#freya x fem reader

[infernalodie]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞 || 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐚

“'𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘓𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦“

Inspo: Giveon - All To Me

Pairing: Freya x Fem!reader

Summary: She had you all to herself...

Warnings: Just pure smut in a tree, fingering, queen kink, and use of petnames.

Words: 1845

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

You swore that each time you adventured far from home, the blistering colds would soon enough cause your limbs to freeze up and fall off. Mimir always took that moment to tease you while your father would tell you to stop your fussing and to endure it. But you never saw the reason for you, Atreus, and your father to go hunting when it wasn’t needed. Atreus was the hunter while you had preferred staying home and training. Father continued to say that although that was good, your need to learn hunting would benefit the group.

So, here you were, in the woods wandering around with your mother’s bow and your sword tight in your grasp. Alone as you were the second oldest and more trusted than Atreus ever would be. But your idea of hunting was wandering around until you found something worthy of your attention. Yet, your mind was already preoccupied with a specific woman, blurring your attention to the main task at hand.

“I don’t understand why she won’t let me see her,” you muttered to yourself, kicking a clump of snow out of your path. Since Fimbulwinter had washed over Midgard, the sight of snow had been more pleasing to your eyes. The sky was constantly grey from the clouds producing the white flecks that melted against your cheeks. And as much as you hated the massive gusts of wind, you tolerated it for the beauty that was given in return. “That bitch doesn’t even care, does she? Is all flirty with me and then suddenly doesn’t come and see me when I hunt.”

You scoffed, pulling your sword from its sheath and tossing it towards a tree. Propelling the blade towards the trunk and hopping onto it before beginning to climb the tree. The snow clingings to the branches causing a stinging sensation to bite at the tips of your fingers. Finally reaching the precipice where you kicked your feet across the thick branch and back propped up against the base. Retrieving the rope around your belt that held your 6 rabbits and meat from a wolf that you had encountered in your walk, and wrapped the rope around you and the trunk as a restriction for if you fall in your sleep.

Snuggling closer in the furs made by your father, you stared out at the frozen-over Lake of Nine. A perfect view of Tyr’s temple and all the different realm travel towers. It was a sight behold to anyone that had a sane mind in these parts. But as of late, raiders were senseless, murderous dumbasses that you had butchered for fun, and a certain Valkyrie Queen had been creating problems for your father.

Closing your eyes, to seek the moments of peace that would be needed when you get home. Likely to hear how your father would already make you feel more a disappointment than you already did. So, a nice nap up in a tree, away from danger, away from your brother and father was well-needed. Although, Mimir would be a rather nice company right about now. You were sure the man would look to take hold of the beauty of the landscape from up here-

“What are you doing up here, pup?” That soft and rather amused voice made you yelp and snap your eyes open. But when you saw the source of the voice, your face grimaced in disgust as you relaxed back into your position. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Y/n.”

“I’m going to give you whatever look I feel like, Freya,” you scoffed, closing your eyes and crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Face forming a pouty look that Freya found endearing. “You have a lot of balls showing up out here after attacking us yesterday.”

Freya rolled her eyes at the mention. “I don’t seek to hurt you or Atreus, Y/n,” she sighed. “Your father took Baldur from me. You can’t be surprised.” The mention of the once invulnerable Aesir God made the mood shift slightly.

You understood where the woman stood and why she was doing what she was doing. Just as much as she understood why you would defend your family. There were certain things you kept from your brother about your mother because you knew it was better that way. Everything you did was meaningful, as do her decisions. Hell, you hadn’t even done anything when she last held Baldur in her arms. Kratos and Atreus were the ones responsible as you stood by, silent and tense.

But now, she was angry and fueled by the simple need for revenge. Leaving her a relentless, frightening, and rather hot “enemy” that came to visit you occasionally. In secret, of course.

Noticing the shift, Freya smiled and leaned toward you with a mischievous grin. “Don’t tell me you don’t like the thrill-” She inhaled sharply with her lips an inch away from yours. Problem was, your quick reflexes of your knife pressing to the belly of her jaw. Eyes now open and lips parted, teeth baring in a grin. Moving and pressing the knife further into her flesh, forcing her to turn her face for you to examine,

Under her eyes, there were streams of eyeliner that hadn’t been smudged the day Baldur was killed. The constant reminder of your father’s decision was on her face in the shape of tears. Her eyes were now smeared in a thick black eyeliner with hair was slightly frizzed from the cold weather over the past three years. Yet, somehow, she was a sight to behold.

“I like when a person keeps their word, Freya,” you said, forcing her chin up further. A wicked grin formed on your lips when the woman held her breath, eyes fluttering shut. “And I hate to be kept waiting, and cold.”

Freya felt all restraint be ripped from her body as she jolted forward and crashed lips upon yours. A sigh fell from the older woman’s lips as her tattooed fingertips softly brushed a few strands of your hair out of your face before she cupped your cheek, pulling you incredibly closer. You smiled, taking your dagger and stabbing it into the tree before wrapping your arms around her neck.

In what had occurred years ago, the death of Baldur had only brought you and Freya closer. It was sick and twisted, the Valkyrie knew this, but even before Baldur’s death, the two of you flirted and made feelings apparent for one another. Kratos hadn’t wanted you two to see one another after Freya swore vengeance, but you nor Freya cared. Because in this eternal winter, the both of you sought the warmth of one another’s bodies. That’s because you brought the best out of Freya and she’d needed a sense of rejuvenation, and you were that source.

“I missed you,” Freya breathed, lips barely parting as her hands moved feverishly against your clothes. You broke apart, panting, lips bruised, and heart hammering against your chest as you help shimmy your pants down just enough to give the Queen access to your soaking core. Although snow nipped at your lower back, the feeling of her warm fingers flicking across your drenched heat made it all the more worth it. The contrast was better than anything you’d ever felt or seen. “And I see someone has missed me as well.”

“Shut it.” Your hand wrapped around her throat, tugging her towards you to where your lips met once more. Teeth classing and tongue fighting for dominance over the other. Freya pressed the pads of her fingers to your clit, rubbing fast shapes in the sensitive bud. A gasp erupted in the back of your throat, your head was thrown back with Freya sliding her attention to the edge of your jaw. Kissing and sucking as you trembled underneath her.

Although you were the daughter of the Greek God of War, you were far more submissive than Freya took you for when she met you. Of course, on the battlefield, you showed your capabilities. But every now and then, with only Freya around, you showed yourself more perspective to her touch or words. Practically mewling at the faintest of holds she would have on your hand or your waist. And slowly, she broke away the shyness you held and now left you a far more dominant girl than when she found you.

Finally, Freya pushed her fingers past your clenching pussy, grinning when you moaned loudly, unapologetic as to who could possibly hear or see. Your walls quivered around her finger as she thrust into you with urgency. Either for you to reciprocate the relief you were feeling or to pay back for her mishap. Because even if she didn’t say it aloud, she hated that she left you waiting.

“You’re a gift from the gods, Y/n,” Freya whispered, breath hot against your neck as she nibbled at your pulse point. Feeling you twitch and let out shaky choked moans into her ear. Hands holding her tattered garments as she smiled softly against your cheek. “You are never leaving my side, pup.”

Her possessive words made you bristle with warmth as that knot in your stomach grew tenser. A groan falls from your lips. You tried to focus on her kisses, wanting nothing more than to reciprocate them. But the more her fingers gently nudged the sweet spot in you, you grew focused on that sensation. Melting more and more with each thrust of her fingers that weren’t afraid to scissor inside you, sweetening the bliss that flowed through your body.

“My Queen, I-” You shivered with a moan as your hold on her clothes grew tighter. Neck straining as your head rolled back. Freya took in the sight with admiring eyes, smiling widely, especially with the familiar title you had given her. Sending a wave of adrenaline through her system as her fingers sped up. “My Queen, I’m going to cum!” You whined, pulling her closer in case she even thought about pulling away.

But she would never do such a thing. Especially to her pup.

Her fingers curled and curled until they finally pushed you over the edge. Leaving you gasping and letting out a cry with your back arching. Toes curling in your boots as your legs curled and straightened with the explosive orgasm. Freya followed your pulse point with her lips, knowing just how much the feeling drew you feral. And her fingers slowly worked you down when your body twitched from the aftershocks.

Soon panting and slowly regain your bearings with a wave of exhaustion written on your face. But when your gaze met Freya’s, your lips curled into a cheeky smile. “I never thought I would fuck in a tree, but I guess we can cross that off our list.” Freya couldn’t contain the laugh that fell from her lips as you smiled cheerfully. She rested her forehead against yours, shaking her head slightly as she stared up at you adoringly.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

[fandoms--fluff]

Hey I love your right is so I don’t have words to describe but I now yo have a lot of hope baby sister but they adorable that I have to ask if you could do one we’re she is only 5 months and only what to be with Hayley and Klaus and Hope but if any of the others pick her up she starts to cry or get cranki

Favoritism

Baby female Mikaelson reader x Hope mikaelson (+family)

Warnings: None, just whole bunch of fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Klaus bounces you in his arms while he walks into the courtyard of the abaittoir. Your rested against his chest with one arm wrapped around you and his other hand resting on the back of your head.

You move your gaze to everyone sat in the room. Hope is sitting beside Elijah on the couch, Freya is in an armchair, and Kol is in the other armchair.

Klaus civily greets his siblings and Hope, grunting when his phone starts to ring in his pocket. Taking his hand off your head, he pulls the phone out of his pocket. Marcel's ID contact shows on the screen. Sighing, Klaus answers the call.

He turns back around to face the four others, "I have to leave, seems Marcel has gotten into a bit of a dilemma" Klaus tells, not going into any detail. Everyone nods, Rebekah deciding to tag along with her older brother.

Klaus swiftly passes you to Kol since he was the closest to his younger brother.

After your dad leaves, Kol and you are just staring at eachother from where you're secured in his arms. "What?" Kol asks you (not expecting an answer), noticing how your gaze is not shifting off of his face.

You start squirming in your uncle's hold, wanting to get out. Before long, the squirming turns into tears running down your tiny cheeks.

Kol's eyes widen, not knowing what to do. He's never had any experience with this. Like at all. He was surprised when Klaus passed you to him in the first place.

Soon the tears turn into full on crying. Panicking further, Kol's eyes widened more than before and brings you against his chest to try and rock you like he's seen Hayley and Klaus do a bunch of times. It's doesn't help at all, at anything, it only makes you more worked up than you previously were.

He looks frantically over to his older siblings, "help!" Kol exclaims as he sees that they were just sitting there, staring, while he's now trying not to cry along with you.

Elijah stands from the couch and walks over. He bends down and picks you up out of Kol’s arms and into his own. Bouncing you in his arms and using the same techniques he's used with all his younger siblings and Hope when they were younger doesn't work. It only seems to have made you even more cranky than you were before.

Seeing the panicked face on her uncle's face, Hope stands up. She has a smidge of an idea about what's happening, but wanted to see how long it take her original vampire uncles or aunt to break because of a baby. Taking pity on them, and you, hearing how your cries and breathing have gotten more erratic, if she doesn't step in now, you might catch a cold, she stands up from the couch.

Hope walks over to her uncle and convinces him to pass you over to her. Sighing, he does, worries about you and doesn't want to put any stress on the teenager. Especially after what had happened when Hayley had almost died from Greta and how her son has used his niece.

When she cradles you in her arms, you immediately calm down, knowing it's your big sister. You nuzzle your face into her neck, her soft hair brushing against your cheek.

She walks back over to the couch and sits down. Her arms are wrapped tightly around you, making sure that there's no way you can get hurt. As she leans back into the comfy position she was in earlier, she feels eyes on her.

Looking around the room, her uncles and aunt are staring at her, mouths slightly agape, and eyes widened ever so much. "What?" She asks, knowing full well why they're staring.

"Did you use a spell to calm y/n down?" Elijah asks calm and collectively, unlike how Kol would be responded of he had the chance first. "No, but I've noticed how she's been only wanted to be held by mom, dad, or me. So I wanted to see what would happen if none of us were and how long it would last before I had to hold her" she explains as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Definitely no clear favoritism there" Kol scruches his eyes in mock anger and slight offense at you snuggled up with your big sister. Freya chuckles at her little brother's 'hurt feelings' about their five month old baby niece choosing wanting to be with her sister.

