on planet Earth. “C’mon. At least put it up a tier.”

“Next to My Neighbor Totoro? Fuck no.”

“Fuck you!”

“Woah woah woah, language,” Jisung replies cheekily, and you grumble, tipping back to sink your head into the cushions of your best friend’s couch. If he even is your best friend after this anyways.

You and Jisung have been hanging out at his apartment for hours, chatting about basically anything and everything. It’s an especially exciting night; his roommate is out visiting family for the weekend, meaning the two of you have the whole place to yourselves.

“Don’t make a mess,” Minho had said through the phone. “I don’t want to clean up once I get back home.”

So far, you’ve had halfhearted success in baking cinnamon rolls, little-to-no success cooking dinner, and full success in ordering barbeque chicken. The kitchen had barely survived through it all, but aside from an occasional utensil on the floor it’s pretty clean.

Aside from your cooking ventures, you two have taken it upon yourselves to rank all the Studio Ghibli movies on a tierlist. Some of his takes surprise you, maybe frustrate you— but none of them fill you with such rage as seeing Ponyo in B-Tier.

“When was the last time you watched this movie?” You ask, almost demand. Jisung pretends to think for a moment; his soft lips pursing together in contemplation.

“Uhh… when I was twelve.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” You reach over to his laptop and grab it, typing furiously to find a pirated URL for the movie. “We’re watching Ponyo tonight. No buts.”

“Fine,” Jisung says, extending the ‘e’. Out of the corner of your eye you spot him picking up the empty plastic containers of your dinner. He pouts, lips jutting out exaggeratedly when he finds the tins utterly empty. “Aww man, no more food. I’ll go see if there’s any leftovers in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” You idly reply, too busy trying to bypass the stupid ad pop-ups on his computer. You mash a couple of buttons, open and close a few tabs, and boom, you’re in.

Meanwhile, Jisung has gone and returned from the kitchen. In his hands he holds a random box of chocolates that he tosses into your waiting hands. “Found these in the back of the pantry. Probably Minho’s.”

You open the cardboard flap and dig your hand inside, pulling out a rectangle-shaped chocolate wrapped in pretty red tinfoil. You don’t care to read the name—the room is too dimly lit to see anyway—and rip open the package, finding two square chocolates waiting for you.

“Huh,” You comment, holding up the two chocolate pieces. “I’ve never seen chocolates that come in twos before.”

A hand snatches one of the chocolates away and you turn to see Jisung chewing. His adams apple bobs as he swallows. “Mmm, cherry. You should try it.”

You glance at the singular square held between your fingertips, and shrug before popping it in your mouth.

An hour later, you and Jisung are curled up together watching Ponyo. From glances and little remarks here and there, he seems to be enjoying it, and thank god he does. You couldn’t stand seeing Ponyo be misplaced any longer.

During a particularly captivating underwater scene, you reach for the box of chocolates—only to find the insides empty. You blink for a moment, tearing your eyes away from the screen, and realize you and Jisung have eaten them all.

“Aww,” Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but you remove yourself from the pile of blankets to toss the box in the trash. Your best friend remains engrossed in the movie, only shifting to adjust his glasses.

You think to check the brand on the box before you throw it away. It would be nice to get again, after all. The chocolates tasted pretty good—

“Jisung.”

The serious tone of your voice jerks your best friend back into reality, and he hurries to pause the movie. His gaze flickers up to yours with a slight level of concern. “What’s up?”

“These chocolates…” You audibly gulp, and your mind swims from reading the label on the box. “I don’t think these are regular ones.”

“Then what are they?” Jisung crawls over from his side of the couch and leans over your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he speaks. “Weed?”

You point to the packaging. It’s sensually decorated, with elegant lettering and a good number of red hearts littering the front. Right in the center are two words: aphrodisiac chocolate.

Jisung’s eyes bulge wide open and he blinks several times. “Sex chocolate?!”

“Yeah,” You let out a breathless, winded chuckle. Your eyes are equally as wide as his. “How many did we eat?”

Over the next minute, you and Jisung rummage around the couch and collect as many wrappers as you can. With each find, you’re more and more flabbergasted—assuming you two had an equal amount, you can say that you probably had ten to twelve chocolates…each.

“Holy shit,” is the only thing he can say for the next minute. You check the back of the box and discover more lovely news: the recommended amount is one to three squares per person.

There’s silence for the next couple of minutes after that.

The two of you must look so stupid, crouching over copious candy wrappers, dumbfounded by your dual idiocy. What the fuck were you going to do?

Jisung attempts to answer that question in breaking the silence. “So essentially…we’re gonna get super horny.”

“Yeah,” You respond, wincing. “I’m kind of trying not to think about that right now.”

“Well- I mean- You- I- ugh,” Jisung rubs his temples sorely. For once he’s completely serious, no giggles, no jokes. It concerns you as much as it frightens you. “How long until it kicks in?”

“A few hours, it says.”

“Any way to reverse the effects?”

“We already ate the chocolates, Sungie. I don’t think we can get them out.”

“Fuck,” He stares at the empty container. “What are we gonna do then?”

You open your mouth to respond and find it dry. Suddenly you’re hyperaware that in an undisclosed amount of time, both you and your best friend will be incredibly horny. In an apartment together, with no distractions. Just you and him.

You’re tempted to run for the hills. Grab your bag and race home to deal with it all on your own, rather than face this volatile situation and the can of worms that is your undeniable attraction to a man you swore never to date. It feels like the better situation for a split second; enough for you to place one foot on the ground in an effort to stand up from the couch.

Jisung’s head whips up immediately, and the panicked, almost desperate flash in his eyes freezes you in place. It’s almost a plea, a look that stirs something deep in your gut: Please. Don’t go.

You sit back down.

“So…wanna watch the rest of Ponyo?”

By the end of the movie, Jisung moves Ponyo up to A-tier. Normally you’d gloat in his face and criticize his judgmental movie taste—but you can’t seem to get the thought of the chocolates out of your head. It doesn’t help that he's uncomfortably close, his hoodie brushing up against your shoulder with every breath.

He doesn’t say anything as he shuts the laptop, doesn’t look at you as he leans back on the couch. His eyes are distant. Unfocused, dazed like you’ve only seen when he’s dead drunk.

You only need to wonder why for a moment before you notice just how burning hot you are.

Your shirt tightly sticks to you like a vice, and your head fogs like smoke filling the air. The thick pulse in your chest can’t seem to subside, and you feel your skin heat up more with every second that passes.

One sensation rushes in even stronger, an ache from your lower half. Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily, feeling for some sort of relief, any sort of relief. God, you’ve never wanted a dick more in your entire life.

And your best friend happens to be sitting right across from you with one.

Shit. No. You can’t think that way about him; you shouldn’t look. He’s your best friend—but your gaze moves on its own and hones in on the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants.

You glance upwards. Jisung’s cheeks are flushed. A bead of sweat trails down his forehead. He can’t seem to stop swallowing. His pretty dark eyes are not trained on yours but on the way your thighs press against each other for friction. He stares as if he’s devouring you whole.

“Jisung?” You say softly, your voice almost hoarse in your throat. There is no need to whisper. It’s just you and him, in his apartment together, alone.

“…Yeah?”

“Are you feeling it too?”

Jisung still can’t seem to look you in the eyes. He nods, slowly.

You crawl closer.

“Fuck,” He sputters out breathlessly. His hand reaches up to shakily adjust his glasses. Sweat seems to drip down the side of his face and off his chin. He wipes it away.

You inch closer, and with every shuffle you hear Jisung’s breath grow more ragged. His hands move all over himself— adjusting the gray sweatpants you want to ruin so badly, make a mess all over and cum on, brushing away the same strand of hair over and over. He still can’t seem to look at you.

Finally, you arrive right in front of him. You sit with your legs spread wide, your shorts doing little to cover up the arousal starting to drip down your thigh. Your knees, planted on the couch cushion, brush against his legs. His breath stops.

You reach up and gently grab ahold of his chin. Slowly, you turn his head so he comes face to face with your equally flushed face.

“Oh my god.”

In an instant, Jisung’s lips press against yours; he practically climbs on top of you, pinning you down into the furniture. His arms reach and wrap around whatever he can as he drinks from the taste of your lips in a dizzying rhythm. It’s insistent, messy, desperate. Your mouths move in a tangled dance, hoping each to swallow the other whole.

His fingers find the bottom hem of your shirt and hook underneath it to tug it up. You oblige and revel in each and every touch you can get.

Your shirt is shoved above your breasts, and Jisung doesn't bother to unclasp your bra—opting to move the fabric aside instead. He breaks the kiss to ogle at your bare chest. His eyes are lidded and you swear that his pupils are heart-shaped, and he sighs, almost dreamily. Like he's seen a piece of heaven.

“God, you're fucking beautiful,” He mutters from above you. “I'm sorry, I just can't....”

His words send a rush of heat straight to your core, and you whine. Next thing you know, he has his hands on your knees and spreads your legs apart so he can slot himself between them.

The friction of his pants against your clothed clit makes you keen—usually you aren't so sensitive, if not for those chocolates. Every sensation seems to be heightened.

"Sungie~" You whimper as Jisung rocks his hips against yours, your legs wrapping around his waist. He leans down to capture your lips in his once more, hungry for the hints of chocolate he tastes.

Everything is sloppy and coordinated; he grinds into you like a bunny in heat, groaning at every bit of friction between his gray sweatpants and your cotton shorts. It's hot and stuffy, but you've never felt so good in your life.

"Feel so good, shit-" Jisung mumbles between messy kisses. His glasses are fogged and hanging half off his nose, but he couldn't care less. "Wanna fuck you so badly- you want that? Want me to fuck you- ah, god~ like you deserve?"

Jisung shoves his head down into your chest, burying himself between your two mounds as he presses up on you from below. He kisses your skin and moves slightly to suckle on your right nipple, making you keen. His soft boba eyes peek out to look up at you, dazed and sick with sticky desire.

Your cunt clenches around nothing, throbs under the way Jisung's clothed cock hits your clit repeatedly. You want him to fuck you so bad, need your best friend's dick to split you open.

"Fuck me please," You beg, your voice trembling and thoughts hazy with lust. You've never begged for a man before, but Jisung is simply different in every way. "Please, Jisung, Sungie, please-"

He audibly groans, as if the sound of your voice gets him any closer to heaven. He wrenches himself away from your cunt to slip down his pants just enough for his thick, veiny cock to slip out. Meanwhile, you can't resist slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, to your needy wet cunt. You rub your clit with two of your fingers, whining softly at the stimulation of your swollen bud.

Suddenly, Jisung's hands wrap around the hem of your shorts and panties—he tugs them down all at once, exposing your sobbing pussy to his greedy view. You look up and his eyes are hungry, lidded and clouded with want, zeroed in on your cunt. You think he might be drooling.

Jisung hurries to press his cock against your wetness. He's shaky, almost trembling as he guides his mushroom tip through your folds, his breath coming out in stutters.

Even with just the tip, it's big. You feel like you're split open, and every inch of his cock entering your pussy sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine. It doesn't even hurt with how wet it is, and he slides in like warm butter. He practically collapses onto you as soon as he bottoms out, his head buried in your neck.

His cock twitches inside you, and you realize through the haze that Jisung isn't moving. He's whining softly, breathlessly, but his hips do little more than tremble.

"Jisung-"

"Don't," He shushes you. His voice is raspy and desperate, and he mouths at your neck between words. "I-I'm trying not to cum."

You whine, wanting any sort of friction—but Jisung doesn't budge. Then you squirm a little, just to feel it a little more, and both of you let out audible moans. He grabs your hips roughly to hold you in place.

"F-fuck-" He swears, and there's a growl in the back of his throat. "Are you trying to get me to cum inside?"

The idea of his cum filling you up sends a rush through your bones. You inadvertently clench around him, and the grip on your hips becomes so strong it might bruise.