Hope just smirks at him, "I don't know what your talking about" she kisses the top of your head gently.

-

"What's going on in here?" Hayley's brow quirks up, she just got out of the shower. Telling by her still damp hair.

"Well your baby clearly has favorites" Kol says, flopping back into the couch with his arms crossed and a pout on his face. "I'm starting to wonder who the actual child here is, you or her" Hayley smirks and sits down next to her two daughters.

"Wow, first the baby, then the teen, and now the mother" Kol groans about how he can get insulted by all three of them in under thirty minutes. And you can't even talk yet!

Everyone chuckles at the teen original vampire, including you, copying what you hear your big sister doing and now your mama.

[w2soneshots]

Brother’s best mate -W2S

words: 0.8k+

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol consumption.

summary: you and harry meet through your brother ethan. After a night spent with the side girls you crawl into bed with your favourite guernsey boy.

notes: I haven’t written anything like this in ages!🤭 hope you enjoy🔥🫶🏼

Liked by wroetoshaw and 301,583 others

y/username: spending time with my favourite people💞 (even if it's on a golf course😒😂)

Tagged: @faithloisak @behzingagram @wroetoshaw

-comments-

faithloisak: aw I love you

-> y/username: ❤️🫶

y/nfanpage21: she's so 🌼🧺☕️🧘‍♀️🥐 coded

user19470245: omg they went to golf together😭

user83271430: the pic of ethan and faith is adorable

Last year I moved to London to be closer to Ethan when Faith fell pregnant, to help her and to spend more time with the both of them. I also bought an apartment so I'm just a 20 minute drive from them. I finally met the sidemen at the gender reveal. I'd never actually been introduced to them before, which was weird because they are basically the reason Ethan has a career and they helped him so much a few years ago when he was in a really dark place. Me and Harry didn't immediately hit it off, don't get me wrong I thought he was attractive but he's also very awkward and was wary that I'm his best mates sister.

After almost five months of being friends with the group, going to little parties or just hanging out with them me and Harry kissed. I knew it was bound to happen since we had both quickly developed a large crush on each other but after it had happened we'd decided not to tell anyone (especially Ethan) before we knew we were actually good together. It took just one month before we were officially dating and decided it was the time to tell everyone. Of course we told Ethan first, he was shocked but (to our surprise) happy that his best mate and sister were dating. Everyone else was so excited.

We've now been together for 6 months and only told the fans recently. Today I'm going to dinner with: Talia, Faith and Freya for Talia's birthday. Harry had a more sidemen shoot today so wouldn't get home until six. I had a shower, dried and styled my hair, applied some makeup then chose an outfit. I was on my way out just as Harry arrived back. "Wow," He glanced down at my outfit before returning his attention to my face "you look beautiful." I smiled "thank you Haz, I'll be home by ten." "You better be, I can't wait to rip those clothes off."

I arrived outside of the restaurant, thanked the uber driver then spotted Talia getting out of another car. I quickly walked towards her "happy birthday!" We excitedly hugged each other. "Thank you! Freya's already inside." She beamed. "Ok. I think Faith's running a little bit late, let's just go inside." I replied. We headed into the fancy restaurant and were taken to our table where Freya already sat. When she spotted us she immediately leapt from her seat. She said happy birthday to Talia then we all sat down. Faith arrived a few minutes later and we ordered our drinks.

After eating our starters, mains and desserts me Freya and Faith split the bill (not before trying to convince Talia to let us treat her for her birthday). Thankfully I had only had two drinks so I was just a little tipsy. We left then ordered a taxi. Freya was dropped off first then Talia and I was third. I said goodbye to Faith then hopped out.

y/username

Liked by miniminter and 480,231 others

y/username: my girl @taliamar 's birthday dinner with @freyanightingale and @faithloisak 🤍💫

-comments-

taliamar: I had the best night ily😘

-> y/username: ily

freyanightingale: 💓💓

y/nfanpage21: omg you look stunning!!

user91037494: I love that the side girls are actually friends irl it's so cute

When I got up to mine and Harry's apartment I unlocked the door, opened it, kicked my shoes off and dropped my bag. "Haz?!" I shouted through the apartment. I walked through into the bedroom, Harry sat waiting patiently for me "Hey." My mouth curved into a smile "hi." I jumped onto the bed next to him. "Have fun?" He asked. "Mhm" I hummed.

I turned to him and pecked his lips. The kiss deepened, he grabbed the back of my thighs and pulled me onto his lap. I reached my hands down to the belt wrapped around my waist, I pulled it off and threw it to the floor. I moved Harry's hands from the back of my thighs to my ass. He groaned into the kiss then rushed to pull the zipper down on my dress, then he pulled it off and over my head, leaving me in just my matching black lace bra and underwear set. Harry broke the kiss to look down at me "you're so fucking beautiful." He rasped. I pulled his shirt over his head, followed by his pyjama pants. While Harry unclipped my bra, allowing the straps to fall from my shoulders.

Within just a few minutes we were both completely naked. Harry flipped me onto my back. I whimpered as I rubbed my thighs together, desperate for any sort of friction. "Harry, please." I cried out. "What do you want baby? Use your words." "I need you to fuck me."

[oswildin]

Mischief’s Daughter (Loki x Fem!Reader)

Summary: It’s Loki’s first time looking after your daughter alone.

Rating: All ages/SFW

A/N: Self-indulgent as hell. I’ve reached the age where the thought of Loki with a baby makes me all fuzzy and warm inside. A rare fem-specific reader from me. Pure fluff.

LOKI MASTERLIST

“Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Am I sure?”

“Yeah-“

“Am I sure I can handle watching our child for a few hours?”

Loki raised a brow, blinking at you as you sighed, putting a hand on your hip, holding his gaze.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You said lowly, lips quirking faintly upwards. Loki rolled his eyes slightly, casually moving to lean a hip against the kitchen counter, folding his arms over his chest.

“Darling, please, I am a God.” He smirked, that smug one he does when he allows some of his arrogance to surface. “I am very much capable of looking after our daughter whilst you go and ‘let your hair down’.” He paused, his ocean eyes flickering over your features. “Natasha is correct, you deserve to unwind a little.” He told you sincerely, knowing how hectic everything had been since the arrival of your daughter over six months ago.

“But what if something happens and I’m not here-“ You tried, brows furrowing in worry.

“I’m a God, remember?” Loki cut you off, raising a brow, shrugging. “Besides, what could possibly go wrong?”

Famous last words it seemed.

Freya had been crying for the last twenty minutes. Nothing seemed to be working. Not even a touch of illusionary magic was doing the trick. It seemed to work for the tiniest of moments, Loki letting out a breath of relief, before suddenly the wailing continued as if she was now offended by his attempt to quell her upset.

Yes, this was the first time Loki had been left alone with Freya - if you couldn’t already tell.

Children of his own was never something Loki had ever considered, but when you came along and time went on… Well, having a child seemed less like a nuisance and more like an adventure. Being on Midgard for the last five years had changed Loki. Sure, he was still very much the God of Mischief, but now, he had an air of maturity about him. Being apart of the Avengers, having somewhere he belonged… Friends… You… Of course, if you had told him this would be his situation years ago, he would’ve laughed and called you ‘absurd’. Yet, here he was.

The God of Mischief… Defeated by a baby.

“Can we not discuss this like adults?” Loki asked rhetorically, a sardonic wry edge to his voice as he bounced Freya gently in his arms, one of his large hands supporting her back. His brows were furrowed, lips parted slightly as he looked at his daughter who was insisting on wailing still. “I mean, really, I think you’re making some… excellent points-“

Another wail.

“Yes, I agree.” His hand at her back patted her lightly as he let out a deep sigh. Freya’s tiny hand found its way to his curls tucked behind his ear as she grasped it, pulling in her little rage. “Ow! No- No, we do not- There is no need for violence.” He moved towards the couch, feeling a headache begin to form. He began to feel slightly self-conscious, worried he was doing something wrong.

He’d read all the baby books possible before she was born, but it seemed even they didn’t have an answer for everything. He’d tried feeding her, rocking her, putting her down for a nap, illusions, change of nappy— Everything that could’ve been the issue. He sat on the couch, shifting Freya so she could sit on his lap, his hands still supporting her, one staying at her back whilst the other held under her small arm. He looked down at his daughter, seeing her blue eyes all glassy, cheeks red and puffy from crying. It was a sight he would’ve once found extremely… well, snotty. But with Freya, his flesh and blood, it only unsettled him, tugged at his heart.

“You certainly are your father’s daughter.” Loki mumbled to himself. “Throwing a fit of rage for reasons no one else seems to understand.” He tilted his head slightly. “Perhaps someone misses their mother, hm?” At that, Freya went silent for a moment, as if she understood. Loki raised a brow, holding his daughter’s gaze. “Oh… Is that it?” He slowly began to realise that he was likely correct. It was the first time she had been without you since she was born, and whilst people underestimated babies capabilities to understand their surroundings, he knew better.

“Well, I’m here.” Loki said lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And I may even be considered more fun than mum.”

Another wail.

Loki winced at the sound, his smile dropping from his face. She didn’t like that notion it seemed. He glanced at the clock, it had only been an hour since you’d left - although it felt like several.

“Right.” Loki muttered under his breath, before getting up from the couch, once again holding Freya to his chest. “Let’s try something different, shall we?” His hand shifted to cradle the back of her head gently, once more bouncing her softly in a soothing motion. Clearing his throat quietly, he let out a breath before opening his mouth as a low, comforting melody fell from his lips.

“I stormsvarte fjell, jeg vandrer alene,

Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem,

I eplehagen står møyen den vene,

Og synger: “når kommer du hjem?”

The last note rang out softly as Freya’s cries had ebbed, giving way to a few sniffles. Loki held his breath, waiting to see if the old song had managed to quell his daughter’s cries fully. After a few seconds of no wailing, he let out a relieved breath, feeling a warmth in his chest at the fact he had managed to comfort his daughter. After a few tries, but still. That was being a parent.

“So, it seems someone prefers my singing to my show of powers.” He mused playfully, keeping his tone soft and quiet, scared if he spoke too loud he would send Freya into another episode of tears. “You take after your mother on that one.” He smiled slightly, tilting his head to meet his daughter’s eyes. “Although, sometimes I think she prefers it when I’m completely silent.” His smile widened, seeing how Freya was now giving him her full attention. “Can’t say I blame her.” He whispered teasingly, moving to grab a nearby cloth to wipe away the remnants of tears - and snot - from Freya’s adorable little face. “There. Much better. Can’t have my princess looking like her uncle now, can we? All snotty and bubbling.” He smirked, placing the dirty cloth aside as he began to move back towards the couch. “Not very becoming of her highness.”

Freya made a soft gurgle, making Loki laugh quietly, sitting back against the couch as he kept Freya in his arms, resting against his chest so he could look at her. She was the perfect blend of both of you. His eyes, with raven tuffs of hair, your nose and mouth… She truly was a marvel. “Why don’t I tell you about the time I turned your uncle into a frog?”

—

Letting out a breath, you entered the home you shared with Loki, kicking off your shoes as you paused, listening for any sounds. Silence. Your brows furrowed, glancing at the clock on the wall in the hallway. It was around the time Freya would wake in the night and decide it was time for everyone to be awake with her… Yet, no noise. Creeping down the hall, you approached the doorway of the lounge, peering inside. There you saw it. A sight that melted your heart. Loki had his eyes closed, Freya sleeping on his chest, his hand supporting her head whilst the other held her back. The house hadn’t burnt down, there was no mess, no illusions of frogs or god knows what running about the place… Just… peace.

You felt tears well in your eyes as you leaned against the doorframe, heart feeling like it could burst out your chest. After a few seconds, Loki slowly opened an eye, instantly finding you. His brows furrowed faintly, the glow of the lamp reflected in your glassy gaze as he opened his other eye. It took a moment, but then he recognised that look.

“You had a few glasses of wine, didn’t you?” He asked playfully, voice barely above a whisper. You sniffled, straightening.

“No…” You mumbled, tone completely giving you away.

“Hm.” Loki smirked, before carefully lifting his hand from Freya’s head to not disturb her, reaching out towards you. You immediately headed towards him, taking his offered hand as his slender fingers grasped yours. “Your teary eyes tell me otherwise.” He teased softly. “You get emotional every time you have a glass or two.”