"Y-you want it that bad? Fine then. Fucking take it."

Jisung starts a relentless pace; he groans into your neck and holds your hips down so you take every inch of him with every thrust. His tip brushes up against your cervix sweetly, and you keen, your hands tangling into his black hair.

"You're so wet baby-" He mutters, stamping in a word between rough thrusts. "So. Fucking. Tight. God, bet no one has made you feel this good, huh? Say it."

You can barely find the words, letting punched-out moans every time his cock kisses your cervix. "Y-you're the only one, Ji!"

"That's it," He says, his pace speeding up impossibly faster. He's hardly going in a pattern, just bunny fucking into you like there's no tomorrow. "This pussy belongs to me, doesn't it? All mine~"

Jisung changes his grasp; he gets a hold of your thighs and spreads them so he can fuck you deeper. It's a welcome change—and you remove one hand from his hair to clamp over your mouth, your moans becoming unabashedly noisy. Your eyes squeeze shut and roll back behind your eyelids. "O-oh Jisung, that feels good-"

"Baby, baby please, I gotta cum- gonna cum inside, want that? You want that?" He says, and his hand shakily moves to rub his palm against your clit.

You cry out, about to tip over the edge. You want it more than you've ever wanted anything in your life. "P-please!"

Jisung groans loudly, not bothering to muffle the noise as he cums inside. You cum at the same time, whimpering into his tangled-up hair. His hips stutter but they don't halt; he fucks his cum into you lazily. You whimper at the sensation of his warm cream filling your insides. It's messy and deliciously wet.

"Jisung," You mumble out, still feeling a burning ache. You're addicted to the pull of his cock inside your walls. "I- I want-"

He interrupts you with a groan; then his hips begin to pound into you once more, moaning into the skin of your neck. He simply can't stop, even when you let out a high-pitched cry.

"I'm sorry baby- just had to. Your pussy is sucking me in-" Jisung grunts. His voice is nearly drowned out by the wet squelch of every thrust into your creamy cunt. "Just one more, one more, that's it~"

You feel like you're being folded in half from the way he presses you down, your thighs moving to rest on his shoulders. He ruts into you with reckless abandon, and his hands find themselves digging into the couch on either side of your head.

Jisung lifts his head up so it's right above yours, and you see him for the first time in what feels like ages. His glasses are long gone, and his lips are slightly ajar as he groans senselessly with every thrust. The pinkness of his round cheeks and the lidded pleasure in his eyes matches yours; he leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

You moan into his mouth sweetly, and he hums in delight. There's no rhythm to the way he kisses you and fucks you—just pleasure-driven madness, desperation to feel you in every way.

"Mine," He mumbles, almost to himself as he pounds into you desperately. "Gonna cum in you again, fill you up~ my baby, all mine-"

You clench despite the tired ache in your thighs. You want him to cum in you over and over, spill his semen and let him fuck it into you again. You want him completely, irrevocably.

It's this thought that sends you over the edge for a second time; you wail, unable to make out any words as a wave of pleasure washes over you. Jisung messily kisses you throughout, muffling the sounds that escape your lips with his own.

He thrusts a few more times, groaning senselessly into your mouth before finally cumming again. Another warm sensation floods your insides and you sigh in satisfaction.

Jisung crumples onto your body and simply lays limp on top of you. Neither of you can bring yourselves to move.

"Best sex ever." He croaks out with a hoarse voice, and you laugh tiredly.

The next morning, you wake up on the couch. Jisung is laying next to you, his body tangled with yours. He stirs as you shuffle and pull yourself up from the cushions.

"Morning," You whisper, and he responds with a soft hum. His hair is adorably chaotic and worsens as he runs a hand through it. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," He says, and sits up with a groan of pain. "God, my joints. I feel like I blew out my back."

You notice a similar soreness in your thighs, but you tease him regardless. "You old man."

"Shut up," Jisung replies with no real malice. He looks down at you with surprising affection, his boba eyes twinkling with joy. You can't help but smile at the sight.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You say, an amused breath leaving your lips.

"Nothing," He grins cheekily. "Just that I got to have sex with my best friend who I've liked for an entire year."

You blink in shock, and Jisung giggles. "What? You're surprised?"

"No, I mean- yeah," You find yourself stumbling over your words, a pink blush appearing on your cheeks. "I mean, we did fuck yesterday, I just didn't expect you to say it so...bluntly."

"Well I did," Jisung lowers his voice to a soft whisper. He leans in close so his lips nearly brush against yours. "I like you."

"I like you too," You reply bashfully, and you can't resist kissing him. It's slow and saccharine sweet, nothing like the desperate messes you were yesterday. He sighs like a love-struck teenager as you pull away.

"Minho's gonna kill us," He mumbles dreamily. You burst out laughing.

#why did this take so long actually #i mean it took a few days to write but i sat down a couple days ago thinking i'd get it done in a couple hours #anyways i love two stupid best friends <3 #⋆ jinnie's fics ⋆#han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you

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rose24207 · 1 month ago

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Just a salesman pt.2

Summary: Your perfect world shatters when a furious stranger bursts into your home, accusing your loving, devoted husband of being a monster responsible for countless deaths.

Genre: angst, dark

TW: mention of death, little gaslighting, reader is a little twisted about the situation, the games in general

A/N: Wow I didn’t expect for pt. 1 to blow up like that and for so many requests about a second part. But here we go! I take requests about squid game btw. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Pt.1

Masterlist

The room fell into an unbearable silence as you stood there, trembling, your tears streaking your face. Gi-hun’s words echoed in your ears like a bell you couldn’t unring. Your husband, your safe harbor, was a killer. A manipulative, calculating man who had built a world of lies around you.

And yet...

As much as your heart screamed in betrayal, it also whispered something darker. A small, insidious part of you—a part you didn’t even recognize—wanted to protect him. Wanted to believe that somehow, some way, this could still make sense.

“Leave,” your husband said, his voice low and commanding. It wasn’t directed at you, but at Gi-hun.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gi-hun spat. “She deserves to know the full truth.”

“I said, leave.” Your husband’s tone grew colder, sharper. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand flexed at his side as though itching to act.

Gi-hun took a step forward, his jaw set. “You think you can scare me? After everything I’ve been through because of you? I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m not—”

“Stop,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Both men turned to look at you, surprised. You wiped your face, straightened your back, and forced yourself to meet Gi-hun’s eyes. “Please. Just… go.”

“What?” he said, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to talk to him,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “Alone.”

“You can’t trust him,” Gi-hun argued, gesturing toward your husband. “He’s a monster. He’ll manipulate you, just like he’s done to everyone else.”

You shook your head. “I don’t care what you think. This is my marriage. My life. And right now, you’re not helping.”

Your words were harsh, but your heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Gi-hun looked at you, his face contorted with disbelief, before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Do what you want. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shot your husband one last glare before storming out, slamming the door behind him.

Silence settled over the room once more. Your husband stood there, watching you cautiously, as though waiting for you to lash out or collapse. But you did neither. Instead, you walked to the table, picking up the strange card Gi-hun had left. You turned it over in your hands, the cryptic design doing little to ease your growing unease.

“Is it true?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “What he said about the games? About you?”

Your husband hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. “Yes.”

The word hit you like a physical blow, but you didn’t falter. You set the card down and looked at him, your tears drying as a strange calm settled over you. “Why?”

“For you,” he said simply, stepping closer. “For us.”

“That’s not an answer,” you said, your voice cold. “Why would you do something so… horrific? Why would you—”

“Because it’s the only world I know,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “And it’s the only way I could give you the life you deserve. Don’t you see? Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“For me?” you repeated, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something darker. “You think I wanted this? That I’d ever want you to hurt people—kill people—for me?”

He stepped closer still, his eyes locking onto yours. “You don’t understand,” he said softly. “The world isn’t kind to people like us. I’ve seen what happens to people who don’t take control, who don’t make the hard choices. I made those choices so you wouldn’t have to.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning. Every instinct told you to run, to call the police, to do anything but stand there and listen to him. And yet… you didn’t move.

“Do you love me?” you asked suddenly, your voice raw.

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you’d fallen in love with. “More than anything,” he said. “You’re the only good thing in my life.”

Something inside you twisted at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. He was a monster, yes—but he was your monster. The thought made your stomach churn, but it also filled you with a strange, horrifying sense of power. He had done terrible things, but he had done them for you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same way.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said quietly. “But I need you to understand that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. To keep you with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you took a shaky breath. “You’re going to tell me everything,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. “No more lies. No more secrets. If you want me to stay, I need to know exactly who you are.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker. He nodded. “I’ll tell you everything.”

As he began to speak, unraveling the web of lies and horrors he’d kept hidden, you felt yourself sinking deeper into a world you didn’t understand—a world you weren’t sure you wanted to understand. But one thing was certain: you weren’t ready to let go. Not yet.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @blueyesuguru, @annimoony, @jasmineee05, @astrophe0, @riri53, @putrescentpoet

#squid game x reader #squidgame 2 #squid game s2 #squidgame x reader #squid game imagine #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #salesman x reader #the salesman #seong gihun #netflix #angst

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certifiablyinsanez · 2 months ago

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Okay, I’m not coping well with the emotional whirlpool I’m experiencing after Mastermind. And this scene right here:

Is something that is haunting me. Because it’s not difficult to see what troubles lie ahead for them, what consequences await for the events of the trial. What do we already know about Blitz? That he has deeply hated himself for many years. Maybe he felt slightly better after Millie’s monologue in Ghostfuckers, but I think we all know that such a deep seated hatred of oneself doesn’t disappear in a single conversation. This much is clear by the pictures in Blitz’s apartment still being blacked out that we can see in the background in Mastermind. And any relief he may have felt from Millie’s sincere story is going to be completely shattered.

I have no doubt personally that Blitz has always thought he ruined Stolas’ life. He’s not a stupid man; he’s observant. He knows the struggles Stolas has gone through with the advent of their deal and relationship. He’s seen the wedge he put between him and his daughter. He knows the kind of hell the divorce has put him through. But now?

If there was any doubt he ruined his life before, it’s gone now. Because Stolas has now utterly, and completely, lost everything. His titles, his status, his wealth, his home, his power. All that’s gone. But worse? He’s entirely lost his daughter now. Blitz will probably never forgive himself for that. I mean shit, he literally said this:

Stolas is a much more powerful being than Blitz. But Blitz believes he deserves to die rather than put Stolas in harms way. Blitz will probably be wishing that he died rather than live with the fact that he’s brought Stolas low. Stolas’ punishment is far longer than Blitz’s life span. The consequences of saving his life will outlive him. There no chance Blitz will accept this as Stolas’ choice. Not only will he have to deal with the trauma of the trial before Stolas arrived, but also the result of what it’s done to the man he loves more than life itself.

But Stolas? Stolas would do it again. The way he says it, “Always”, is just so raw and softly powerful. Because he’s just had his powers ripped from his body. He’s lost it all, he’s lost his child. But he would do it again. There was no other choice to be made. There was no alternative. He said it himself:

Stolas is a suicidal figure. He prepped his daughter for the day he wouldn’t be around. He doesn’t value himself or his life at all. He’s suffered tremendously. He probably already believes he’s lost his daughter. His daughter has made it clear that she hates him. Outside of Blitz, who is his light in the darkness, his soulmate and true love, what does he have to live for? To Stolas this was a no brainer. He went to that block with dignity. He was so willing to die for his love.

So when Blitz thanks him for saving his life, Stolas, breathless and weak, says “Always”, because he will always love him, need him, cherish him. He will always put him above himself, which is something Blitz wouldn’t understand but is second nature to a gentle spirit like Stolas. Stolas who escaped the torments of his life in his books, who is humble and sweet with a lowly imp because his body and soul needs Blitz like he needs air. A true romantic, a soft demon who gave it all up for love and would do it again.

Always, he says, and means with every syllable.

#helluva boss #helluva boss stolitz #stolitz #helluva stolas #blitz x stolas #helluva boss stolas #stolas x blitz #stolas goetia #blitzo buckzo #blitzø #helluva blitz #helluva boss blitz #blitzo #helluvaverse #mastermind helluva

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no-144444 · 2 months ago

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prison, not a promise- l.norris

summary: lando proposes and it doesn't go as planned...

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

He genuinely thought you would’ve been the woman he married. He believed that the moment he got down on one knee, you would’ve burst into tears in front of him and said yes.

He’d never expected that.

People (understandably) thought you were fucking crazy. Who would say no to Lando Norris? Who would give up the chance to be rich and famous forever, to have one of the most sought-after men on the planet forever?

Well, those people didn’t know what it meant to be ‘loved’ by Lando Norris. They didn’t see the constant fights and beratings. They wouldn’t know about the fact that you hadn’t felt like yourself for an entire year. They didn’t know about the sleepless nights, sitting there and wondering, hoping that you were enough. They didn’t know that an engagement ring would've been a prison, not a promise.

You both walked into his apartment, silent. You hadn’t said ‘no’, saying ‘yes’ while in public just to keep up appearances, but Lando knew, the second you two got in the car, you weren't happy.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to lean into him one last time, be his one last time. That was the Lando you fell for. The one that hugged and kissed you like no one else would ever matter to him, the one that looked at you like you held up the stars just for him. You never expected the honeymoon stage to last forever, but these fights weren’t normal. He ripped apart your character, your appearance, anything, just to make you feel as upset as him. You\’d been together for 4 years, and the problems started when he became Max’s rival.

“Lando, we’re not happy,” you started, feeling his hands drop from your waist. You turned around to face him. “At least, I’m not. I do everything you ask of me. I cook and clean, I dress up nice, I follow you around the fucking world and I gave up my dreams so that you could always have me at races. Now, all we do is fight. I’m fucking sick of it, alright? I’m tired of the fact that you either don’t love me anymore, or you don’t respect me, and I’d like to thank you for the 3 wonderful years we had before this year, and give you back your ring. You deserve someone less ambitious. You deserve someone paper-cut to be a WAG, Lando. I’m not that girl,” you sighed tearily. “When you find her, I suggest you tell her that you can be mean, you can be selfish, and you can be forgetful, but the trade for that is the sweetest man on the planet once the anger wears off. I’ve been around angry men my entire life, and I will not marry one. I’ll grab my things tomorrow. Goodbye Lando,” you brushed back at him, placing the golden engagement ring in his hand as you passed him by.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You left Monaco with all of your belongings, and went back home. You bought an apartment, and started your new job as a college professor. Before Lando you had been the best mathematician in the world. You had offers from every college from every college, but you chose the one closest to home. You didn’t think about Lando for months. You focused all of you attention on your students, all of your life was spent around numbers. You were finally happy. For the first time in a long time, you felt appreciated, you felt beautiful, and you felt happy.

“Y/n,” the British accent you knew so well made you physically cringe. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is it a mathematical problem?” you asked, not turning around as you sorted through papers.

“Not really?” he chuckled. “Please just look at me.”

You slowly turned around and looked at him. He looked like shit.

“I won,” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. “I’m the Champion of the World.”

You held out your hand to shake his. “Congratulations.”

He took it with a frown. “I’m quitting F1.”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that. “Why?”

“I did something really fucking stupid two years ago, and i need to make it right,” he admitted. “Y/n, I’m sorry. There’s no one else for me. You’re it. You’re my person, you make me feel so alive, so happy, so free, and I couldn’t even imagine what life would be like without you. Then I lived it. And it sucked. I know I’m an asshole, and I know you’re probably much better off without me, but I’m begging you, just let me back in your life, please? I’m falling apart without you baby.”

You stared at him. “Lando, I’m not asking you to stop racing because of me-”

“I did,” he smiled.

“I’m not taking you back,” you insisted. “You made me feel like a shell of my actual self for a year, and I held on because I knew you needed a punching bag so that you wouldn’t take it out on the people around you. I don’t miss you. I don’t love you. I don’t want to see you.”

His face fell and he was quiet for a moment. “So I’ve really fucked it up?”

“Yeah, now get the fuck out of my lab.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅ A few months went by and the 2026 season started, and Landow as still on the grid, shocker. You didn’t care, he was a fucking asshole who didn’t deserve your time or companionship. You hoped he would choke every race start (which he did), get outperformed by Oscar (which he did), and loose to the WDC to Oscar (which he did). Karma.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

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g0dlyunsub · 8 months ago

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on your own. | part two

part one | part two

you’re strapped to an explosive and left with three minutes to convince spencer to leave you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

contents :: general cm themes, mentions/depictions of stalking, kidnapping, death, drug injections (dilaudid), explosives, angst angst angst so much angst

word count :: 3.3k

author’s note :: it's out!! reader is so mean to spencer in the beginning, but it's all an act, i promise :( please read part one if you haven’t already, and let me know what you think!

accompanying song :: as the world caves in by matt maltese

taglist :: @myuhh8, @pleasantwitchgarden, @babyspiderling, @kitty-kei, @delusional-4-fake-people, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @themindofmoe

can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been? – jodi picoult, nineteen minutes

his voice instantly fills the deep chasm in your heart.

the woman you were – a soul eager to give and receive love – died a year ago. lynne davis replaced your smile with the expression of a self-loathing woman, fed you with humiliation instead of warmth, and made you forget the taste of human companionship. you watched yourself fall apart more and more with each passing day and you never grieved your own loss, for you didn’t have the time.

so when spencer finds you in your wrecked state, slick strands of hair sticking to your forehead and the cuts on your face begging for urgent attention with their swelling undertones of red, you instantly put your head down. hearing your name stings your skin with humiliation and trepidation.

you curse under your breath. your cap wasn’t on your head anymore, so there was no shadow under which you could hide your eyes. there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to fake. you were like a deer caught in his headlights, or like a rabbit caught in his bear trap, the shame swallowing you whole. maybe this was all karma coming to bite you in the back, its teeth sinking into your flesh so you would go cold in front of the one you once loved so selflessly.

still looking at the rocky asphalt floor, you contemplate whether you should make a run for it. for some reason, being chased down to the ground sounds more welcoming than being chased down with his words. you already knew a confession wouldn’t make up for your treason. so you turn and walk with heavy steps, steps weighed down with fear.

but spencer wasn’t willing to sit in silence for eternity. he felt a burning sensation crawl through his skin. all these months he was mourning your loss with the regret of washing the same hands that touched you. he relived your absence every day like a haunting crime, cursing his photographic memory for detailing every inch of your face as he ripped through your flesh in his imagination. he was hungry for answers.

his wide strides follow yours as the splitting sounds of the asphalt crunching under his shoes echo in your eardrums. each step pulls at the strings of your heart like a violent demand. crunch. say you’re sorry. crunch. say you’re sorry. crunch. say you’re sorry.

“y/n, wait.”

you don’t stop. the air hits your tongue like bitter regret and sour ignorance.

“please!”

the desperation in his voice knocks the wind out of you. hesitantly, you turn around.

you know he can smell the blood on you, the dirt rubbed into your wounds, and the grime stuck to your sweat. you clench your fist. you’ve seen this ending in your dreams so many times, where he lashes out at you with his boiling rage, and you listen because that’s the only justice you deserve. but you didn’t expect it to come so soon.

“you… you’re okay,” he says with a feathery voice, and his softness feels unintentionally cruel. why is he talking to you like that?

and why is he looking at you like that? you don’t deserve to be looked at with his puppy eyes, glossy with concern for you.

why isn’t he yelling at you like a man seeking revenge, or glaring at you with monstrous rage?

your tone, by contrast, is icy and dark. “yeah, i… i am. you didn’t have to come looking for me.”

“your stalker. what happened to him?” he ignores your statement and his cavernous eyes dig deeper into your gaze.

so he knew. you suck in a breath slowly as you grit your teeth.

“he’s down. i got him in the leg.”

a minute into a conversation that’s overdue by a year, and you’re already lying. but you’re so preoccupied with the thoughts of getting out of this helpless situation, you don’t realize how you’re putting down your defense.

he narrows his eyes as he studies your face. you hate when he does this, because you don’t know the thoughts he’s stirring in his head.

after a second, he pipes up with a desperate roughness in his voice. “we need to get you to the hospital, i-i’ll let them know right now. let us help you.”

the urge to yell out no dances on your lips dangerously. you will not bring the others into this, especially not the rest of the bau. sensing the danger of his implication, you realize it’s now or never.

“there’s no need. i’m fine. i… really need to get going now.”

you wish to say goodbye, just this once, but the hesitation that’s latched onto you since last year isn’t so easy to get rid of.

he scoffs and you think you see his hazel eyes flash with a speck of red. “yeah, just go and leave me, it’s not like you’ve done this before, right?”

your toes curl and dig into the foam of your shoes. his stare bores straight into your soul.

he doesn't give you a chance to reply. “all of our lives were in your hands. you didn’t think we had the right to know?”

his question sweeps your breath away. you wish he never asked. emotion cascades over you like a crumbling rock, and you can practically hear his rage gnawing at whatever patience was left in his body.

“i just… i was never meant to make it this far,” you whisper quietly, so faintly you ponder for a brief moment if your voice is even audible. a penitent expression paints your face as you look away.

your response is the last straw.

spencer decides to wear you down to oblivion.

“you were never meant to make it this far? i didn’t leave my room for three weeks. for three weeks, y/n, i had to find a reason to stay alive!”

his icy tone impales your heart, and it’s a thousand times more painful than the needle your stalker pricked you with. but he doesn’t stop there.

“i’ll be honest with you because you can’t. i hated myself, y/n! did anything we ever talk about leave any impression on you? because the day you walked out of my life, just like my dad did, it really made me think that maybe everyone i loved was out to ruin me!” he throws fiery jabs with his words, each hitting harder than before.

with a crack in his voice, he adds, “i thought it was something i did that made you turn against me.”

a whimper threatens to leave your mouth.

a choking cry sounds as he spills more heart-wrenching words. “i couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so i… i injected myself again so i could feel something. so i could feel sorry. it’s nothing you would care about, though.” he wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve, his chest heaving with shuddering exhales.

you feel so stupid, so cruel, so god damned fucking stupid. his words tear your gut like it's a punching bag, knocking you down and throwing you around until you’re bruised to the bone. even the sun turns its warmth away from you, shunning you by making you face the shade. you stand like a lifeless doll, feeling your jaw clench as you bite down on the inside of your cheeks because the agony is too much to bear.

for a year, you had to withhold yourself from running back to the office, to collapse into spencer’s arms. now that you were face-to-face with him, you couldn’t even look him in the eye to say you missed him.

“you’re right. i’m sorry that i couldn’t care. i don’t trust you, reid.”

you shock yourself with the words that come out of your own mouth, and it feels like your body’s being controlled by someone else. the worst part, it’s not that he wouldn’t understand if you tried to explain. rather, it’s that you simply don’t have the time to explain. you couldn’t afford to toy with the idea of death when it was grabbing you right by the feet.

“you’re lying.” his quiet voice ruffles the hairs on your neck, and you can almost feel the ghost of his hands brush your face.

you certainly are. your shaking shoulders, your reddening cheeks, your watering eyes. your twitching lips, your sniffling nose, your sweating upper lip. the forced prolonged eye contact. after a year of not seeing each other, you wish he would’ve forgotten the behavioral markers that were your dead giveaway. but you couldn’t fool anyone with an eidetic memory.

with the outward shame crawling to your cheeks with a burning flame, your hands instinctively reach to touch the back of your neck. you stop when you feel a wire peeking from under your jacket collar.

shit.

“what is that?” spencer’s voice quavers with disturbed curiosity as he lowers his head to get a better view of your clothed neck.

you try to mask the wire by turning to the side ever so slightly, but spencer never fails to let a single detail slip past his attention. he’s already making steps towards you, and you take several of your own backwards, waving your hands.