“How can I not-“ You drawled quietly, lips pouting faintly. “-when I come back to this?” You gestured loosely towards Freya, referring to the sight that was before you of the two people you loved most in the universe. “And nothing is on fire.” Loki had to hold back a chuckle at that, his lips quirking upwards.

“See? I told you I could handle it.” Loki mused, a hint of his typical smugness entering his voice as he gazed up at you. Besides, you didn’t need to know about the first hour… In the end, it all worked out perfectly and he felt a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment because of it. “Although, she is most definitely my daughter.” He added in a wry murmur, glancing back down at the bundle of sleeping joy on his chest. Your eyes followed his, your features softening even further - if that was possible. After a moment of silence, you spoke again.

“She wailed a lot didn’t she?”

“How did you-“

“Because you also wail a lot-“

“I beg your pardon? I do not ‘wail’, I… express my frustration eloquently like an adult.”

“Uh huh.”

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

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[miley1442111]

believe me- a.hotchner (18+)

summary: aaron is there for you during a particularly difficult case.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem! reader

warnings: reader grew up in a cult, mention of hurting women, domestic violence, mental, physical, emotional abuse, children in dangerous situations, miscarriages, abortions, women being treated awfully, i hate this it scares me (i think that's it? PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED SOMETHING)

this is pretty dark so I will be saying it's 18+ only because of the content, please remember you manage what you consume, mdni.

not entirely proofread

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You sighed, walking into the bullpen. Another day. 

You sat down at your desk and started on your paperwork with as much enthusiasm as one would assume to be normal, but Aaron knew it wasn’t. He’d been watching you, they all had. The sunken eyes, dry skin, yawning at all hours of the day, refusing to stop working, refusing drinks or food, being ‘too busy’ to come for after work drinks. You had even stopped responding to his texts regarding Jack. You had always been the one on the team that Aaron was closest with, mostly because he was in love with you. Due to that, he also invited you over a lot to watch movies, bake, come to football games, etc with Jack. Jack adored you, probably more than he liked his own father (at least, that’s what Aaron thought). You hadn’t been texting or calling back. You two had gone on a few dates, at first he thought he had done something wrong, but then he watched you closer. It wasn’t him. 

Aaron stepped out of his office. “We have a new case, everyone meet in 5.”

You picked yourself up from your desk and followed him in, sitting in the chair furthest from him. 

“We have a new case, Dallas,” he announced. 4 images of women popped up on the screen, and you looked down, knowing exactly who and what they were. “4 women from the same family, killed in the same way, over one decade.” 

“Were they mother and children?” Spencer asked. 

“Yes,” you answered. “Their names are Delores, Tiffany, Riley, and Freya Howell and they all died via the head trauma they sustained in the ritual. The youngest was 17.” 

They all stared at you. You knew this was coming. You understood it.

“What ritual?” Aaron asked, looking straight at you. 

“The birthing,” you answered simply. 

“Why do you know about this?” Derek asked, just as dumbfounded as the rest of them.

You pointed at the screen. “That’s my mother, that’s my little sister, that’s my older sister, and that’s my cousin. There’s no point in getting us in. No matter what we find they claim religious freedom and hide. It’s a cult and it’s about killing women. I work with children to get them out.”

“So you know people in the cult right now?”

“I lived in that cult. I know every single person on that compound's entire medical, familial, and social history. Including the Supreme Leader. Trust me, they have all the fucking permits they could ever need. I’ve been working with another group to try and take them down, but it doesn’t work.”

“We have to try,” Aaron said, stoic as ever. 

“It doesn’t matter what you throw at them, legally they’re untouchable,” you sighed. “If we really want to help, then we need to work on getting the children out.”

“We need to make them illegal then,” Aaron said matter-of-factly, and you just sighed. 

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On the plane, the team was wary of you, it was fine, you understood why. You had just told them that you grew up in the strange woman-killing cult you were now all going to investigate. 

“So what is ‘the ritual’?” Spencer asked. 

“When a woman is pregnant and they bring it to full-term, they are killed as their child enters the word. In the ‘teachings’ it is said to bring the child the strength of 2 people, and that they carry their mothers’ spirit. That’s why everyone’s middle name is their mothers’,” you explained. “See, it’s unusual for the women at the compound to bring children to full-term, at least, when I was there. And in the ‘teachings’, it was written that no women could get pregnant for years and years, but that one, the Supreme Leaders’ mother, could, and when he was in labour, he told her husband to bludgeon her. He did, and the Supreme Leader was born. They are trying desperately to have a new prophet. A new leader. So they began practising the ‘Ritual’ back when I was probably 12. Also, it’s difficult for women to get any kind of medical care in the compound, since they’ve rejected modern medicine, so it’s not uncommon for women to miscarry.”

“How old were you when you left?” Derek asked, the entire plane silent as you recounted your traumatic past. 

“18,” you explained. “I was one of the lucky ones. My mother was a teacher, before she joined the compound. She never wanted to join, it was always my dad’s idea. So she broke the rules. She taught us and another small group of children maths, English, history, and modern politics from any of the newspapers she could smuggle in. When we turned 18, they gave us a test. It was believed by the Supreme Leader that you were either born with the ability to write or not, and all of us in the group passed, so we were sent out to the world to recruit. We ran away. Found a place that they could never find us, cut all contact with each other, and moved on with our lives. I work with a few of them, trying to get children out, but for our own safety, we all act like we’ve never met before.”

“What happened to the others?”

“The ones who didn’t pass turned into husbands and wives, and then fathers. By the time I was 18 I was already married and on my second pregnancy,” you chuckled sadly. “He almost killed me when I said I was leaving to recruit. The men there, they’re taught to be violent. They’re taught to be animals. They’re taught to hurt women. My only saving grace was the ‘doc’. She was one of the eldest women in the compound. We all thought she was blind and half-dead. But she saved me. When I was about 2 months in, she picked me out of my bed and brought me to the edge of the compound walls. She asked me if I wanted the baby, I said no. She got rid of it. She made it look like a miscarriage.”

They were silent. 

“That’s what we’re up against. Years and years of sexual, physical, and mental abuse. A doctorate that no one believes but the men, and the men have all the power and strength. These women and children need help.”

“H-how many have you gotten out so far?” Penelope asked, tears in her eyes. 

“281,” you nodded. “And there’s still more.”

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Aaron walked you up to your room in the hotel. It had been a long day. You had been on speed dial the entire time, explaining everything to the entire team as you worked with your team on making a plan to evacuate all of the women and children. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been calling back, all of my weekends have kind of turned into… this,” you explained, looking down. “I do genuinely like you Aaron, but I’d understand if what you found out today is too much or-”

“It's not,” he assured you. “Thank you for your insight, and I’m sorry that you have it.”

You nodded, the motion bubbling up in your throat as you thought over the last 24 hours. “I hope we can help them,” you whispered. 

“We will,” he nodded, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close as you cried into his chest. Aaron vowed something to himself right then and there, he’d always be there for you, no matter what. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Aaron helped you inside, helped you change into your pyjamas, helped you get ready for bed, and tucked you in, all while whispering words of encouragement. As you lay in bed, utterly exhausted from the emotional toll of the day, you found yourself reaching for Aaron’s hand. 

“Please stay,” you begged, your voice soft and small. 

How could he ever refuse? 

“Of course,” he whispered. Without a moment's pause, the bed dipped beside you, and Aaron opened his arms to accommodate for you. You settled yourself into his arms and pressed a kiss to his clavicle. 

“Thank you for believing me.”

“I’ll always believe you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime (pt. 3)

summary: as you're both standing in the hallway, all logan can think about is the version of you in his universe. pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader word count: 2.4k tags / warnings: angst - post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), brief appearance of wade, logan dreams about his universe's version of you (in italics), no use of y/n. a/n: wanted to write a chapter where it's solely logan's POV. i hope i captured the essence of his character (still pretty new on writing for him!). also pulled some inspo from the scene in prisoners where keller is sitting in the passenger seat of loki's car - ugh that scene gets me everytime! anyway, hope you all enjoyed bc my heart was breaking when listening to the song while writing... hehe stay tuned for more angst 😅 song: lost without you by freya ridings prev. part - next part.

Logan’s hand drops to his side as his eyes search yours. The sudden sense of familiarity stares right back at him, and he feels his heart swell with excitement, but breaks at the memory that nags in the back of his mind. Tears are pooling at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. The chatter and laughter coming from the living room fades into the background as the only thing he can focus on is you. 

He’d be fooling himself if he thought this was his second chance with you. A second chance at making things right. Logan never got what he wanted and even when he got a glimpse of it, it was taken from him. He can’t lose you again and he knows that it’s going to hurt, knows that he’s going to break your heart (and his), but he knows that it’s better this way. You are better off without him. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispers, voice shaky. “You– You deserve someone better than me, than what I can give you.” Logan feels his heart break all over again at the sight of you – the way your lower lip trembles as a tear slides down your cheek – because he knows that you’ve heard this before. If your Logan was anything like him, then he knows that you’re used to this. Used to him deciding what’s best for you because he had done this same thing to the version of you in his universe. 

And the same look that you had in his other world is the same look you’re giving him now. Silently pleading with him that he is what you deserve because there’s no one better than him. In your eyes, Logan was (and will always be) the only man for you. 

Logan can sense your urge to reach out to him, to touch him, but he doesn’t let you because he knows that if you do, he’d fall deeper… and deeper until there’s no way out. And he doesn’t deserve that, doesn’t deserve you. So, he takes a step back, trying to create some distance between the both of you but he can’t ignore the way he feels a pull towards you, like there’s an invisible string tying your souls together. 

“You died in my arms,” he continues, eyes gazing into yours. “You died because of me, do you get that?” Logan’s hands curl into fists, his claws threatening to come out. “Everyone I love dies, bub. I can’t–”

“I can’t just continue living my life when I know that you are here, in this world,” your voice trembles and you bring your hand up to wipe your tears away. “I’m not her,” you repeat. “And I know you’re not him, but maybe–”

“No,” Logan interrupts you. “I won’t ever be the Logan you want me to be.” 

“I don’t want you to be anyone but you, Logan.”

Logan shakes his head, blinking away the tears as a couple trickles down the side of his cheek. “No,” he repeats. “I can’t lose you again,” he whispers. “You called out for me and I failed you. What happens if I fail you again in this universe?” 

You have no words. You just stare at him, your fingertips yearning to reach out to him, to touch him, to get him to see what you see. This version of him is much more closed off than your Logan and while you know that each man has their own fair share of trauma, the one standing in front of you cannot overlook the fact that you had died because of him. 

“You deserve to live a life–”

“I haven’t been living since I lost my Logan,” you interject. “Seeing you– I know that you aren’t the same man that I lost all those years ago, but…” you take a deep and shaky breath. “But I can’t help the way I feel, Logan. I think you know that because you feel it too.”

“Don’t matter if I do,” he replies. 

“Yes, it does. Don’t you want to be happy?” 

“A man like me don’t get to be happy,” Logan answers. He goes to turn on his heel, but you reach out for his wrist. Your touch alone sends shockwaves through him and he turns around to look at you. Your hand lingers before it drops back to your side and Logan’s gaze never leaves you. 

“You will never be my Logan. I know that,” you mumble. “But I don’t want you to be the same man. I just want you.” 

“Sometimes we don’t get what we want, bub.” 

“So, we’re just supposed to act like we don’t know each other? Act like there’s nothing between us and–”

“Exactly. I stay out of your way and you stay out of mine.” 

You stare at him and Logan breaks your gaze to look down at the floorboards, his hands still clenched into fists. He thinks you’re going to say something, to try and talk him out of it, so when he hears you begin walking away, he lifts his eyes to see your back turned as you leave him standing – alone – in the hallway. 

It’s only at that moment that his claws come out as he huffs under his breath. Logan feels a twist in the pit of his stomach, his heart breaking at the sight of you walking away from him. That was one thing different about you and the version of you in his universe. 

Here, you were tired. Exhausted. Fed up. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

In his universe, you fought for him until you couldn’t anymore. Until your last breath. 

Logan remains standing in the hallway, his heightened senses solely focused and zeroed in on you as he hears you mutter to Laura that it’s time to go. Only he would notice the sadness in your tone, the tremble in your voice, but you do your best to hide it from the younger girl. It isn’t until he hears the door shut that he goes back into his room, slamming his own door in frustration. 

—

A few hours pass and Logan hears a knock at his door. He’s already gone through his case of beer and a bottle of whiskey and he needs more, needs to numb the pain that can’t seem to go away. While he can’t shake the memory of you dying in his arms, he also can’t ignore the way his heart is calling out this world’s version of you. 

“Ain’t in the mood,” he calls out, a slight slur to his voice. 

The knocks persist until Logan stands up to open the door. When he sees Wade on the other side, he lets out a sigh and tries to close the door in his face. Wade shakes his head and puts his foot against the door, looking in Logan’s direction. 

“We’re talking,” Wade says, pushing Logan back into his room. 

“Don’t wanna talk.”

“Yeah, well, I think you need to, Peanut.” 

“Ain’t your business,” Logan mutters. “Besides, I was just about to leave.” 

“To get more alcohol?”

“What’s it to you, hm?” Logan threatens, pressing a finger against Wade’s chest. “Last I checked, I didn’t even want to be here.” 

“Tough shit,” Wade replies. “You’re here now and you need to make the most of it.”

“I don’t need to do anything.”

“What did you both talk about?” Wade asks, changing the subject. “You both were talking for a bit before she just abruptly left with Laura. So, what happened?”

“Told her what she needed to hear,” Logan growls. “Ain’t my fault she didn’t like it.”

“You really like to make shit difficult, don’t you?” Wade says with a laugh. “You know, I think this world’s version of Logan liked to make things difficult too. Is that a thing with you Wolverines, hm? Can’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of you?” 

Logan curls his hands into fists, his claws slowly coming out. 

“Oh, it’s taking a while to get going, huh? I hear that happens when you age–”

Logan slams his fist into Wade’s jaw with a low growl. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” 

Wade grunts, rubbing his jaw as he looks at the older man. “Never,” he grins. “Now, I’m gonna let that one slide because you’re going through something, but–”

Logan throws another punch in Wade’s direction, but Wade easily dodges it which causes Logan to stumble forwards. 

“Careful there, Peanut,” he chuckles. “Listen, I didn’t come in here to get you riled up–”

“Sure as hell seems like it,” Logan mumbles. 

“That woman,” Wade begins. “Is your person, Logan. I’m sure in every universe, there’s a version of you and a version of her who love each other.”

Logan looks over at Wade, jaw tight and hands still curled into fists.

I will love you in every lifetime. 

In every universe and in every lifetime, I’m yours. 

“She’s just going to get hurt,” Logan admits. “And it’s going to be because of me.” 

Wade shrugs. “That’s a possibility.” 

Logan glares. 

“But you’re already hurting her, Logan.”

“She’ll get over it.”

Wade scoffs. “Her Logan died so long ago. Did she get over that?” 

“That’s different.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m not him,” Logan says. “I won’t ever be him.”

“She doesn’t want you to be him,” Wade sighs. 

“She died because of me, Wade,” Logan mumbles. “Took her last breath in my arms because I wasn’t there and every day–” his voice catches in his throat. “Every day I hear her voice, calling out to me. Every. Day! I have to live with that. Not you. Not her. Me!” 

“But, she loves you…”

“And I love her,” Logan admits, tears trickling down his cheeks. “But I can’t– How can I be happy when there’s a version of her out there that’s dead because of me?” 

“Maybe she’s the reason you start to heal,” Wade answers. “And maybe… Maybe the version of her in your universe would want you to be happy, Logan.”

Logan shakes his head. He knows that Wade has a valid point. You had always wanted him to be happy. Even when Logan had pushed you away in his universe, you still wanted the best for him. You had every right to be upset and frustrated with him, but instead, you loved him from afar and he felt every ounce of your love even if he didn’t deserve it. 

“You should leave now,” Logan replies. “I don’t wanna talk about this shit.” 

“This is your chance to live a life you always wanted, Logan,” Wade says seriously. “Everyone of us deserves that, even you.” 

“I ain’t everyone, Wade.” Logan mutters. 

—

Logan finally manages to pass out once Wade leaves his room. Behind closed lids, all he can see is you. His universe’s version of you. 

You’re wearing a white dress and there’s a glow around you and still, you’re smiling at him. Logan’s lying on his side and you’re across from him, hand reaching out to touch his cheek. Logan lets out a sigh, bringing his own hand to touch your wrist and it feels so real. You feel so real. 

“Hi, baby,” you whisper. 

“Y– You’re real?” 

“As real as I can be,” you giggle. Logan feels his heart swell at the sound and he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Can you stay?”

“Not for long.”

“Can I come with you?”

“No, baby,” you say sadly. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, tears stinging his eyes. “I should have– I should have been there. I should have fought alongside all of you and–”

“Hey, hey…” you brush the pad of your thumb across his cheek, feeling his tears trickle down. “We don’t blame you, Logan.”

“You called out to me, baby,” Logan’s voice trembles. “You died in my arms. You– All I can hear is you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I wish I can take it away for you.” 

“I shouldn’t have ever pushed you away. I loved you so much.”

“I know,” you repeat. “I never questioned it.”

“Then, why did you let me push you away?” 

“Because,” you say softly. “I wanted you happy and if that meant pushing me away, then…”

“But I hurt you.”

“You did,” you nod. “But I never questioned your love for me, that’s the difference.” 

Logan slowly wraps his arms around you, burying his face against the side of your neck. “I want to stay. I’ve been lost without you.” 

“You can’t stay, baby,” you tell him, running your hands through his hair. “There’s still a lot of life for you to live, people to save, someone to love…”

He shakes his head as he feels his entire body tremble against you, an overwhelming flood of emotions washing over him. “She isn’t you…”

“And you’re not her Logan, so what?” you answer. “I told you I would love you in every lifetime, Logan…” 

“I can’t–”

“You can,” you whisper, pulling back to look into his eyes. “You deserve to be happy, Logan. You deserve to be loved, baby.” you lightly peck his lips as your hand drops from his cheek. 

Logan suddenly gasps awake, looking around the darkened room. He tries to search for you, eyes scanning rapidly until his gaze settles on the empty side of the bed. 

“You deserve to be happy, Logan. You deserve to be loved.” 

He sits up on the edge of the mattress, head in his hands as your voice echoes in his mind. You felt so real, looked so real. It had been a long time since you had visited his dreams. 

“You deserve to be happy, Logan. You deserve to be loved.” 

Logan looks at the time and stands from the bed, pulling on his leather jacket. He walks across the hallway and knocks on Wade’s door. It takes the other man a few minutes to get up, rubbing his eyes. When he opens the door to see Logan standing on the other side, fully dressed, he furrows a brow. 

“You know what time it is, Peanut?” 

“What’s her address?” 

“Whose?”

Logan grunts. “You know who.”

Wade suddenly begins to grin, scrambling back into his bedroom to grab his phone. He writes down your phone number and your address before handing the piece of paper to Logan. 

“Go get her, Peanut.” 

---

taglist: @its-in-the-woods @mynatureworld @wadewnstonwilson

[sitaraa--writes]

Asleep

Summary: After spending an unproductive day at the Mikaelson compound, you pretend to be asleep so you can get Kol to carry you to bed.

Fluff, fluff, fluff!

Kol Mikaelson X Fem!Reader

You sighed, stretching your legs which ached after being in a position for a little too long. You had finished the novel in your hands in one sitting, even though the plot and the characters were disappointing. Safe to say, you were bored.

Before you met your boyfriend, Kol, about a year ago, you were quite content living alone, attending classes, completing assignments, and reading books. You had never realized when you became so used to him, his quips, his charming smile. You now couldn't spend a day without him, without finding everything around you worthless. He brought light and meaning to your days, making each moment valuable. He taught you how to live life with a different perspective. He effortlessly wove himself into your days, making them happier. That every day after a tiring day at work, you knew you had someone to come home to. And you couldn't help falling in love with him a little more with each passing day.

His dysfunctional family adored you, and you loved them back with all your heart. Life was happy. You were happy.

It was past midnight and he hadn't returned. You were alone at the compound. Rebekah, Freya and Hayley were at the plantation house with Hope, so for the past week, you were with the brothers.

With each passing moment, you grew more worried for them. Sure, they were some thousand-year-old invincible original vampires, but over the years, they made quite a few formidable enemies. Being a human, you never imagined the horrors of the supernatural world.

Lost in thought, you almost didn't hear the loud footsteps entering the house. By the way they hit the floor, you instantly knew it was Kol. You were quite observant, and despite not having the heightened senses of a vampire, you could use your own quite well.

"Now, now brother, that wouldn't be quite fair, would it?" You heard Klaus' thick accent. Kol cackled and Elijah mumbled something incoherent to which Kol doubled over laughing.

You quickly snuggled to the pillows, lying down and pulling your heap of blankets closer, closing your eyes and pretending to sleep, turning around slightly so that the boys would not be able to see the smile you were sure you would not be able to keep off your face.

As the footsteps grew louder, an argument between the younger brothers could be heard.

"Shhhhhh."

The whispers ceased and you could almost hear the smile forming on Elijah's face.

A chuckle.

A pat.

Footsteps retreated and one moved forward. You feel the couch dip at where your feet rested and Kol took them in his lap and rubbed them with his rough fingertips. His touch was warm, and with great effort you silenced the sigh escaping your lips.

He stood up and moved. He lifted you up in his arms, bridal style, discarding the blankets covering you. You fought off the smile threatening to form on your face as he carried you upstairs.

A door opened and closed.

Kol laid you on the plush bed and covered you with the silky duvet. You made no movements to get more comfortable. He pushed your hair out of your face and grabbed your ankles and pulled them down.

A few moments later, the door to your en-suite bathroom opened and closed.

You opened your eyes and grinned triumphantly, giddy that you fooled your boyfriend. When the door closed again, you felt the bed dip at your feet.

A silky, soothing voice you knew a bit too well spoke. "You can stop pretending now, darling."

You didn't open your eyes and carried on the act.

"I know you aren't asleep." You opened your eyes, unable to keep the pout of your face. You released a breath you didn't realize you had been holding.

Your eyes met with the gorgeous face of your lover. He had a goofy smile on his face. Your heart beated insanely fast and you whined. "How did you know?"

"I know you, love. You can't fall asleep without me. Your heartbeat gave it away."

You groaned, but you were secretly happy.

" If you wanted me to carry you to the bed, baby, you could've just asked."

What do you think?

[604to647]

Dodge

2.9K / Vigilante AU Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javier Pena does in New York City what he could not in Columbia.

Warnings: AU set after canon events of Season 3. Maybe a wee bit dark but wasn’t Narcos hella dark sometimes? Mention of violence and weapons. Implied ambiguous powers. Established relationship, brief allusion to smut (1). No nicknames in this one! (So weird for me 😂)

A/N: Vigilante AU is the brainchild of the brilliant @almostfoxglove, who inspires constantly with her beautiful moodboards.  Here’s the one for Vigilante!Javi and it’s the entire reason this fic exists - thank you, Freya my dearest 😘😘

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘

⬇️ Barely edited and mainly just vibes 🫣

Dodged a bullet.  It was just a saying.

Or was it?

For a very long time, Javier thought he was just a very lucky man. 

Though he did not realize it at the time, for the entirety of his career Javier had held his proverbial breath waiting for that luck to run out - but it never did.  When he thinks back to all the Medellin fire fights he’s been caught in, his involvement with Los Pepes (that he’s still not sure he regrets completely), the tense relationship he struck up with Don Berna, and all the times Escobar’s scheming and machinations could have easily rendered him collateral damage, he can’t help but marvel at how many actual and metaphorical bullets he’s dodged.

And if he was to renumerate on it further, he might even count his political tangling with Stechner, his role in Elisa’s escape, and (if he was really honest about it) his almost marriage to Lorraine, as near misses.

While not unscathed and usually worst for the wear, Javier Pena has always landed on his feet.

He had never questioned it before.

But now he decides to test it.

When he miraculously evades any major consequences for his “alleged” partnership with Los Pepes, dodging the treason charges that Judy Moncada had almost gleefully laid at his doorstep before her exile, Javier cannot ignore the brushing feathers of some higher power looking out for him.  By the time his deposition in the matter some how lands him a promotion as the DEA's US attaché to Columbia in charge of the fight against the Cali cartel, Javier is certain of its presence.