“stop. don’t come any closer. don’t!” you yell, frantically shaking your head as you hold your arms up to try and bar him from coming any closer.

but he doesn’t listen.

he grabs both of your hands with one of his, overtaking your arms with such force you worry that he’s going to tear your limbs out, and unzips your jacket.

the last of your hope splinters like a glass vial.

a tear slides from your bottom eyelid, and you watch helplessly as it drops and trickles down along the vein of his arm. you hang your head low, afraid to look into his eyes.

but you’re forced to anyway, because the timer for the bomb on your chest activates with a beep, startling the both of you.

2:59.

“fuck. y/n, you…” the harshness of his voice scathes your already-wounded heart.

you shake your head, the darkness closing in as you fight to keep a steady breath.

“i need you to leave right now, spencer reid,” you beg with the words of a desperate plea.

“no,” he responds sternly, a glare splitting your walls with such anger you clamp your mouth shut.

he forces the jacket off of you and turns you around to get a better view of the electrical components. he reaches for his phone, but you grasp his arm before he can call for a bomb squad.

“don’t bother. we don’t have time.”

and your cover’s blown. the moment you say we, you know you’ve made a fatal blunder. if you really didn’t care, you would’ve let him dial the number.

he knows you care deep down, despite your abrasive words.

“four wires, red, white, blue, and yellow,” he begins, and you know your denouement is set in stone.

2:40.

“if we cut the wire or fuse connecting the trigger and the explosives then we’ll have a chance at disarming the bomb. we still need to account for the possibility of a secondary trigger or the existence of several detonators, as well as if there’s a trigger mechanism that monitors when they’re being cut.” you can’t tell if he’s trying to comfort you while he starts his inchoate examination or if he’s trying to comfort himself. maybe it’s both.

“spencer, i’m begging you, please. go,” you say as you try to move away again, but he backs you up against the brick wall of the alleyway. he grips you even tighter, nails digging into your skin. it hurts like scalding pain.

you’re dying for him to stop trying.

the kid inside of you cries a bitter symphony of hot, painful thoughts. you don’t want to die, not when you have decades ahead of you to redeem yourself. but you reason that you don’t deserve a good ending, and that spencer is the only one that should come out of this alive.

but then again, survivor’s guilt is a dastardly power.

2:15.

“spencer, please. it’s my last wish.”

he looks at you for a brief moment, locking his gaze with yours. he’s so close to you yet feels so far.

“l-look. i need you to let me concentrate,” spencer says shakingly, lightly tracing his fingers along the blasting cap. your breath hitches in the back of your throat, and you forget how to exhale.

1:59.

sweat trickles from your forehead, and you don’t dare move to wipe it. you hear his elevated breaths and watch as a concentrated expression overtakes his face.

you close your eyes.

you hear the bickering chirps of the birds in the distance, the sounds of construction as steel clashes against steel, and the faint laughter of women ringing out like freedom.

it’s a beautiful rhapsody to listen to when you’re dying in the subtlety.

1:30.

you open your eyes. in a stupor of fatigue, you decide to apologize.

“i’m so sorry, spence, i’m so sorry.”

it feels pathetic to say it now.

“i’m such a coward,” you cry, and you carry the blame with your fingers as you try to release his grip on your arm one last time.

1:15.

“d-don’t. say. that.” the tears are now streaking down spencer’s face, merging at his chin and dropping like raindrops to the floor.

“you need to leave,” you croak out, biting back a bitter sob as he tries to look at the device harnessed around your chest again.

“please,” you try once more.

“i’m never leaving you.” his hushed voice cracks and slaps against your eardrums like whiplash.

0:59.

“i never stopped trying to reach for you, y/n.” he breaks the brief silence like waves crashing against the coastline.

“you didn't say goodbye and a part of me thought you were coming back,” he continues, and you break down, the words gutting you like a brutal kick to your stomach. the waves relentlessly lap, rumbling deep in your shredded horizon.

“i… encountered your article in the news journal by chance,” he reveals, and your heart plummets even further.

of course. how naive of you. how could you forget that he was subscribed to every news journal, when you knew he read the news columns and the advertisements every day? you should've known you would fall straight into his hands.

“all of the linguistic features screamed that it was you. you… never moved up to new york.”

a hiccup leaves your chest between gasps.

“i confirmed it was you by asking garcia to cross-check every writers’ name and id in the database.” his knuckles are white, and the vapor from his breath fogs the silver metal of the device.

“i went to every managing editor’s residence to ask if they knew anything about you,” he huffs and you hear a click as the glass shard he’s using as a makeshift knife saws through something. you don’t look down.

0:20.

“i eventually came across the right person, because she gave me your email address. i sent you that email 48 days ago regarding your article, the hygiene hypothesis as an explanation for the increased rates of allergic disorders.”

“that– that was you?” a breathless whisper escapes your lips as disbelief tangles your thoughts.

you remember the email as clear as day. it was the only email that complimented your style of writing among the crowded stash of spam mails, and you starred it so you could look back at it any time. to think that spencer would never reach out to you online because he hated electronic correspondence made you completely overlook the option in the first place.

but did it matter? knowing this or knowing that couldn’t change your fate — and because you couldn’t even convince the man you abandoned a year ago to leave you, you were bringing him down with you.

0:10.

you sigh.

what a shameful ending, to seal your fate in the arms of someone who never deserved to share your pain. what a terrible ending, to have just three minutes to let the world know your time is up. and what a regrettable ending, because even after losing everything you ever had, your stalker’s still forcing you to reap what you sowed.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, i've lived with regret every day since i left you.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, maybe in an alternate universe you and i never met.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, you won’t ever see me again.

they’re all fragments of an apology left unsaid.

“why did you go through all of this… after everything?” you ask.

you don't expect an answer.

you let your hand fall to the ground because you don’t deserve to hold his.

0:03.

0:02.

0:01.

——

“because i needed to hear you say it to my face,” a shaking voice pulses from your right ear.

it sounds too real to assume that you’re in heaven.

you open your eyes. spencer’s eyes are already fixed onto yours, radiant under the sun's golden rays. they're almost blinding.

you look down at the timer.

it’s frozen at 0:01.

a quivering exhale leaves your mouth, and you let out a painfully scratchy sob. spencer’s hands lie pressed against the wall right above your shoulders, and his hot breath fans over your neck as he leans over you. his mop of hair lightly brushes against your skin, and goosebumps scale down your body as you catch your breath.

you then feel him tear the explosive vest away from your body, the sounds of velcro crisp against the still air.

you don’t even ask how he did it. he’s alive, you’re alive, and that’s the only thing that matters.

a million thoughts buzz in your head, and you don’t know what to say, so you just breathe out his name with panting breaths.

“you didn’t have a choice.” spencer gives you a sorrowful smile, and his words seem to absolve you of all of your mistakes.

with an angelic stare, he takes in the sight of you. every tear, every eyelash damp with your sweat, every crack in your dried lips.

“please don’t ever leave again, y/n. i don’t want to lose you.” he says beseechingly, his face peppered with glimmering tears. the sentence burns your tenderest flesh.

“i won’t, i promise,” you whisper hoarsely, and the two of you fall to the ground slowly, taking in each other’s hold for the first time in a long time.

as you hear the sirens sound in the distance, you let yourself succumb to spencer’s grasp and whisper a hundred thank you's against his chest.

how beautiful, the way your heart beats in unison with his as he murmurs words of abounding love and warmth, the way his arms press against your convulsing muscles to summon comfort, and the way you don’t even have to say a word for him to understand.

because in every universe, spencer will fight everything and everyone to extinguish death from your sight, even when you have nothing to return.

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #matthew gray gubler #dr spencer reid #bau!reader

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luveline · 7 months ago

Note

begging on my hands and knees (if you haven’t already) for you to write something about Aaron during the birth of your child 🥲🥲 and jack’s reaction to meeting his new sibling

You suffer through labour, Aaron dotes, and Jack meets his baby sister. fem, 2k

cw for labour/delivery, no graphic imagery

For some people, giving birth is a fast affair. Dilation occurs quickly, and after twenty or so pushes, a baby is born. Some people can go into labour and be finished within the hour.

You, unfortunately, have not had that kind of luck. And that’s okay —it’s also entirely normal for this process to be difficult. Doesn’t make it hurt any less to watch, but Aaron has thick skin. Who cares what he’s feeling? You’re about to have a baby.

He stands at the head of the bed with his arm over your pillow, tired despite himself, a styrofoam cup of ice chips in his hand. He presses it to your cheek, and every couple of minutes he changes it to the other one. Your forehead is wet with sweat, your face puffy with sobbing tears, but you’re beautiful in your sleep. Beautiful to him.

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead where he stays for some time. Your heart monitor beeps.

A few minutes later, your heart monitor jumps. A strike of pain to warn of an oncoming contraction.

You drag yourself from sleep to find his eyes. “Hi,” you whisper.

He doesn’t know what to say. What can sum it up? Aaron doesn’t think he’s felt this many emotions in his life; he thinks of Jack, his baby face, and he thinks of Haley squishing his pink cheeks; he thinks of your hands, how chapped your palms are, how much he hates to see you crying like this; he thinks of your little baby so close to being here, and all your months of triumph and love and good luck to get to this moment.

This is the biggest privilege of his life, in line with Jack’s birth.

He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but he makes himself a man who could deserve you. “Hello,” he says, pressing the back of his hand to your raging forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“It has to be time soon.”

“You think so? Should I find someone?”

He speaks in solid but hushed tones, as though a raised voice might hurt you more. You find his chest to press your hand to space above his heart, where you give him a little rub back and forth. “No,” you say, tears welling in your eyes as the monitor spikes, “not yet.”

He helps you into a sitting position which quickly becomes a bent over and keening position. Aaron obviously doesn’t know how childbirth feels, but he has experienced his own scar tissue ripping apart inside his abdomen as his organs flooded with his own blood. By the looks of it, you’re hurting worse than that. You don’t even speak. Your moans turn to panicked shouting before you get so scared your voice disappears.

He doesn’t like it at all. He waits a good long minute with you for the pain to pass, his hand in yours as you squeeze it to mulch, his nose pressed remorsefully to your cheek. It fades like all the others.

“I know,” he says as you start to cry in earnest, “it’s over. It’s over.”

“It’s not over,” you snip, sniffing.

He leans over your lap to press the button that asks for help. “You’re doing amazing.”

It’s a hard night. At nearing one in the morning, they measure your dilation and agree it’s time to push. You tolerate it well, but it still takes two and a half hours of agony and tears. Aaron doesn’t cry, but he does feel an acute ache for you, and an excitement you probably can’t feel yourself. Every push is one step closer to the baby.

Just after three hours, when the midwives are whispering to one another in concern and Aaron is sure he’ll never feel his left hand again, you have a baby.

She’s snipped, cleaned up, and laid gently on your chest within seconds. You’ll never know how whole and brimming Aaron’s heart feels in that moment, to see you crying against the little forehead of your baby, to watch your arms cradle her body tenderly.

He’s sure everyone in the room will forgive him for crying too. Just a couple of tears, smiling as you look down at her in pure joy. No shock, no sign of all that pain.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron,” you say suddenly, to the delight of everyone in the room, “she’s got your frown.”

She’s screaming, as babies tend to do. Aaron presses himself as close as he can to confirm the wrinkle between her brows.

“I’m sorry,” he says, kissing your cheek.

You breathe out deeply. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Sorry for the pain and gunk. You forgive him for everything.

You’re feeling nearly yourself again when morning comes, Aaron can tell. Showered, changed, swaddled with post-labour padding and with half a sandwich in your stomach, he can nearly forget the sound of your panicked crying. You’re hoarse as though you’ve been out for the night with friends, whispering clumsy love notes to your daughter where she naps in your lap.

“So pretty,” you say, running an awed fingertip over her nose, “so beautiful, baby. You’re so beautiful. Look at your liccle nose.” You dip into sugar. “Aw, look at your nose.”

“That’s your nose,” he says.

“I think so.”

She’s a baby so it’s hard to say for sure, but Aaron hopes she has your lovely nose and that she looks exactly like you, if she only keeps his wrinkled brow.

You lean back. The bed has been wiped down and changed, your pillow from home propped behind your shoulders. Jack’s good luck talisman sits on the night table, waiting for him to visit. Aaron has been away for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and still he misses him after not seeing him these last eighteen hours.

“He’s on his way, right?” you ask, noticing Aaron’s quiet.

Aaron picks up Mr. Bear where he sits on the nightstand and massages the teddy’s arms and stomach. “Can’t you hear him?”

“My sister!” Jack is saying, words too fast to pick up each one, “Jess, we have to be faster!”

“I’m going as fast as I can, sweetheart!”

Aaron meets him at the door. Jack sees his father, probably just the shape of him, and starts to run down the hallway. He slams into Aaron’s legs, who pulls him up against his chest for a two-armed hug that he couldn’t need more.

“Jackers,” he says in relief.

“Dad, put me down!” He must see you over Aaron’s shoulder. “Y/N! You’re okay!”

“I’m more than okay, handsome! Were you worried about me?”

“Is that my baby?” he says, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

You, Aaron and Jess all laugh. “Your baby sister. Are you gonna come and say hello? She’s been waiting for hours for you to wake up,” you say.

“I was waiting for her for hours first,” Jack says, climbing over Aaron’s shoulder, and then slipping back down as his father walks him into the hospital room to stop by your bed.

Jess stays by the door.

Aaron puts Jack on the bed beside you where there’s not much room for him, hands clasped around his arms just in case he does something sudden. “Oh,” Jack says, breathing out slowly. “Wow, dad.”

“Wow,” Aaron echoes.

“Can I touch her?”

Assured he’ll be careful, Aaron lets Jack loose, and the boy waits for your signal before he pokes at the baby’s fisted hand.

“She’s really little, huh?” you ask quietly.

“Was I this little?”

“You were smaller,” Aaron whispers.

“She’s a real baby, dad.”

“She’s super real. Does she look like you pictured?” Aaron asks.

“No, I thought she’d look more like me.”

This is really funny to you. Careful, you hold the baby to your chest and free an arm to cup Jack’s shoulder. “Buddy, I missed you. Aunt Jess says you stayed up past your bedtime, how are you feeling?”

He smiles and goes shy at the same time. “I’m okay. I missed you, too.”

“That’s good, I’m feeling good too.” You sniffle.

“Are you sure?” Jack asks.

“This is the best day ever. My little girl meeting her big brother.” You take a steadying breath, and you turn the baby toward Jack gently. “Do you wanna hold her?”

Jack sits against your pillows and waits with pale terror on his face for you to pass him the baby. He bends over her as soon as she’s been placed, worried she’ll tip out of his lap, and you stroke the short brown strands of his hair, crops of it moving shiny under your touch.

Aaron takes his phone from his pocket. In his rush, he struggles to find the capture button, recording a video instead that will take up most of the memory on his old phone and that he will refuse to part with.

“Did she look like this in your belly?” Jack asks you, frowning.

“Not the whole time. Why, does that bother you?”

“Was she squished?”

“No, she wasn’t squished. ‘Member how big my belly was?” You laugh warmly. “How big it still is.”

“Will it ever be small again?”

“Maybe somebody. I don’t mind.” You stroke his hair again. Baby makes a wet noise. “What do you think, lovely?”

“About your belly?”

“About the baby.”

“I wish I was her.”

You stroke behind his ear. “How come?”

“I’m so tired, I wish I was sleeping too. But she is really small.”

Aaron catches your relieved smile before he puts down the phone. “Do you want a nap, buddy? We can take a nap.”

“I can take him home?” Jess suggests quietly.

Aaron thanks her for everything. When you’re feeling better, he’s sure you’ll want to introduce Jess to the baby as well, but Jess doesn’t want to impose, and Aaron lets her go without fuss. Perhaps it’s a little hard on her to see. He doesn’t know.

But Jess is a good woman, and he knows she’ll want to meet your baby whenever you’re ready. For now, it’s just you, Aaron, Jack, and the baby Hotchner.

Aaron sits in the plastic wrapped chair by the bed and leans back to accommodate sleepy Jack, who falls asleep with little more than a back rub and his family’s proximity. You look like you could sleep, too, but you won’t put the baby in the bassinet. You hold her and watch her for a soothing stretch of time, Aaron watching you both.

“He’ll be more enthusiastic after he’s slept,” Aaron promises.

You pucker and press teeny kisses to the baby’s ear. “He was perfect,” you murmur. “He was so gentle. We’re so lucky.”

Aaron reaches over to hold your hand. You indulge him with an open palm, the two of you shushing in tandem as your children rouse, both of them perfect, and both parents very lucky.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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lokisgoodgirl · 7 months ago

Text

Marked : The Rite (VII.)

A Masterlist for The Rite is HERE A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (7) Shaken from Loki's exit, you seek counsel from the wisest person you know. As does Loki. And twin moons aren't the only thing coming together. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Mild angst. Asgardians behaving badly. More smut. (w.c 5.2k)

Loki didn’t know whose hands were touching him, whose breath was on his neck, whose empty congratulations were ringing in his ears.

He was halfway down the aisle before he realised you weren’t with him. Loki turned, trying to stop the tide of bodies sweeping him away.

Did I leave her?!

The moments after the announcement were a blur. He'd meant to take your hand, to pull you up with him...but —

I didn't. I left her.

The riotous blob burst into a small feasting hall near the Rite chamber with long tables laid with glazed hams and towers of pastries. Thor slapped Loki’s back hard enough to leave a mark.

"Is she getting changed? Is she coming?" Loki glanced over his shoulder, drawing the sash tight around his hips. It didn’t make much difference, being that the robe was translucent, but he needed something for his hands to do. “Don’t be absurd, brother.” A tankard was shoved into his hand. “Sif came to the festivities after your Rite—”

“Yes but Sif was a warrior, and a member of the inner circle." Thor’s face scrunched. ‘Your one is…” Loki’s face hardened. “Is what?”

Thor’s laugh made the ale ripple. “Come, Loki, be serious. She’s not one of us. You have what you wanted, your place in Asgard’s Royal line. You can stop playing the cunt-struck lovelorn, now.” Loki stiffened, setting the tankard down purposefully on the table. "She loves me."

"Yes, and?" Thor shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "She isn’t the first, she won’t be the last. Who cares about her? Enjoy the—”

Loki smacked the tankard from Thor’s grip. It flew across the hall at force, hitting Fandral between the shoulder blades. He spun. “—I care...brother,” Loki hissed, so close to Thor’s face he could smell the pepper-roasted ham he’d been guzzling between idiocies.

“All my life I’ve been surrounded by people like you, thinking I was the one who should linger in shadow; the one who didn’t fit; who didn’t deserve the life he had.” His molars pressed together, growing more incensed with each of Thor’s vacant, casual chews. “But it was the rest of you that needed to change. She sees me for who I am, and she loves me.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Did that witch Lagertha slip her some magic potion to smear on her lady-bits? Brother, you’re acting most unlike yourself.” Loki’s hand flew to Thor’s throat, lifting him off the floor.

The blonde’s face turned red instantly, struggling against his grip. No one tried to intervene, they knew better than that. With a growl, Loki lowered him, but he didn’t release the grip on Thor’s windpipe.

“Perhaps I’ve been concealing the true fury I hold inside me, brother,” Loki hissed in his ear, enjoying the desperate swallow as he struggled for air. “Boys, boys,” Fandral smarmed, edging them apart. “Your brother’s right, Lo—ki,” Fandral said, sliding an arm around his shoulder and grasping against the chiffon clinging to his muscle. “Enjoy yourself, hmm? Forget that pretty nothing. Tonight, perhaps you’ll indulge in something more…on your level.” He winked, curling a loose strand of Loki’s top knot around a fingertip. “I told her not to get attached. It’s not your fault if she did, she was warned.” Realisation hit Loki like a chariot.

“What did you say to her?” he growled, noting the sudden fear in Fandral’s eyes. The man stumbled back, tripping over a pair of ridiculous satin shoes. Before he could hit the floor Loki’s arm shot out, grabbing the cravat bunched at Fandral’s neck and pulling him up. Fandral slammed against Loki’s chest, nails ripping down the fabric of his robe and tearing into chest muscle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorr—” “What…did you say to her?” An arctic silence had fallen over the feasting hall. Pain clawed beneath Loki’s skin, but he ignored it. Blood was already starting to clot between the minuscule weave. “That you were trying to make her fall in love with you, which, wh-which you did—”

“—And?” Loki shook him, making Fandral’s coiffured golden curl wobble loose. “—A-and that you’d discard her,” he choked, eyes darting manically to the ceiling. “Which…you did.”

Loki punched in the face: right on top of the fastenings covering his re-set nose from last night. Fandral whimpered as Loki punched him again, only stopping because of the tidal wave of arms pulling him off. He thrashed, throwing his fists and swiftly receiving one himself. Loki’s face wrenched to the side, the knot atop his head falling and the golden snake clip bouncing to the stone below. “Brother, stop…” Thor shook his fist, knuckles blossoming scarlet. Loki’s stare fell on Fandral, being hoisted between two guards out the room. He pressed his cheek, wincing. “I avoided your nose, at least,” Thor said. “But it will bruise, for certain.” “Fuck you, brother,” Loki spat.

He didn’t indulge the hands that grasped at him, half-drunk, petitioning him to stay at his own celebrations. He could still taste your delicate arousal on his tongue, and hear the unspoken words hanging in the air between the two of you.

I love you, your eyes had said, even before the enchanted robe confirmed it. He wondered if his had, too. What must she think of me?

The guards opened the golden door separating the inner palace from the outer court. Their eyes fell down his body, but they said nothing. Under normal circumstances, Loki could materialise a more modest outfit with a wave of his hand, but his emotions were too high; his magic was too unstable. So, for now, any members of the court milling around would have a scene to tell their grandchildren about: Loki of Asgard, resplendent in his Rite robe, cock hanging free – on the way to salvage the love he thought he’d never find — if she'd still have him. Quick footsteps pattered behind him and Loki whipped around, fire flashing in his eyes. Håkon stood masked in shadow, a low hood covering his face. “What are you doing here?” Loki said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in his voice. Håkon shrugged. “I thought you might need me. When you messed up, you know?” Loki folded his arms, suddenly aware the boy was seeing him practically naked, but Håkon’s eyes were set firmly on his own, even when a pair of leather pants materialised around Loki's lower limbs. “What do you mean when I messed up?” Loki scoffed, feeling his ears burn. “Why—?”

Håkon sighed. “—Do you know where her rooms are?” A swallow worked down Loki’s throat, common sense spreading now that his heart had slowed. “No.” Håkon smirked in a way that Loki felt entirely responsible for. “Exactly. Come on, let me help you for once.” Loki’s heart wrenched a little at the sentiment, quickly diluted by the whisper of ‘idiot,’ as Håkon passed him. And then it was his turn to smirk.

The boy led him through a maze of corridors Loki had never seen before, up three flights of stairs and to the furthest wing of the court. Your door was open, but to his dismay, Loki quickly realised you weren’t there. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, emptied from a dresser.

“Where is she?” Loki growled to no one, and Håkon shrugged lightly. “Depends what you did, master,” he said, glancing out the door and down the corridor. “But she’s gone, alright.”

No one had tried to stop you. And really, that said it all.

You’d made straight for the baths and shrugged off the ceremonial robe, pulling on your old day dress as quickly as possible. You’d run to your chambers with bare feet slapping against stone, slamming the door behind you with wild eyes and wilder thoughts.