He heads the Cali operation with a boldness and confidence that pushes the limits of the diplomatic courtesy extended by his Columbian hosts.  Running missions and chasing leads that leave no slack on the legal reins handed to him by the US government.  He’s brash, brave, and reckless – ferocious in his pursuit of justice, almost daring the wings of Lady Luck who rides into battle with him to fail them both.

The way Agent Pena works is not without frustration or devastation; he wins some, he loses more - but at the end of it all, he remains standing.

Javier is almost afraid to put a name to it.  To call it luck seems almost derivative of this protection that he’s inexplicably been afforded.  Enhanced self preservation?  An uncanny ability to evade major bodily harm or danger to his person and livelihood?  It doesn’t matter - after Cali Javier knows that he is someone’s god’s favourite.

The price of this so-called gift appears to be guilt.  Guilt that he was unable to extend this unmerited favour, that he could not invite others to join him under its umbrella of safety.  That he wielded no additional power to protect those that needed protecting was a source of deep shame and anguish that Javier wrestles with on a daily basis.

While he remained relatively intact, Javier could not say the same for the more deserving fellow officers with whom he had the honour of serving alongside: brave Columbian policemen, incorruptible members of Search Bloc, his friends. Carrillo.

What was the point?  Why him?  Avoiding the direst of consequences for only himself, but unable to prevent the same suffering for others feels like a curse at times.

The months after the downfall of the Cali cartel that Javier spends at Chucho’s ranch is supposed to bring him peace in working the land, being with family.  But he cannot find peace.  Not when there had been so many causalities and lives destroyed back in Columbia, and he had learned from Stechner, of all people, that it had all been for naught.

Agent Pena had played fair and abided by Uncle Sam’s rules, and it hadn’t mattered at all.  Unseen political powers were playing a different global game and with their long reaching arms of corruption, swept all of Javier and the DEA’s strategically placed game pieces off the board before the game had even started.  And the worst part is, they had let him continue and go through the motions of putting the Rodriguez brothers behind bars, letting him think he had actually accomplished something when in reality, he had only played the role of clueless puppet in the ruin of innocent lives.  It made Javier sick, and he left the DEA jaded and cynical.

How could he be at peace when those that made the rules didn’t have to play by them, and through hubris and indifference allowed the destructive cycle of the drug trade to rage on endlessly?

But Javier didn’t have to play by the rules, did he?  He had something on his side that allowed him to push the boundaries of the rigged game - but he couldn’t push if he didn’t play.

So, to Chucho’s disappointment, Javier leaves for New York City to seek out his old boss; not for the first time, bureaucratic politics works in his favour and Messina hands Special Agent Pena a new title: Head of the DEA’s NYC field office. 

Javier will never know what strings Messina pulled to get him back in, but he never had any doubt of her success - confident now that when it really matters, fortune will favour Javier Pena.  He’s back to doing what he needs to: hunting down the remnants of the Cali mafia that had entrenched themselves in New York City and carrying out the government’s stated directive against all drugs - marijuana, heroin, steroids.  It’s not easy work by any means, but somehow, he feels at more at home weeding out stateside trafficking networks and shutting down home grown labs in the five boroughs than he did those months he spent in Laredo.

By day, Agent Pena hunts the scourge of the city with the aid of his team of talented agents, all eager to make a difference and brimming with strong moral fibre.  He can’t quite bring himself to destroy their faith in the system that he now knows actively works against them and their efforts.  He allows them to fight the good fight so that they can go home and sleep at night in a way that Javier almost doesn’t remember anymore.  Wiretaps, stakeouts, informant deals, raids and busts – all done by the book, slow going and above board. 

By night, Javier hunts alone.  Armed with the intel collected via those same formal and official channels of his government day job, he sets out to informally and unofficially deal with cartel and drug trade players under the cover of dark.  Hats off to you, Uncle Sam.

The judgment and retribution Javier dispenses is fearsome and precise.  Choosing targets that he knows will inflict immeasurable damage during the time it will take the DEA to bring them to justice (if ever), he methodically crosses off the names on a too-long list one by one.

They never know he’s coming for them until it’s too late.  They don’t know that this vigilante leverages intel painstakingly gathered and vetted by DEA resources in the only way it will ever be truly effective; that he’s more than acquainted with their whereabouts and routine movements.  Their executioner has memorized all of their weaknesses and vulnerabilities before they even know they’re on his chopping block.  They don’t know that the masked avenger stalks through the night and scales building without fear or hesitation, imbued with a confidence that can only come with doing the right thing, and something else that all but guarantees his success.

The investigative and strategic mind that serves Javier as an officer of the law remains his most trusted weapon when he’s off the clock.  He tirelessly pours over surveillance data, building and city plans – identifying single point entrances and exits, quick escape routes, and areas where there will be no witnesses… or civilian casualties.  Never again will Javier Pena allow the pursuit of a criminal to hurt another innocent.

He finds that he’s partial to knives and blades, avoiding firearms completely for his nighttime pursuits.  From Javier’s experience, guns are too easy traced unless he were to engage with the illegal arms trade, and there are some lines he’s still unwilling to cross.  Guns are the weapons of the loud and arrogant, the sometimes ignorant – knives obey only skill and discretion.

But his preference is to use his hands.  Every time Javier feels the crush of bones or the splitting of flesh beneath his fists, his chest fills with pride and accomplishment.  The splattering of blood and the swollen, mangled bodies of his targets after he’s through with them become like therapeutic art; his hands are his chosen instrument and he paints his canvas for the evening with bloodshed and barbarism, expressing his bottled-up fury at his past failures and the grief he still keeps buried deep for those he’s lost.

Even the squelching of the red sticky liquid that pools out from where his blades land true and the gurgling of blood-filled mouths become welcomed melodies to his ears.  The final desperate gasping for air and the crunch of shattering bones act as the percussion section of a violent orchestra – one that Javier that conducts with the passion of a musician who’s finally found his muse.

He almost likes it when they fight back – giving him permission to discard any restraint he might have been exercising over his savagery in the name of efficiency.  With every blow he lands and every vital organ he guts, Javier feels like he’s fighting for them all: Carrillo, President Gaviria, Helena, Christina, sweet little Olivia’s mother, freaking Puff the cat.  Fighting for them now like he should have fought for them back in Columbia.

His actions do not go wholly unnoticed.  The DEA picks up chatter about a masked vigilante who seems to only target drug lords and narcotics organizations, one who seemingly appears out of nowhere to strike deadly and crippling blows to the cartels before disappearing without a trace.  It sounds like something straight out of a comic book.  A few news outlets run a couple of pieces on him, but the NYPD and federal agencies are all too overwhelmed by this War on Drugs™ that Javier knows they’ll never win, to look a gift horse in the mouth.  For now, the hunter does not become the hunted.  Once again, luck favours Javier Pena.

Though he is satisfied with his ongoing results, Javier is nowhere near immortal or indestructible.  He bleeds and bruises, his ribs crack and his knuckles split.  He’s constantly dog-tired and concussed, every part of him is scraped and achy, but he heals.  He’s alive. 

Each poorly set bone break and new scar carved onto Javier’s body is worn with pride – collected like trophies that fuel the fire of his resolve and righteousness. 

He doesn’t feel the guilt anymore.

The only time self reproach creeps up on him is when Javi lies to you.  He feels the low stir of something uncomfortable in his chest when he claims to be going on a DEA nighttime raid and your sweet response is to tell him to be careful and wish him back to you soon.  It feels even worse when he slips out of your warm, safe bed while you remain unaware and asleep like an innocent angel, and it surges hot and shameful when he slips back under the covers while it’s still dark and you welcome him, soft and inviting, oblivious to the violence and brutality that now clings to his naked skin.

He should leave you be, let the goodness you radiant remain unsullied by his darkness, but he can’t.  He fell for you hard and fast, head over heels since the day he saw you buying a hotdog from the vendor outside the DEA’s downtown office.  Chain-smoking away the stress induced by the bureaucratic red tape he had waiting for him upstairs, Javi watched in slow motion as a mugger took advantage of your attempts to balance your belongings with your lunch – violently grabbing your purse off your arm.  His fists clenched instinctively and he was about to leap into action when you rendered him unnecessary - karate chopping the perp with your briefcase without a drop of mustard falling from your hotdog.  He’s amazed, amused, tickled – a litany of light and joyous emotions Javi had forgotten were possible.  He comes over to ensure the would-be mugger doesn’t retaliate and asks if you’re okay; he swears the smile you give him is more dangerous than Escobar himself ever was.

You’re the most perfect thing in Javi’s life and the only thing he has just for himself.  You play no role in his quest to snuff out the insidiousness that sinks its teeth deeper and deeper into this city everyday, and unlike the women of his past, you aren’t an atonement for his previous complacency and deep seeded regrets.  You just let him be – and he’s just Javi to you, not Agent Pena or even Javier.  Just Javi with whom you happily wile away hours talking about nothing and everything, who holds you when you cry to sappy movies, who you convince to try every ramen joint on the island of Manhattan, who pulls the most stomach caving, soul shaking orgasms from you.  In return, you give him a new peace – one where his nightmares end with soft and loving arms hugging him awake, where the confessions of his past misdeeds and failures in Columbia aren’t met with pity or judgment but with compassion and tenderness; a peace that seems to know no end - entangling and weaving its delicate and ever-growing tendrils with something that reminds Javi of hope.  You give him a peace he didn’t know was possible for someone like him, and one that he’s not sure he deserves.  Javi loves you.  But he lies to you.

He thinks, no, he knows, that one day it will all come to a head - the people he hunts as DEA, the vigilante justice he dispenses at night, and the life he’s come to treasure in the home he’s built with you.  And when that time inevitably comes, Javi hopes – prays - that whatever grace has deigned to keep him from succumbing to fates suffered by many better men than he, will once again come to his aid and prevent him from losing what’s truly important, what makes his life worth living.

That time might be tonight.

The evening has been wonderfully typical, bellies full, you and Javi are on your way to try a new ice cream place for dessert when you hear two gunshots ring out.  Then more shots in rapid succession as sirens approach.  Javi pushes you down behind some parked cars - finding a safe line a sight from which he assesses the situation to ensure that the two of you are a safe distance away before properly reading the scene. 

With some weariness, Javi realizes he’s played a role in what’s happening in front of him.  Two nights ago, he took out the numbers man and head of security for the remnant of one of Pacho’s old distribution networks.  It seems a local gang has decided to take advantage of the sudden power vacuum and take the territory by force.  But with the NYPD now arrived on scene, the rival gangs unite against their common enemy, and Javi counts four, five, police officers currently being pinned down behind their patrol cars by round after round of gunfire.

He should help.  But he doesn’t have a firearm on him and his DEA badge alone isn’t going to do any good.  He could pretend he’s a citizen, but that would never fly – for all the same reasons he wears a mask during his nightly crusades, Javi knows he would be identified sooner or later, and without some flexibility to do what’s needed, he would likely find himself pinned under a hail of bullets like his brothers in blue.

And you.  How could he leave you?  You must be so scared right now.  He looks over to you and to his shock, not only do you look calm and determined, you’re holding out the black cashmere scarf that you’ve unwound from your neck, offering it to him in your open hands.

Javi looks at down the scarf, then up at you – confused, stunned.

Pushing your scarf towards him, you give your brave boyfriend a wise and reassuring smile, “Take it, Javi.  You need to cover your face, don’t you?”

It takes Javi more time than the situation affords him to comprehend what you’re saying.  How long have you known?  His world is simultaneously eerily still yet wildly spinning, with you at its calm centre.  Wordlessly, Javi takes your scarf and wraps it swiftly around his head until only his eyes remain exposed, securing the ends with a tight knot against the back of his head so his makeshift mask doesn’t slip.

Your eyes now wide and worried, you nonetheless press a confident kiss to Javi’s lips through the luxurious fabric, “I’ll be fine, I promise.  Go and be careful, my love.”

Feeling Javi return your affections and the air of something like ‘thank you’ puff through the soft wool against your lips, you hold steady the look of adoration and devotion in his chocolate brown eyes with one of your own before you see them turn towards the ongoing cacophony of bullets with a steely resolve. 