I have to get out of here. You couldn’t stay here where you were a figure of ridicule; where everyone knew you loved Loki enough to satisfy some ancient magic and his first thought had been an ale, and the approval he so desperately wanted. A place of honour, yeah right. Anger curdled in your gut. He hadn’t even said thank you. Bastard.

You bit back tears as a bag was stuffed with all the necessities you could think of. It would take a few days to arrange travel somewhere far away from here, maybe back to your family. But until then, you couldn’t sit here waiting for whatever pity knock came at the door. And there was only one place that came to mind. “Oh,” Lagertha said, peeping through the gap in the bronze door of the Weaving Tower. Moonlight smoothed the deep wrinkles of her face, and the bobble of a sleeping cap hung by the sheet of fabric draped down her chest. She peered to either side, groggy eyes blinking back to your face. “Got Loki exhausted and begging for mercy already? You better be here to spill all the details - I’m a little old for girl talk but I’ll do my best.” She smiled as she said it, but it was wary.

When you didn’t reply she added, ‘…What’s he done?” And then, you started to cry.

Lagertha ushered you inside, bringing you to a small door at the back of the ground floor. Through the haze of tears, you couldn’t even appreciate that the door that had appeared from nowhere on the smooth circular wall, opening into a homely set of rooms. She plonked you at a small table and set about making tea while you heaved out the important details: ceremony, amazing, loved him, left.

Lagertha sighed. She drooped into the chair opposite and pushed a steaming cup of something herbal in your direction. You blew a wet snort into the sleeve of your dress. “Blessed Norns, dear. We may not be royals, but we’re not animals.” She fished in a pocket of her nightdress. “Here,” she said, offering a suspiciously crinkled handkerchief. You took it, blew into it, and she sighed again. “I’m sure he meant well, love.” “He left me!” you gasped, high and squeaky. Your eyes itched from tears and Lagertha grimaced. “He didn’t say a word, let himself be dragged off by the people he claims to despise all telling him how fucking great he was…Fandral was right. I’m nothing to him.” You folded your head in your hands, staring at the table. “I never liked that Fandral,” Lagertha said after a pause. Her chair creaked. “Never trust a man with more shoes than sense, that’s what my mother always said.” A small laugh erupted in your throat. And soon afterwards, the stone weighing in your stomach was dust. Temporarily, at least. When the teapot was empty, she showed you to a small bedroom beside her own holding a long single bed, and not much else. A nightdress was folded on it, woven by Lagertha. The threads shimmered in moonlight. “I can’t magic you up a four-poster bed, I’m afraid,” she said with a sad smile. “But I can guarantee you’ve never slept on finer sheets.” You shook your head. “No, it’s perfect…thank you, Lagertha.” And as you curled your knees to your chest, staring at the wall, you tried not to think about Loki’s eyes as he kissed the inside of your knee; of his warm breath in your ear as the syllables of your name lingered on his tongue, and the hope you'd felt. That was the worst of it. You were trying so hard not to think about it, you almost didn’t hear a knock at the front door.

“What do you want?” Lagertha hissed. You stood with an ear pressed tightly to the wood separating the front door of Lagertha’s quarters to the main entrance of the Tower. A low voice rumbled in response. “I don’t know what to tell you,” Lagertha said. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

“…Safe?” the voice mumbled. It sounded sad. Is it…? You pulled the door open.

Loki stood in the entrance, that broad shouldered silhouette unmistakeable. Shards of liquid moonlight dashed across the wild hair spread over his shoulders. He still wore the ceremonial robe, but the intricate folds were tangled and now he was wearing a pair of those — fucking —leather trousers that clung to every insane muscle. And then, breath caught in your throat. A bruise the colour of stormclouds was spreading under Loki’s eye socket, and a deep scratch ran from his heart down to the oblique on his left side.

He gasped your name, lunging forwards – but Lagertha stopped him with a delicate press to his chest. He looked at her, and then at you. “I need to speak to you,” he pleaded. “I can explain, it’s not what you—" You raised a hand. Part of you wanted to run into his arms and tell him to shut up and kiss him into oblivion. But another part, the sensible part, knew that nothing had changed. Not really. Lagertha looked between the two of you.

“Why don’t the two of you have a little chat, hmm?” You said nothing, staring at Loki. He was breathing heavily. Did he run all the way from the palace? How did he know I was gone? Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you noted the twitch of his fingers by his sides, the frantic dart of his eyes over your face, his lips itching to say the words jostling behind them.

Lagertha rose her eyebrows at you, and you nodded in confirmation. She made a fist at the thin material on Loki’s chest and pulled him inside. The bronze door slammed. The god smoothed his hair back, his abdomen twitching. “Upstairs is about as private as it gets,” Lagertha said breezily, shuffling across the floor. Her bare feet whispered across polished marble. “Just…try not to throw him out the window, will you?” she asked as she passed, patting your shoulder. “The kids need those hams from the palace.”

You lowered your gaze as her wizened hand lingered and then slid into the darkness beyond with the rest of her. And the next thing you felt was the gentle touch of a finger trailing up your jawline. “Little Ow—" “—Don’t.” The finger flinched. Your vision started to blur. “I’m so embarrassed, Loki,” you whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear the waver in your voice. His brows peaked.

“Come upstairs,” he said, letting the fingers graze down your arm and tentatively cupping your hand. Loki led you up the staircase, his perfect ass shifting in those ridiculous leather pants. You bit your lip, trying to douse the hope building in your gut. That hope always got you in trouble. The measuring room looked different by moonlight. A wide bar of white spilt through the solitary window. Outside, Asgard's twin moons were almost in perfect alignment. Once every 500 years, you thought lazily. The chaise in the corner was still in the same place you’d first seen the god draped over it, the first place you’d seen the hint in his eyes there could be something more.

He dropped your hand, pacing to the centre of the room, and spread his arms, turning in a solemn circle. Loki looked up beneath his lashes, the bruise shadowing one half of his face, and moonlight dashing the other. “I am, who I am,” he said with a tinge of bitterness. Loki’s tongue nipped over his lips, trepidation flashing on his features. “To everyone…I am the prince of pleasure. I am usually drunk, mostly rude, or having sex…or all three.” You rolled your eyes, arms folding over the thin nightdress. “But then…I met you,” he finished. He crossed the room, a hand sliding around your waist. “Years in the palace shovelled dirt on the person who I am, who I want to be. I felt like I was…mad. But with you, I feel whole. I can be…free.”

His lips brushed yours, hovering. “When they said The Rite had been successful…I was blinded by everything I always thought I wanted. Everything I’d been conditioned to want by that awful place, just for a moment," he said, voice catching against the short puffs of your breath into his mouth.

“But what I truly want…is you. And you owe me nothing, I know that. But I need you to know that I —” You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips, tongue demanding entry as he stumbled back and clasped his hands at your back.

“I love you, Loki,” you gasped through messy kisses. "You fucking fool, I do...I just thought, I thought..."

He pulled away. The dark, tangled halo of his hair framed the angles of his face. Loki’s eyes were black in the gloom, a small sliver of blue ringing blown pupils. He cupped your jaw, and brushing a thumb over your parted lips. “I love you in ways I thought weren’t possible, I love—”

Your body moulded to him like a magnet, tongue exploring his it was the first time. His hands cupped the base of your skull as one of yours worked down his chest, down his waist. Loki hissed, jolting back. “I’m sorry,” you said, glancing at the ragged scratch. “What happened?” “Fandral,” he muttered, but before you could ask his mouth was on yours again. You squeezed his cock through the tight leather as Loki unwound his hands from your hair and shrugged the ceremonial robe from his shoulders. “Can we…you know... now?” you breathed against his chest as your eager fingers pulled at his laces. Loki’s chest shook with silent laughter but all he said was, “Yes. If you want to.” You looked up, scandalised. “If I want to? Are you mad?” Loki’s hands stilled around yours. The tip of his cock was hard against your fingers, and all you wanted to do was dig down the narrow gap of the fabric and squeeze; feel him tremble under the weight of how much you wanted every part of him. “If you don’t want me anymore, if The Rite was too much and now you have doubts…you’re under no obligation to—”

“—Fuck you?” A smirk curled at one side of Loki’s mouth. “Well, yes.”

“You’re every bit the arsehole they say you are,” you said, poking the centre of his chest, “you’re vain, and brash, and arrogant…” Loki’s smile grew, sinking slowly to his knees. “Keep talking, darling. Ruin me.” His thumbs and forefingers curled above your knees, working upwards and raising the hem of your nightdress with it. “Proud, and mouthy…but…you’re also kind, and generous and, oh-gods,” Loki’s mouth fastening to your clit, suckling gently. Your fingers raked through his hair, pulling his face tighter to the heat between your legs. In the pearl-slick gloom, there was only you and him; Lagertha's fabrics glistening like exotic bird wings in the half light. Your legs trembled and Loki’s hands flew to your ass, balancing as you staggered through orgasm with a rush of his name.

Sinking to the floor under his guidance, your lips met; whispers of ‘I love you,’ cracked the stillness while Loki waved his hand, and soft fur rugs unfurled from nothing on the floor.

You pressed against his chest, nudging him onto his back. Light kisses were peppered on his bruised under eye, down the line of his nose, across his parted lips. You travelled down his neck, tongue nipping over the thick vein straining and dipping into the hollow of Loki’s collarbone. “Please,” he gasped quietly, nails scraping lovingly down the ridges of your spine, “I need you, I’m begging you, darling.”

“A Prince? Begging?” Tutting softly, you straddled his hips, scooting down the god’s long legs and pulling the leather trousers as you went. Loki laughed as you threw them to the side and kissed up his perfect femurs, and then up the trail of the scratch on his stomach. His cock nestled between the swell of your breasts, pre-cum leaking into the fabric of the nightdress. “No…” Loki whined with feigned frustration. Or maybe not feigned, you thought with a thrill. His cock was incredibly hard, flat to his stomach, the tip dripping fat beads of arousal to the skin below. He arched his back, his eyes flashing with a primordial need. Your grip tightening around the girth, and Loki released a guttural choke. With a deft swoop, you captured the crown of his cock in your mouth. Loki was silent for a moment, and then, he moaned.

It was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. His skin was velvet against your tongue; every ridge pulsing in time with each suck. Loki’s words were unintelligible. Murmurs of praise in an ancient tongue, the glimpse of his fingers tightening around the furs out of the corner of your eye, his hips quivering with the effort of not emptying down your throat. Your fingers tightened around the base, tongue flicking the sensitive underneath of his shaft. Loki squirmed, and you looked up – mouth full of his cock. His brows peaked in desperation, his jaw slack and strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “I need to be inside you,” he panted, biting back a groan, “please…fuck me. Please—" Before he could finish the sentence, you’d crawled up his chest, kissing him like a Valkyrie. Loki Odinson was putty in your hands, thrusting against your bare thighs like a needy youth desperate to feel a cunt wrapped around his prick for the first time. And it was fucking hot.

A deep groan rumbled in Loki’s chest, and it was only at the last second you realised it was a growl.

He flipped you to your back, caging your wrists above your head, and spread your knees wider with one of his own, settling in the middle. Loose hair hung around his jawline. Above you was the devastating god of legend: the one that could ruin a city and a woman with one smoulder. And he was yours. “I love you,” he said again, nudging his cock at your slippery entrance. You arched up, capturing his lips. “Please, Loki,” you whispered. Loki’s cock breached and the two of you stilled. He panted slowly; his eyes fixed on yours as he eased himself inside.

The god’s forehead rested against yours as he circled his hips; a fullness rising like the tide filling a narrow cave. Of all things you expected Loki to be – gentle wasn’t one of them. And now, you weren't sure why. You clenched on every drag of his cock from your cunt, relishing the pained pleasure in his eyes before he sank inside again.

Each wickedly slow wave of his hips caught the deepest secrets of your desires; his breaths timed with yours, and only your name on his tongue. And then, his lips lowered to your ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth as he came with a thunderous gasp of devotion. "I'm yours," he breathed. "Utterly."

Your legs tightened around his hips, capturing him deep, locking tight enough you’d swear you’d never let go.

Loki's face buried in your neck, his heartbeat thumping against your chest. “I feel cheated,” you whispered against his cheek.

He frowned, pulling back. His cock twitched inside your snug cunt. Norns, it was even more perfect than he dreamed it would be, but — “Excuse me?” he said, followed by a confused snort unbecoming of royalty. He cringed as your lips rippled with a stifled smile. “I’ve heard all these tales of Prince Loki and his sexual theatrics…drama, you know?” You shrugged, and Loki tried to ignore the gnawing desire rear in his lower stomach at how innocently fucked-out you looked. “Is my lover…unsatisfied?” “No?” You bit your lip, and Loki’s manhood eased from your silken channel with a licentious slurp. His eyes narrowed as you continued with, “That was…incredible, I just…you’re different to how I thought you’d be. Gentler, more…romantic.” Loki knelt back, heels digging against his ass. He ran his hands through sweat-damp hair, pausing with the fingers locked behind his head. “You should be honoured,” he sniffed imperiously. “I don’t think I’ve made love like that in…” He realised he’d been staring at the window and tilted his head to meet your eyes, “Ever.” Your beam of pride made his heart explode into a thousand, shining pieces. He towered over your moon-drunk body, memorising the lines that appeared in your face when you were truly happy. Joy. Acceptance. Love. So, this was what it felt like. One finger traced over Loki’s lips, down his chin; fell to his chest and continued its descent between his ribs. “Are you asking to experience both sides of me, tonight?” he asked: slow, gravelled.

You bit your lip again, but the smile couldn’t be contained. Loki lowered, making a show of placing his palms above each of your shoulders.

“Are you asking for Loki of Asgard to fuck you like a god?” he growled, relishing the frantic nod of your head. “To take you as his mistress, and mark you as his own?” He shot you a wolfish grin. No words passed your lips – at least, none known to gods or men. Your hips thrust up to meet the dangle of his riotously hard cock with a clouded, desperate mischief in your eyes.

“Mmm,” Loki hummed, sliding a flat palm between your breasts and massaging the base of your neck. In one graceful movement Loki’s hand dropped to your waist, the other scooping beneath your hips and sliding your body up his thighs. He gave your arse a tight smack, grabbing a handful of hot flesh with an approving rumble. He held you still above the tip of his cock, mustering his best look of regal indifference. “What do you want?” he goaded. The fingernails digging into his shoulder muscle would leave marks, but Loki didn’t care. “Fuck me again, Loki…please, hard” you gasped, raking through his hair. He knew it would be hanging in perfect dishevelment around his jaw, trailing the hollow of your neck, strands marking his moonlit skin like ink.

Loki lowered you an inch, letting the tight ring of your cunt swallow the tip of his cock. His whole body shuddered, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh of your waist. “F—fuck, darling,” he stuttered. He hoped he’d never become accustomed to that silken fire.

You yelped as Loki powered upward.

His thighs smarted, and your legs tightened around his waist. The god took several steps forward, pressing you tightly against the turret wall.

Asgard’s twin moons shone through the window, coating the city rooftops like white sapphire. They're almost joined, he noticed. The court would be out in force for the event: fires blazing, chants ringing. His absence would be noted. But all Loki could feel was the beat of your heart against his, and your whispers of forever in every breath.

The moan that ripped from your throat as he buried himself was heaven, and Loki intended to wring pitches of pleasure from that pretty throat that you’d never thought possible. He ripped the neckline of your nightdress, devouring the supple skin that taunted him — palming your perfect breasts, and his enthusiasm as harsh from his throat as it was from his cock. You arched into his body, offering your neck like a willing rabbit to a panther. Or was he the rabbit? Hel's fire: It had never been like this.

He wanted to consume you, or rather, let you consume him. An endless cycle of lust, and love, and eternity. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Whatever he’d found in you, he’d found himself. Every inch of himself was alight with the grip of your cunt as he bottomed out again and again. A hand flew above your head, gripping a chunk of uneven stone. “Make me yours, Loki Odison,” you breathed as your climax ebbed, clenching tightly around the root of his cock. He dragged it out with a gritted growl. Webs of cum squelched as he eased in, and out; your ambrosial mess coating the wet, slow clap of skin. “You give yourself freely,” he panted, and your fingers wrapped deeper in his hair, tugging sharply. He hissed, delivering a punishing thrust that made the wall behind you tremble. “I take nothing which isn’t offered freely; I take nothing which isn’t already mine.” At that, your crossed ankles pressed deeper into the base of his spine. Loki thought he might explode. “Mark me with your power, Loki,” you said, nudging his lips to yours. “Uhhh, g-gods…don’t…” A sob caught in his throat as he felt orgasm swell. He bit into your shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. Your gasp of pleasure was the final tie. It snapped. Loki’s hand flew to your ass, pulling you a final devastating time down the rippling veins of his length. His heavy breaths thrummed with climax, your hands fastened to the sides of his face – forcing his eyes to yours.

“Mark me,” you slurred, resting your head against the wall: watching him come undone inside your sweet cunt with a lazy smile. Loki’s vision blurred, blood thundering in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut, face tipped to the ceiling and a strangled moan choking from his throat as he emptied molten seed deep inside you for a second, glorious time.

Your lips fastened to the hard vein throbbing in his neck, kissing up until they met the angle of his jaw. "Which side of me do you prefer, then?" he asked, noting the wild thump of his heart. He felt your smile against his cheek.

"I love all of you, Loki." You kissed the tip of his cheekbone. "Every side," you whispered, "and each piece between. You never have to pretend with me. And I promise, I won't pretend with you."

Loki's vision blurred, a thick swallow working down his throat. And for the first time, he knew without a doubt exactly what he wanted; what he needed.

“Marry me,” he murmured, and your grip on his hair faltered. “What?” You looked at him with nothing less than utter bemusement. “You can’t be—" “Serious? Deadly.” Loki lowered you to the ground and kissed you so deeply that he felt the hidden parts of him mingle with yours. But it was meant to be this way. “You opened yourself to me during The Rite – gave me my destiny – but it wasn’t the succession, it was you.” You opened your mouth and closed it again.

Loki raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Balls of light burst in perfect sync in mid-air: dozens of tiny, flickering orbs of golden flame. Your eyes met his. “Loki, I love you, but you don’t mean that you need to…your family would never—" “—Fuck my family,” he said softly. “To Hel with their inane traditions that serve no one but themselves. I will marry you, and I’ll be happy. I’ll make you happy. If you want it.” Loki touched his forehead to yours, feeling your shoulders begin to shake. “Together, we can usher in a new age of Asgard; a new dawn.” Loki drew his face away, unsurprised to see tracks of silent tears making your cheeks glisten. With every second that passed, the nerves in his stomach skittered to the emptiest corners of his mind he preferred never to tread.

“Will you have me?” he whispered, searching your face. “Will you help me?” The air was knocked out his lungs as you threw your whole weight at him; arms locked around his neck and mouth pressed violently to his own.

Amber slats of sunrise played in the sharp crevices of Loki’s cheekbones. They softened the bruise Thor had left. Loki hadn’t wanted to hide it, not from you. Not from Lagertha, either.

His blue eyes peered knowingly over the rim of one of her pattered teacups, narrowing softly. You smiled, and straightened as Lagertha came bustling through the kitchen door. “Ah, you stayed the night,” she said brightly, nodding to Loki and making for the teapot. “Thought you might. And I see you got the night-robe I left out, thank you for…wearing it. Not that I don’t appreciate the spectacle but given the circumstances it may be a little…inappropriate.”

She poured a cup, plopping down in the third seat at the small table, before looking between you. An eyebrow rose.

“If I go upstairs, Loki Odinson, there better not be a button out of place.”

The words were honeyed, but you could tell she’d kick his ass if there was. And Loki knew it too. You stifled a laugh as his eyes widened, and he pressed an innocent hand to his chest: mortally wounded. “Every thread is in place, Lagertha. You have my word.” She rolled her eyes, landing on you with a wink. "Mmm..." she murmured sceptically, her eyes falling to the tattered neckline of your nightgown. Heat crept up your neck.

The three of you sipped in silence before Lagertha said, “So I assume I’ll need to clear my weaving schedule for a wedding, then?” Loki's tea erupted in a splutter, bringing a fist to his mouth and coughing frantically. You turned to her. “I…um…we,” Lagertha patted your hand. “Don’t worry dear, I wasn’t listening. But like I said the first time we met…I have eyes.” She smiled gently. “Am I wrong?”

Her wry gaze swung between the two of you. “Thought not. Fandral just ordered a new batch of capes. I’ll tell him it won’t happen this quarter: Royal wedding garments take top priority, you see. What a shame. I know how much he loathes not getting what he wants.”

She gave you another wink. “But, for the two of you, I shall enjoy every moment.”

Loki reached across the table, and your own hand crawled forwards, meeting it. “I love you,” he murmured. “Finally,” Lagertha huffed. “Nice to hear you say it out loud – blazing Norns, it’s been a long week. If I wasn’t already grey, I would be.” Loki threw her a loving glare as his thumb massaged the centre of your palm. Despite lack of sleep, you’d never felt more awake. “As much as I adore her, Lagertha likes to think she knows everything, darling.” “Cos’ I do,” she said with a shrug. “At least where weaving and their enchantments are concerned. But this?” She gestured between you, “It was as obvious as Asgard is golden. Colour me unsurprised when you announce it and no one bats an eye. He’s met his match, and I’ll curse anyone who says otherwise; weave a spell into their robes which makes them perpetually shit themselves, perhaps. But you better not forget about the little ones—”

“—Never,” Loki cut in. She nodded, and put her hand on top of the knot you and Loki had made. A golden ribbon as thin as cobweb snaked over your wrist, slithering in soft waves through the gaps in your fingers and up Loki’s forearm.

“May the Norns bless you,” Lagertha said with a gentle smile, and the ribbon dissolved like melted sugar, absorbing into your skin. And as you and Loki’s eyes met, you knew, finally, that they did.

A/N: Thank you so much for coming on this journey with meee❤️I really hope you enjoyed seeing a bit more of this version of my Asgard, silly as it is. 🕯️ Whether you're reading this two days or two years afterwards, I'd love to hear your thoughts 😊 May the Lagertha-Vibes be with you, always.

A Masterlist for The Rite is here Series now: Complete. A link to my regular Masterlist is here

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki x yn #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x female reader smut

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luvly-writer · 2 months ago

Text

His Solace

Dick Grayson x reader

Author's note: I wrote this for the sole purpose of wanting to read it later. Literally for my own guilty pleasure. LMAO

Warning: It's cute?

---

Dick had a headache. He had just gotten to his apartment. He had spent a few days at Jump City helping Kory with a few things for the Titans. Normally, he wouldn't have minded but seeing as she took the opportunity to call him out on whether he was ever choosing Barbara or her; he was exhausted. Then, he was called to Gotham to aid Bruce in the development of a case with Scarecrow. It would have been fine, again, if it weren't for Jason and Tim trying to rip each other to shreds because of a petty argument; Damian antagonizing Stephanie; and to put a cherry on the top, Barbara wouldn't stop leaving very pointed comments on the same thing Kory had asked him. He had tried to contact Wally, see if they could go out and have some fun, ease his mind a little, but nop, on a mission with Barry. Finally, he had gotten home, when Bruce called that Damian, Steph, and Jason had decided to team up in their latest recon and it had been a disaster because no one followed orders. He could feel the agitation bubbling and rising with his stress levels. The cases had begun piling up, the villains would just not stay in Arkham, the alarm of the remainder of his Young Justice meeting kept beeping, could feel the panic attack rising.

"Fuck it. I'm taking a vacation."