Holding your breath, you watch your Javi slip into the night.  “Come back to me,” you whisper, unaware that you’ve already been gifted the promise of his safe return. 

[itsokbbygrl]

If The Wind Turns

moodboard by the incredibly talented Freya @almostfoxglove

🪽 Fallen Angel!Joel Miller x Fem Reader

🪽 Rating: T, there’s some language, no other warnings apply

🪽 Summary: You have me floatin' like a feather on the sea while you're as heavy as the world that you hold your hands beneath. Once I had wondered what was holdin' up the ground, but I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down. Leave it now, I am sky bound. If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me. We’ll float away, but if we fall, I only pray, don’t fall away from me.

🪽AN: Freya made this moodboard weeks ago and I wasn’t able to stop thinking about it and Icarian (Carrion) by Hozier. The brainrot was too much and eventually this got written. It’s just a Drabble really, hardly anything to shake a fist at, but my dear friends @luxurychristmaspudding and @almostfoxglove gave really positive feedback so I decided to share it. It’s not edited, mistakes are my own, etc etc etc.

☁️•🪽•🪽•🪽•🪽•☀️•☀️•☀️•🪽•🪽•🪽•🪽•☁️

“Darlin’ you don’t understand,” he pleads. “You shouldn’t be attaching yourself to all this. You should—”

“Joel,” you cut him off succinctly, drawing his gaze back to your own. You use his momentary pause to step into his space, eyes confidently locked on his. His head tips down as you stand toe to toe. You lift your fingers to his chin, guiding him until he’s once again your equal. You hold him there. Your hands frame his cheeks, his scratchy beard lightly tickling your palms, thumbs stroking softly over his cheekbones. You feel him melt, if only a little, in the only way he’ll let himself have vulnerability—in microdoses.

“You know the myth about how the world is held up on the back of a turtle,” you start.

Joel huffs a half snort and the left corner of his mouth quirks up the smallest bit. You might not even catch it if you weren’t so attuned to every minute contraction and release of every sinewy strand of muscle that makes this being in front of you. But you were, and so you see, and you know he knows, and you’re hoping he’ll humor you. “Heard a thing or two about it, yeah.” And your heart nearly ruptures forth from its cradle in your chest.

“So this myth is recursive in a bunch of different cultures right? And it varies slightly. But my favorite is the problem of infinite regress, turtles all the way down,” you continue. “And that got me thinking about flying, leaving the world and seeing once and for all the turtles and their infinity, and that got me thinking about Icarus and Deadalus,” you lock onto his gaze, eyes true as they’ve ever been, wanting him to hear you as you say, “about how painful it must’ve been for a father to watch his son fall like that. And for the son—to have no recourse, no reconciliation, to simply be gone, forever, over one misstep.” It’s gone so quiet you wonder if his god has stopped time to listen. You hope he has. You have some choice words for him.

“Joel,” you soften your tone, “there is nothing wrong with you. You made a mistake. Isn’t it even written in the holy book or whatever that no being but god himself is perfect anyway? How could you be held to that standard?” You’re imploring him to believe you, branding it into his flesh with warm caresses of your thumbs over his cheekbones, under his eyes, over his brow. You lean your forehead to his and stay there, simply holding him and breathing in his calming scent.

Your next words are soft and unpracticed, “I’ve never been forcefully exiled from my home by a man who professed to be my father, I won’t ever know exactly the pain you feel. But Joel, I know the weight of shame that you carry and I’m asking you to let me help you carry it.”

He shudders a breath, just a small trembling thing, and then his lips are on yours, and this time, it’s you who melts, who falls into the gravity of him. You’ve never felt such a freedom or such a tethering. Love, you find, is full of contradictions. You swim in the ocean of his mouth, crest the wave of his tongue with your own. Push and pull and crash, again and again and again.

“For the record,” you get out from beneath the current you’ve created, “if you asked me,” you leave a gentle, lingering kiss to the corner of his jaw, “in my Icarian fall from grace,” a kiss to his chin, “I have a sneaking suspicion I’d find you there, down and down, forever, holding up the ground I used to walk on.” Joel’s jaw ticks, his eyes glassy and deep, and you pray to whatever god might be listening that you never forget this moment. “It was always you, it always will be you. Joel, whatever you’ve done, you’re not irredeemable, and I’ll spend the rest of my godforsaken life showing you that, I fucking mean it.”

He lets your words float on the air. Then he sighs. “Ok then,” he relents. Joel never understood holy wars until he met you. Now he wouldn’t hesitate to battle against all of the angels above and demons below if it meant protecting you. Maybe that would be enough to save his soul—laying down what’s left of his earthly life in defense of the closest thing to true divinity he’s ever known.

[smolvenger]

The King of Asgard (Loki x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: As the wife of Prince Loki of Asgard, you suddenly discover that Odin and Thor are gone. You are made queen and your dear husband is king. But a king needs an heir...

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: SMUT Y'ALL!!! 18+ Breeding Kink and Vanilla P in V sex and dirty talk. Some angst in the beginning but lots of hurt/comfort regarding his discovery about being a Frost Giant. Some married fluff. I use the canon events in Thor 1 but stretch out the timeline because it's my fic and I can do what I want. References to fairy tales because I'm a slut for literary references.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Since seeing Thor 1 in its completion this has been in my head. I don't usually write for the big man Loki himself too often- but it's a treat to do so! Maybe I will do more of this stuff if I get more ideas! REBLOGS, COMMENTS, DMS, AND ASKS ABOUT MY WORK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED! Also, I don't know if Frigga is also Freya the goddess of love and sex in this universe when I wrote this but her character is clearly more FRIGGA than Freya...so yeah...mea culpa

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @littlespaceyelf @superficialdomina (since all the way back you asked to be tagged! Ta da! Here it is!!)

You had many regrets in your life. But marrying Prince Loki was not one of them.  When he asked you, you threw your arms around him and kissed him repeating one word- “Yes!”

You never regretted the day you wore a jeweled veil and walked down that aisle. You never regretted vowing before all the gods that you were his and he was yours. You never regretted becoming Princess of Asgard. Not if it meant the love of your life could become your husband.

Some whispered that your choice was unusual. That it was the wrong prince. That you should have married Thor. After all, it seemed obvious he was going to be the heir. But things did not happen in your heart the way they did. Thor was jovial and friendly to you. But before your betrothal, he liked you as a sister. No more, no less. Even if Odin commanded it, Thor would object to the match. If Thor learned to reign in his arrogance someday, you thought, he would make a fine lover to some lucky person!

Other than being the most beautiful man you had ever beheld, Loki was intelligent. Full of elegance as well as guile. Well-read, polite, patient, and charming, but could hold his own in any battle. It seemed you were one of the few people who recognized that. That was one of many reasons why he loved you.

You both attended feasts side by side. He would flirt with you even though you were still about a year into marriage.

“Why, it is too bad that such loveliness is sitting by herself tonight! May I have the seat next to her?” Loki would croon as he sat in the chair next to you.

 You danced every dance together at balls. You especially loved spending free hours exploring the Asgardian library together. Reading works from all Nine Realms. Sometimes until you both fell asleep by the fireplace. Not to mention his finesse in the bedroom.

Loki confessed of his wedding day nerves to you in private. He feared…displeasing you on your wedding night. But your mutual passion and reverence for each other won over all else. Every time you coupled, you brought each other to Valhalla and back again. You learned about each other’s bodies like studying maps. Each minute of lovemaking was both exploration and worship of each other.

Lately, the two of you were careful. You had your own special tea to drink before or after it happened. At most, he would spill his seed somewhere that wasn’t between your legs. You knew so much was happening. Becoming a parent would put more stress on both of you. Especially considering Odin was about to name his heir.

 Though you both did hope someday to have a child. You knew Loki would be a wonderful father and you wanted to be a mother. You wanted a family. You wanted to have a sweet baby (or two) of your own to cuddle and kiss. To hear it laugh when you tickled it. To welcome their first steps with open arms. To watch it grow. To leave your own mark- a person who was both Loki and you.

Now wasn’t the right time, both of you knew it. When you would sigh about it, he would hug you.

“We will wait, my love…time is our friend…” he’d assure you.

 There were worse things in life. And you might as well enjoy what you had now before it was too late. You were lucky to have him. Many couples lived happy, long lives together without children. You were fortunate to have a man who you could confide anything to. And he in turn confided all his worries to you.

The ceremony arrived. And it was not Loki who was named heir as he hoped. It was Thor.

As you stood next to Loki, you felt him stiffen. Thor smiled and held up Mjonir as the kingdom cheered for him. Looking at your husband, you took his hand. You heard him take in a deep sigh through his nose.

“I know you wanted it…I’m so sorry…” you whispered to him, rubbing a thumb over his palm.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 One evening when you walked about the garden. The sun was setting and while there was some light, you wanted to admire the roses Frigga grew. Dressed in your golden dress, you knelt to sniff a few red ones. Admiring her work and the peace of the place. You jumped when a guard ran over to you.

“The Prince Loki requests your presence immediately in the castle vaults,” he reported.

Picking up your skirts, you hurried there.

“Loki, where are you? Are you hurt?” you asked as you entered.

He was standing on the steps before the Tesseract’s section. He looked up at the sound of your voice. There were tears in his eyes.

“I…I just spoke with father…” he said.

“What did he say this time?” you asked.

He took a step towards you. More tears fell down his cheeks.

“Y/N…I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have married you, shouldn’t have made you my prisoner…” he said.

Pain curled up in your chest at the words. Their grip tightened your throat and your eyes watered as well as his.

“Prisoner!?! What are you talking about, Loki? You cannot believe every word Odin says! I will talk to him myself right away! How dare he say such cruel things to you! You do deserve me! You do!” you cried.

You reached over to grab his hands and he jerked them back.

“No Asgardian maiden deserves to be sold and made wife to a Frost Giant!” He blurted.

You paused.

“Frost Giant?” you repeated.

All your life you heard whispers of the land of the Frost Giants, or Jotenheim. And they were always violent tales of terror. The large, ice creatures were longtime enemies of your kingdom. It was typical for Thor to boast about how much he would slay if given the chance.

“Stay here…and watch…” Loki instructed.

He put his hand on the Tesseract. Upon contact, his skin turned blue and his eyes red. A frost giant if you ever saw one.

Your eyes widened and you gasped in response, a hand flew over your mouth. Shock made your body lock in place. But you did not turn your eyes from him.

“Oh, Loki!” you cried.

You did not flee. No, you would not. Instead, you ran up and embraced him. He felt cold to the touch. As his hands released the Tesseract you felt him warm up in your arms as his skin turned back to ivory. They curled around your back, and he buried himself in your touch. You felt him shaking. Despite your own surprise, you would not abandon him. Never.

“It’s alright…it’s alright, I’m right here…this is a lot, I know…” you consoled as he cried.

He explained to you that years ago, Odin found an abandoned Frost Giant baby in Jotenheim. He took in the infant to be raised as one of his own. But never telling that young prince the truth about his parentage. Not until an accidental discovery. In a recent battle a Frost Gant touched your husband’s arm, changing your prince’s skin to blue beneath his grip. And blue skin could not lie.

“Do you know what I am, Y/N? I am a monster! That’s who you are married to! A monster!” Loki mourned.

You glanced at the door, then back to him. An idea from a recent library read growing in your head.

“Are you familiar with Midgard Fairy Tales? The ones for children?” you asked.

“No,” he answered.

“You don’t?” you asked.

“Midgard never interested me before…”

Taking him by the hand, you led him back to the library. You found a collection of Midgard Fairy Tales left on your favorite chair. You brought it to him and opened it up, flipping the pages. You then pointed to one story. The first page was illustrated with a ship on the ocean, then a rose, and a grand castle.

“You should read this one right here. It was written years ago by a lady. It is a Midgard Fairy Story called La Belle et La Bete or Beauty and The Beast…” you explained.

Loki took the book. He then flipped the page to see a picture of the eponymous beast.

“I know enough of fairy tales. They’re all the same. There’s some giant or creature who’s always the villain. Kidnapping unwilling maidens and hoarding gold. That is until a prince skewers them. Then there’s great celebration over the killing,” he dismissed.

You placed a hand on the page before he could close it.

“You’re right about one thing. There is a beast in this one…” you continued.

“Oh, and he’s there to do those things so babes will grow up learning to hate me,” Loki complained.

“No! Not in this one he’s not!” you objected.

You turned the page. It showed the Beast smiling with a lady in a rose garden.

“Yes, he is a beast. But do you know what he also is? He is the prince in the story! He might look frightening to some, but beneath it, he is kind and generous! He falls in love and marries a woman who sees that in the end! She doesn’t focus on what makes him monstrous and different- she accepts who he is!”

You set the book down and cupped his face.

 “Because she loves him!”

His jaw dropped, speaking nothing. He leaned into your hand.

“A Frost Giant? Yes. I will learn to adjust to the blue skin…but you are my husband. I could not ask for a better one. And I love you. No matter what…” you said.

He embraced you again and you both cried. Tears of happiness and of sorrow. Blue skin or white. Yellow eyes or blue ones. He was Loki. He was your husband, and you would always stay with him. Besides, it’s what he would have done for you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you went to bed that night, you expected tomorrow to be a day like any other. But instead, you were shaken out of sleep.

“Loki, what is it? It’s too early…” you murmured, half-awake.

You felt your bedside but did not feel the lump of his body.

Wakefulness creeping on you, you saw the guards and a few servants in your bedchambers. You jumped to sit up. You held onto the blankets, your knuckles popping in your grip.

“Where is my husband? Is he alright? What’s going on?” you questioned.

Their eyes were all wide. One servant stepped forward and spoke with gravity.

“The prince Thor is banished. And Odin has fallen into his Odinsleep. Loki is now King of Asgard. And you are it’s Queen.”

It was only four sentences. But it felt like something from a dream. You jolted out of bed to stand. You barely opened your mouth to respond when the servant knelt before you. He took your hand and kissed it in reverence.

“Your highness! Queen of Asgard!” he announced.

All bowed before you in your room.

 You expected many things when you married the god of mischief. Just not this! It felt like one of those Midgard Fairytales happening to you.

When you dressed and hurried to your husband in the throne room. You forgot your new role and froze your steps. He sat on a throne, legs deliciously apart. He took up space now. The throne was entirely his and he was going to use every inch of it. He was decked in the robe of a ruler, not a prince destined to wait in the wings all his life. He had power in him, and you had to confess the aura of it was…. doing something for you. Your legs were buckling beneath your dress. There was that infamous, mischievous smile on him. It made you shiver. Already morning and desire swirled inside you. When his head turned to see you, he lit up. He got up from his throne and walked down. Per habit, you curtsied low. Then, placing a finger beneath your chin, he led you to standing. Your sex beneath your legs clenched at the gesture.

He then grabbed you and lifted you up in a hug where your feet didn’t touch the ground.

“Y/N…darling!” he greeted.

He put you down and placed a kiss on your lips.

“But…are you ready to rule? It won’t be easy…” you worried.

“It will not. But at last, think of everything I could do…lead armies…unite kingdoms…”

Even Jotenheim and Asgard if he decreed it so, you noted. You then smiled at him. He was glowing from pride and joy. He took your hand and kissed it.

“If we’re together through this…we can handle it…” he said.

They placed you to stand by his side on the throne.

 Frigga entered. She bowed to you. Your own knees bucked a little out of habit. Usually you were the one bowing to her! You walked down to her, taking her shoulders.

“Queen mother…I…I’m speechless! …I don’t know how I could ever be a queen as well as you!” you confessed to her.

She kissed your cheek and gave you a patient smile.

“Don’t worry, I will help you. Day by day, step by step, you will learn how.”

“Thank you…what do I do now?”

“You will be crowned this afternoon. The kingdom will be watching. Look at them, your people. And show them you care…” she advised.

The hour arrived for them all. Swarms of people broke in like a flood to the throne room. You felt every eye as a golden crown was placed on your head and as his familiar helmet was placed on Loki.

Remembering Frigga’s advice, you looked down on them. You allowed a smile to grow on you. You smiled as you heard your name being chanted along with your husband's name.

They cheered and bowed to you. Flags were waved and confetti fell like snow across the palace.  Loki got took your hand and lifted it up before them. They began to cry out.

“Hail the King Loki! Hail the Queen Y/N!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When the sun began to set, a familiar servant ran up to you.

“The King sends his regrets that duties require his immediate attention. He asked for the cooks to go ahead and serve you dinner in his absence,” she announced.

“Thank you,” you replied. An attempt at a regal tone of voice new to you.

The servant bowed and left. She didn’t do that as reverently when you were a mere princess. You ate your dinner alone and then took a rosewater bath right after. You noticed several stray petals floating around in the tub.

Once you finished, you returned to your chambers. It seemed they would stay the same for now. The King’s room was for the Odinsleep. Drying yourself you picked a nightgown. Tonight, it was a white one with a silvery tone to it. It had long sleeves that draped down and had beautiful beading around the bodice. The neckline dipped down to the clasp that secured it. Some might consider it immodest, but it was too beautiful for your resistance. It gave you some very sensual cleavage that you loved (and so would your husband). The skirt then dipped down to the floor, making it feel like a robe, but the material was not so thick that it felt too hot.

If you dressed more like a queen, even at night, you would feel more apt to the role.

What a day it had been. Part of your body ached after such excitement. You sat by your vanity on a cushion. Flowers (including the roses you liked) from the gardens in vases bedecked it. By the candlelight you checked your hair. Sighing in, you relaxed on the seat, admiring the glimpse of the kingdom at night from your curtains. Enjoying a moment of peace.

You then heard his voice outside the door.

“I am now going to bed. Do not disturb us unless there is an emergency,” Loki ordered the servants and guards. Already he was speaking more like a king.

The doors creaked as he opened it and walked inside. Though he was in his own green bedrobes, there was a bounce and urgency to his step. Then he approached you as you sat on the cushion before the vanity. Though his blue eyes did wander hungrily to your low neckline. They then returned up to your face in the mirror’s reflection.

“How is my pretty queen tonight?” he asked.

“I’m good…” you answered.

“Are you tired?” he asked with a tone of concern.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, fingers drumming in anticipation. Was there some old prank he was going to pull that he wanted you to see? What was he going to say?

“Only a little…I’m still taking it in…” you replied.

He embraced you from behind, nuzzling into your neck. You smiled at the contact of feeling his nose against your skin. He smiled as he looked at you in the mirror.

“You always were a queen to me, my dear….” He said.

He kissed your cheek and then lowered his lips to your neck. You smiled, enjoying the increasingly amorous gesture. You felt the tickle of his breath. His soft lips made another kiss in between your neck and clavicle. You melted into it.

“My, Freya has gotten someone enchanted…” you teased.

“It’s not Freya who enchants me…” he husked.

He then turned you around and led you to stand. And laid a desperate kiss on your lips. You wrapped your arms around him. He slid in his tongue. A hand of his crept to hold your back to him. You groaned into it. Already, arousal began its long, sinful climb with its wet signal between your legs. You released lips with a satisfying smack.

“If you continue this, I’ll ring for that tea…” you said.

“No…” he voiced.

“Hmm?”

He held your hands down.

“You won’t need that tea tonight. Or for a while…” he said.

You blinked.

“How come?”

He gave you a smile, looking in your eyes.

“I must tell you…the council has given me much advice. To secure myself as king, there are a few things I can do. Enact laws. Silence any rebellions or refusals. And, since I’m already married...”

He paused.

“Sire an heir.”

You felt your breath stop in your throat. Your eyes widened. His smile went down to a smirk. A glint in his eye as he went to you. His eyes roaming down your exposed chest. His hands wandered down, staring to hike a little of your skirt.

“So, you’re saying…” you stuttered.

“Y/N, I…I need you tonight…tonight…I’ll give you a child, an heir, someone to carry on my reign, and keep me as king…Would you like that?” he asked.

He leaned closer. Wanting to kiss you, then pausing. You could feel his breath just on your lips, making you dizzy. He placed his hips against yours. You felt a moan shudder out of you. Your answer was an easy one.

“Yes, yes I would.”

He swept you up in his arms, strong despite his lean frame.  Your heart raced so hard you felt it would burst out of you. He laid you on the bed then crawled over you. You felt yourself trembling like it was the first time. He cupped your cheek and leaned over to kiss you.

“My queen, my darling…”

You wrapped your arms around him.

“And my Prince made King,” you said back.

Intuitively, he ground his hips on yours. A small shudder went through you, coming out as a sigh. You reached a hand to run it through his hair as he kissed you again. Combing through those dark curls you loved so much. Because they were a part of him. His crown that never left him. You gave him another, harder kiss. He then looked down at your robe. He slid a hand over the beading, over your chest.

“A lady beautiful as you could doesn’t need such …embellishments…” he growled.

He removed his hand to lift it in the air. He flicked it and a green light began at the tips of your toes and then worked its way up your legs and through your body. Your evening robes for sleeping vanished and instead was your skin. He wetted his lips at the sight of your nakedness.

“I’ve longed to see this, to touch you for hours…”

He went up to your bare breasts. You gulped as he began to kiss it. Your back arched on impulse, tensing already. As he worked his way to the center, you felt yourself tensing already. Smiling at the pleasure as he used his tongue, swirling your nipple. Chills ran over you. He released his mouth to whisper.

“I’ve missed your breasts. The shape. The softness. Feeling you…”

He replaced it with his large hand. He gently squeezed and groped both around. You exhaled out another sound coming out of you. Not a polite one.

“Perfection-perfect for my hands. And perfect to nurse my heir…”

He then lowered himself down, kissing your stomach. Tracing your hips. He then kissed your bellybutton, dipping his tongue into the hole of it. Only a symbol of what was next. A delicious forewarning. Preparation. You grew wetter with the feeling of something soft and wet inside a hole of yours.

“Loki…Loki, my dear…husband…” you whimpered.

He held your hips down, tracing it and feeling them again. How they curved up to where they made your waist. His fingers sprawled possessively over your flesh. Then back down to your hips. Looking down, there was a bulge getting bigger against his green robe.

“And these…perfect. Perfect for what I put between them. For my mouth, my fingers, my cock, and my child…”

He pulled his head up, then you put your finger to his lips. Giggling lightly, as did he.

“You talk so much. But you’ve yet to bare yourself too, my love,” you teased.

With a cocky half-smile, all he did was tilt his head. The seidr ran down from the forehead to the toes, and the smooth robe was replaced with his warm skin. He was so beautiful. Every time he took off his clothes, it was everything in you not to stare. He had a broad, ivory chest so large and enveloping. It was like a blanket when you rested your head on them or when he thrust on top of you. You put a hand to explore the crevices, going through the patch of hairs on him. His muscular shoulders, perfect for digging your nails in. His abdominals-both soft and strong. For he was both at the center of his heart as well. Thighs made thick from running, jumping, and everything a warrior did.

He ground against you. His cock, already hard, teased your stomach. He leaned up to kiss your neck in its small soft spot. A hand returning to your breast.

“You will look wonderful engorged with a babe…a child…a part of you that will always be there, a trace of us together.”

“Loki…my dear husband…I love you…” you voiced.

He smiled, inching close.

“And I love you when you’re screaming beneath me…”

With one long, beautiful hand, he took the outside of your legs. He traced his fingers down from thigh to knee. Ghosting against the upper flesh of your skin. As tenderly as if you were the brightest, most precious jewel kept in his treasury. In seas of coins, rubies, and diamonds…it was you, you out of everything else, that mattered to him.

He took his large, beautiful hands and then moved them to the inside of your knees. You bit back a moan, leaning your head into the pillow as you felt it.

Using both his hands, he then spread you apart, wide open. He looked down at you and grinned. He had seen, felt, penetrated, and tasted your pussy like an addict. Always hungry for more. Even if you were poison, he would consider it the sweetest way to die. He placed himself back up. The tip just teasing your entrance. Every nerve inside you screamed. It brushed against you, never plunging in.

“You’re a banquet all for me, my dear…now…are you ready?” he whispered.

“Oh, please…. stop tormenting me… I want a child…and I want you…give me…give me one, Loki…” you begged.

“Let me…let me feel your sweet warmth and take your king’s shaft…” Loki husked.