---

You took a deep breath with your eyes closed and exhaled. Yeah, this is what you deserved. You had been dying to go to Bali and after many months of hard work, you had piled enough days to get a one-month vacation. The life of a Public Relationist was a hassle. You were damn good at your job but it was starting to strain your mental health. Burnout was approaching faster and faster. As you walked towards the pool, you looked for a few seats available and noticed one in the perfect spot. As you approached it, you noticed that the most gorgeous man had been sitting in the one next to it. Beautiful tanned skin, soft dark hair, and dazzling blue eyes.

"Is this seat taken?" You asked with a bright and warm smile. Dick felt his heart drop at the sight of you. You were honestly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and he had been around aliens and demigods. Your hair was tied in a loose ponytail, your bathing suit hugged you in all the right places, and you were standing there giving a smile that left him breathless.

"Not at all, go ahead" he responded with his own smile. You placed your things down and pulled out a book and some sunglasses.

"Any good?" You heard him ask pointing toward your book

"So far so good, I just began reading it last night" she answered with a sheepish smile, "If I see you again, I'll keep you updated"

He chuckled and extended his hand, " Di-Richard" He hesitated in giving his name. He was in Bali for a whole month, next to a beautiful woman who had no idea who he was. No expectation to be the charming eldest of the Wayne household and no need to put on a mask as Nightwing. Yeah, he was gonna enjoy this small freedom.

"Y/n," she said as she shook his hand, "You don't look like a Richard" She continued making him scoff out a laugh.

"No? Why's that?"

"Richard sounds like an old serious guy in his 40's"

"You don't think I could be serious" he leaned forward with a slight smirk on his face

"Maybe, but, unless you keep a very good skincare routine, you don't look past thirty"

He laughed out loud and shook his head, " So, what's your hypothesis?"

"You have a nickname that suits you better"

"Dick"

"Excuse me" She looked at him with a hint of teasing in her eyes and a small smile.

"My nickname is Dick"

"I don't know which one is worst" she giggled and he looked at her incredulously. He laughed at that, it had been some time since he was able to feel light with some mindless teasing.

"Oh come on, as if you could come up with something better"

"Hmmm" She took a moment to think and he took it as an opportunity to really look at her. She had such a unique beauty, like those faces that stay in your mind for months, unforgettable. "What about Ric?" He scrunched his nose in distaste, "Richie" He shook his head with a laugh, "Ricky" He stopped to think for a moment and inevitably said no again. "Well, Dickie, I have absolutely no clue" She laughed.

"Dickie's nice," he said softly, and she hummed in victory.

They had spent the rest of that day talking when huger started to strike, he invited her for dinner and she accepted surprisingly. They had spent the rest of their vacation together. Hanging out, taking tours, swimming together, dining together, and even sleeping together. Dick hadn't felt so light in a long time. They clicked so well. They weren't taking this seriously because it was just a vacation. Soon they would have to go back to their lives, hers in New York and his in Gotham. Finally, the vacation was coming to an end. The morning before her trip back, they had decided to stay in her room and have a lazy morning, just enjoying the last moments together. They were lying in the bed, him on his back and her with her torso on top of him. She was softly caressing his hair as he caressed her back.

"I think I'm gonna miss you," she said softly.

"You think?" he teased and she looked at him exasperated. He chuckled and pulled her closer. "Oh honey, I know I'm gonna miss you" he pulled her closer and he felt her relax in his arms.

They had exchanged phone numbers a while back. Even though Gotham, Bludhaven and New York weren't that far away, they still had their own lives to attend to. They had agreed to remain friendly, without a title and a definition. Just each other's Bali vacation sweetheart.

A few months later…

Dick refused to cut contact with you. Given your demanding lives, you couldn't talk every single day, but he made the effort to. Daily messages and flowers sent to your apartment were a constant. When you did talk, it could go on for hours. Dick hadn't told anyone about you. It was his sweet secret, his solace. After one rough week, in particular, he had called you desperately, wanting to hear your voice and laughter. There was a small voice in the back of his mind that called him pathetic, but it was gone the second you answered the phone. He had been hurt, bad. His family and all of his leadership roles were getting to him and your sweet soothing voice cracked him. He started crying and blabbering, asking if he could see you. You agreed almost instantly and that weekend he took a train to New York.

When he got to your door, you saw the state he was in, deep eye bags, and an arm brace. You pulled him into a big hug and he just crumbled in your arms. That night, he confessed he was Nightwing. He just let everything out as he laid in your bed, in your arms once again, and you let him. He found peace in you, your touch, your voice, your friendship. You never asked him for more and it soothed him. For once, someone was on his side and didn't expect something from him aside from himself. He had told everyone he was following the lead of a case in New York, a few had offered to go with him and he refused. The only lead that he was following was the case of how much he missed you.

You were his solace. He came to you for counsel, for comfort, for laughter, for fun, for love. In return, he made sure you never felt anything other than loved, appreciated, and satisfied. Even with the distance, he still went the extra mile. Dick Grayson wasn't a bad lover, but for you, he gave himself fully. You guys still hadn't placed a label. You were just friends. You understood that you had responsibilities that needed your full attention so a relationship would complicate everything. You loved New York, he loved Bludhaven and Gotham. It was final. Until it wasn't.

Dick had barely gotten any sleep last night. Patrol ran even longer last night and he only got one hour of sleep before his alarm rang. He had gotten a headache halfway through his shift and decided to go to Brandy's and get some coffee. You hadn't answered his text yet, which was odd. Sure, you both didn't talk on the phone every day but you always texted. Maybe you were caught up with a few clients. He knew there was one that was making your job three times more difficult than it should be. As he was waiting for his order, he heard the beautiful and unmistakable sound of your voice.

"Dick?"

He turned around and there you were, standing with a suitcase and a shy smile. He swore his headache left the moment he laid eyes on you.

"Sweetheart? What? How?" he asked laughing and pulling you into a big hug. They called his order and he picked up, telling you to order something and he'd pay. Once you got your order, he pulled you into one of the booths.

"I wanted to surprise you" You answered with the sweetest smile, he swore his heart melted.

"You should have given me a heads up, gorgeous, I would have made time for you and cleaned my apartment. I could have given you a proper welcome to Bludhaven" He laughed and took one of her hands in his. He sensed she had something else to tell him.

"It's alright. I have some exciting news though," she bit her lip nervously, "I was offered an amazing position here in Bludhaven. It pays double what I earn now and I would have a higher position. I'm here to have a meeting with the executives, check out the offices, and go through my contract. Isn't that great?" she told him and he swore he heard angels sing. Y/n. His Y/n! She was going to be in Bludhaven! He wanted to cry, scream, anything to liberate the joy he felt. If she was here, then they could be together.

"That is amazing news, gorgeous! This..this..this is wow..I think whoever is up there finally started to listen to me" he joked making her laugh. He squeezed her hand adoringly. Y/n was going to be in Bludhaven and he felt utterly giddy.

Three months later…

BANG BANG BANG To be honest, Kory was tired and at this point, it was getting humiliating. Last night, she had been passing through the living room in the tower and overheard some of the members talking about a supposed bet. When she asked them what it was about they all quieted down and looked at each other nervously. Putting a stern face, she asked the team about the bet once again fearing that they had gotten into trouble. Finally, Gar spoke up and explained. Together with the Young Justice and the Outlaws, the youngest members had decided to start a bet on who would Dick choose for this year's Christmas Annual Wayne Ball. Would he go with Barbara or Kory? Hearing this was a breaking point for Kory. She meta-tubed straight to Batcave in search of Dick. Having not found him, she looked for Barbara and questioned if he was with her. Kory informed the present members of the family of the bet and heard a sheepish confirmation from Tim and Damian. Agitated, Barbara decided to accompany Kory to Bludhaven and obligate Dick to answer finally.

That led us to our current predicament, where both women stood knocking on his apartment door harshly. As they went to knock again, someone finally answered…and it was not Dick.

"Um, hi? May I help you?" a young beautiful woman in an elegant short black dress greeted them. Barbara and Kory looked stunned, not knowing what to say.

"Oh! Sorry, I think we got the wrong apart-"

"Babe, who was it at the door?" Lo and behold, Dick Grayson appeared exiting one of the rooms all dressed in black. Once, Y/n stepped back, he stopped walking and froze.

"Barbara? Kory? What are you both doing here?" He asked slowly. Something clicked in Y/n's face and the two girls realized that she finally knew who they were. Sensing the awkwardness, Y/n excused herself.

"I'm gonna go finish getting ready, okay? You're good here?" She asked touching his arm and squeezing it reassuringly. He kissed her temple and soon she disappeared through one of the doors.

"You can come in…" he said letting Kory and Barbara step through the door. His apartment looked different, they noted. It was renovated and more stylish. It didn't take a genius to know who was responsible for the sudden refinement in his "bachelor" pad.

"Who is she?" asked Kory, straight to the point. Dick sighed. Sooner or later, he would have had to reveal and introduce Y/n to his family and friends. He just wished it would have been later and by his terms.

"She is my girlfriend"

"For how long?" Barbara asked this time

"Three months"

"So it is still fresh and new?" Barbara observed. Dick had had girlfriends between the moments he had been with Kory or her, but they were never serious. They usually lasted up to five months or so and would usually grow incredibly jealous of one of the two.

"Not really" He answered tightly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"We have been kind of something for almost a year now. We just made it official three months ago." He answered resigned. They were not going to let this go.

"A year? How- Whe- What?" Kory and Barbara exchanged puzzled looks. "And you were able to just hide it from the entirety of your social circle? How?" Kory asked

"Does Bruce know?" Asked Barbara

"No…I...was hoping to introduce her to everyone sometime before the Ball" He said, scratching his head. "She is going to be my date after all."

Barbara took a deep breath, analyzing the situation. Kory just looked at him perplexed, expecting more to come out of his mouth. Barbara narrowed her eyes at him. "Explain."

And so he did. He was as brief as he could be. Not wanting to get into too much detail. By the time he was done, Y/n excited the room. Makeup, hair, and heels done. Kory stared at you as Barbara interrogated Dick. You gave her a bright smile and extended your hand.

"Y/n L/n. A pleasure to meet you" Kory shook your hand and gave you her full name. Then you turned towards Barbara. You extend your hand and greet her as well.

"As lovely as this is, Dick we have to get going. If we get there late, I am never hearing the end of it from Charlotte." She laughed. Dick stood up quickly and went to look for his keys and wallet. She turned towards them, "Maybe you could come by tomorrow? We have to get to the engagement dinner of a friend of mine and I would love it if we weren't late." She said with a soft smile.

Neither Kory nor Barbara could sense any sort of malice behind her words. Barbara assessed her. She seemed relaxed, posture straight, and at ease. Unlike many of his ex-girlfriends, she didn't look intimidated by them at all. Dick excited their room as Barbara and Kory were about to exit. Y/n turned to look at him and he came closer. He wrapped his hands around her waist and she wrapped hers around his neck.

"You have a lot of explaining to do with your family tomorrow" she warned him with a laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, can't wait" He responded sarcastically and rolled his eyes. Kissing her on her shoulder he turned towards Barbara and Kory who were still observing him.

"Babs, we'll talk about this tomorrow. I'll go to the manor and we can meet at the cave. Kory, I'll call you later, okay?" He promised. Both women nodded and left.

"I guess my sweet secret won't be such a secret anymore" he groaned and the girl pecked his cheek gently.

"It was gonna happen sooner or later, gorgeous. Plus, I'm kinda excited. I want to meet your family." She said softly. He looked at her and smiled. As long as she was here, He would be fine. He just hoped they wouldn't scare her away.

"Come on baby, we don't want Charlotte to tease you about how ever since you got a boyfriend, you never get early to things" Hearing her groan made him laugh.

---

Author's Note: This took longer that I though but idgaf, this is literally so self indulgent that I love it. I kinda wanna write a part two of the family meeting reader but idk. If its requested then I probably might. What do you guys think?

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