He plunged into you slowly. Part of you panted through your nose. You felt him climb inside, inch by agonizing inch. This was a ceremony, sacred as any other rite in a royal bedroom. As if everything had to be right. Yet there was beauty-there was divinity. An ecstasy of reaching something otherworldly in between each other’s legs. You let out a loud gasp when he placed all of you inside him. You grabbed onto him.

He then retracted his hips, and he began to thrust into you. Grinding you right into the bed. Writhing as you accepted his largeness like it was new. Each gasp from his breath, each pant from each thrust. You could feel one muscular arm of your husbands touched the headboard, keeping him steady against you. You felt your back and ass slide against the silk sheets. He was slow, but eager.

“Yes…I promised you… when we married…I’d give you-nrgh-I’d give-give you everything-fuck-everything you’d ever want-gods…yes, gods, yes!” he whimpered as he thrusted.

You let out a moan with each thrust, your own breasts bouncing slowly with the movement. He looked down, releasing the hand on the headboard to slap them.

You let out a gasp- “L-Loki-you-you-you beast!”

“I thought you figured that out already, darling…” he whispered with a chuckle.

You felt his other hand wander to touch your back. You writhed under him.  He then slid his hand under his hips guide you up. His strength held you steady. He hit a different angle and you let out a cry-it was deeper, and his cock had found it’s way to your bud. Already sensitive and shaking.

“L-Loki! There! Please! There!”  you begged as he kept thrusting.

“As my queen commands…”

You saw the veins in his neck tightening as he kept on. His black curls messed around him- wild and free. A creature claiming his prize for the night. How beautiful he looked. You returned a hand back up and pulled him down. You kissed him with such fervor as he thrust that he stayed for only a second inside you, pausing, catching a breath. What breath there was, anyway.

Then he picked up the pace slightly. You were starting to see stars. That sweet angle where he got your clit. You felt pleasure rise  in you. Yes, it was arriving. You moved your hands down from his shoulders, down his triangular back. Once you found his soft, perfect ass you pushed him in again.

“Loki I’m…I’m…I’m close…oh norns- I’m…I’m going to cum!” you pleaded.

“So…am I-nrg-Call me king, call me king again and…and…I’ll-I’ll drive you there with me …”

He lowered his voice. Guttural and demanding.

“Call- me- your- king.”

He even got his free hand inside, speeding you up as he too sped up. You felt it-the breaking point.

“Yes-please-my- my king! My king!” you cried.

He let out a shout and you felt his hot seed spurt inside you. Your own climax then broke upon you. Thw words repeated out of you in a whisper.

“My king…my…my…”

It was the climax where it spun inside you. You felt your whole-body lock. Your quim felt as if it was spinning, sputtering with the pleasure. As well as his seed.  You groaned as it washed you down and you felt it. Your eyes teared up. His stayed inside, spurting like mad. Free and plentiful after starvation. A broken dam. He stayed inside. Not wasting one drip of him. You accepted it, every bit of it. Not one drop would go to waste. You felt your body buzz. Vibrating on the inside though you were still. Still except for your own breasts heaving with the breath you caught. You felt him catch his breath on top of you too.

He then cupped your cheek. His curls fell before his face. But his smile and blue eyes glowing from them.

“I couldn’t have asked for better. A better broodmare. A better wife. A better queen by my side…” he said.

Playfully, you went up and kissed the tip of his nose. He grinned at it and then embraced you. Arms flinging around each other. His own sweaty, earthy scent mixed with the rosewater bath you had earlier.

His cock still twitched inside you. Then you felt a final hot release of him and there was no more. He pulled out. Once it left you, you felt a cold space in your quim. Like it was an empty niche, something that needed filling. So much was he a part of you. You reached up your hand to brush his curls back. Seeing his face. Seeing him.

He then went down to your stomach, kissing it.

“I think if it’s a boy…we should call him Tuck…and if it’s a girl...Idona…” you then told him.

He rolled over to lay his head on the pillow. Then he turned over. You hummed at the sight of him- oh Hela, his beautiful profile was art itself!

“And what if we have twins?” he asked.

“I’ll figure it out, later!” you replied with a small laugh.

You placed your head on his chest and looked up and he down.

“I hope you’ve forgiven me for missing dinner…we’ll eat together tomorrow night; I’ll make it up to you…” he said.

“Of course, I forgive you. You had duties of your own…” you whispered.

He then gave a smile with the familiar, delicious darkness in his eyes.

“It might take more than once. We will try for an heir no matter how many times it takes. I’d like to have you on that very table like a meal of my own to devour. And I’ll have you on the library walls. On each rug. On each column. So, rest well…you have several duties of your own tomorrow.”

[infictionalwonderland]

headcanons of elijah with an openly affectionate/touchy/flirty s/o? ,, bc you best believe i aint going to leave that man alone if i got my paws on him lmao

pairing: elijah x overly affectionate reader

warnings: PDA ❌, a lot of fluff ml, fem reader, mentions of blood & other vampire topics, SIMP ELIJAH xoxo, just a lot of affection and love and touching!!!

you can’t keep your hands yourself

i mean you could but why would you want to

ANYWAYY SORRU O LOVE MUSIC TOO MUCH ☹️☹️

elijah isn’t, or more accurately wasn’t a fan of pda

he didn’t judge people who were it just really was not his thing- whatsoever

BUTTTT when you, gorgeously perfect you, came into his life, his mindset on the subject changed!

you were a very affectionate person, someone who had no problem smacking an obnoxiously loud kiss on his cheek in public just to show he was urs

someone who would unabashedly sit on his lap in public so you could be closer to him

someone who would outwardly express your affection towards him in public at any given time

and he was shockingly enamoured by this

the ‘i love you’ often paired with a ridiculous nickname and prolonged cheek kiss before you skipped further ahead than him and left him to catch up— had him feeling tingly all over

the way you would take a seat and cozy up on his lap, not mattering where you were, made him feel a sense of unexpected giddiness and love for you.

your hugs made his heart explode!!!

the way you would run your hands through his combed, soft hair to relive his stress made him melt entirely

klaus thought it was disgusting — as he made clear with his eye rolls and snarky comments, tho he always hid a small smile of happiness for his older brother

rebekah thought it was absolutely, if not sickeningly adorable. she’d already planned your wedding for the both of you

kol really didn’t care

freya was just extremely happy for her younger brother, seeing the constant smile on his face around you

one of your favourite things to do was to sit in his lap and lean back with your head on his shoulder, his strong arms wrapped around your waist

ORRRRRRR when he would press gentle kisses to every patch of skin on your face, kissing your lips last: claiming every part of yur perfect face deserved a kiss!

after you both had participated in and obviously won amy fights with supernatural creature which (not so) shockingly happened frequently —

you would always take the handkerchief from his suit pocket and clean away the blood and he’d thank you with a loving kiss to your hand

you’re very very vocal with your love for him and just how attractive you find him

klaus is traumatised.

but elijah eats up every second of it with a shy blush on his cheeks every time

you like to at least have one part of your bodies touching at all times

it makes you feel safe and happy and elijah absolutely love it— he absolutely loves you

when you sit together, if you’re not on his lap his hand is on your thigh, caressing the soft skin comfortingly

he likes having an arm around your waist, that way he can pull you into him in the case of any threats but he likes it bc he can trace pattern on your skin to distract himself

just being overly cute in the streets of new orleans

it’s safe to say most of the human population love your relationship from what they see around the city

all in all— you two are the sweetest couple and even onlookers can see that easily 💓💖💘💕

[maraschinomerry]

Little Pink Heart

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader, implied Locklyle

Summary: following a fatal Ghost-Touch, Lockwood and reader must figure out how to manage love and life after death

Content: reader's death, ghost!reader, grief, angst, bittersweet, not a happy ending, established relationship

A/N: Please please be aware that this fic has some very heavy content, don't feel obliged to read if you could find it upsetting! That being said, this is as much about exploring the concept of Visitors' sentience that Jonathan Stroud introduced and building on what we saw with Annabel Ward as it is about the angst and the grief. This is dedicated to @bella-rose29 for mentioning the idea of ghost!reader and giving me inspiration (bonus angst: listen to Someone New by Freya Ridings while you read)

Word count: 4.9k (my longest fic yet!)

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea (let me know if you want adding or removing!)

The click of the key echoed through the house as you opened the door. Dusk was falling, the fine mist that had settled tinted a soft blue. As much as you didn't want to go inside, you fancied staying out here less.

“Don't linger, darling,” your boyfriend, Anthony, murmured as he passed over the threshold. His hand slipped into yours and he led you in. The house was cold and dim in the fading light, and from the fine layer of dust and lack of personal effects it was clear that it hadn't been inhabited for some time. It was a shame that the owner, who had seemed like a nice enough young woman, had had to move out of her family home, but you couldn't help but be grateful. You and Anthony had only just got your licences, and with no links to any agencies nor desires to join them you'd decided to try and set up your own. That took time, though, and money, and though Anthony had a little equity in his house you'd agreed to take a couple of small, private cases to make up as much as you could. That was how you found yourself here, ready to earn a reasonable sum in exchange for eliminating a lone Type Two. A few jobs like this would help set you up nicely.

The kitchen was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, the west-facing windows having allowed in the last of the sun before it dipped behind the trees in the distance. Together you set up your kit bags on the table - you didn't have much: a few handmade salt bombs, filings and chains, a few flares only in case of emergency (they'd cost far too much to waste) and of course your rapiers. Lockwood pulled something extra from his bag, a small plastic-wrapped packet. Bourbon biscuits.

“You're the best,” you smiled as he opened the packet and offered one to you, which you bit into quickly.

“I know,” he grinned back, brushing a stray crumb from your lip. You blushed.

The owner of the house had provided a floor plan, but her account of the Visitor had been so inconsistent and vague that it was difficult to pinpoint a possible location for the Source. Anthony spread the roll of paper across the table, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder at the diagram. There were two floors and a basement, but the latter had been gutted a month ago ready for renovation so there was nothing in there at present.

“Let's start upstairs and work our way back down,” Anthony suggested. “More likely to find something in one of the bedrooms.”

“True, but it's a lot of wasted time if we don't. Why don't we split up and take a floor each?”

His expression soured, and he moved closer, taking your hand again and rubbing small anxious circles above your thumb. “That's smart, but I hate the idea of leaving you on your own.” Even when he didn't agree with your ideas, he always found a way to compliment them. Just one of the things that made you love him all the more.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It won't be for long, and I'll call for you the moment I find anything suspicious.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You leant forward and placed your lips delicately on his. He held you close, your hands on his chest, one of his on your waist and the other fidgeting with your necklace. It was one he'd bought for you, a small pink gemstone in a heart shape on a simple silver chain. His promise to always love and protect you. Not a day had gone by since that you didn't wear it. He nodded at last; he knew he would, he'd do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat. It still worried him not to be by your side, but he trusted that you were a good agent who could handle yourself and that you meant it when you said you'd call for him. His only condition was that if the Source was more likely to be upstairs, that would be where he'd look.

So it was that you found yourself, torch in one hand and the other on your rapier, exploring the ground floor. The silence was oppressive, seeping the confidence from you with every step. Not a ticking clock, not the creaking of the old building settling, not even the residual hum of electricity or plumbing, just the occasional thud from your boyfriend upstairs. Working quickly, you ruled out the dining room and bathroom. That left the lounge. The air smelled musty, and a shiver ran through you as you entered. That was never a good sign. You pulled out your thermometer and watched the temperature drop the further in you went.

“Anthony?” Your voice felt deafening against the quiet of the room, but you knew it hadn't been anywhere near loud enough to travel upstairs. No, this was silly, you could handle this. There were no signs of a spirit yet, for all you knew the change in temperature could be from the wind blowing down the chimney into the empty fireplace. You flicked the torch off, using your now free hand to hold your necklace, grounding yourself as you tuned in and listened. There was nothing at first. You wondered whether Anthony was having more luck upstairs; so far down here had been thoroughly useless. Maybe you should go and check on him. But then you heard it. A tragic, gut-wrenching wail, getting closer.

“Anthony?” you called again, louder this time but as steady as you could. There was movement above. He'd heard. So had the spirit, the wailing definitely nearby now. You pulled out your rapier.

The temperature plummeted.

A screech, so close you would have felt the breath on your neck had it come from a living being, made you whirl round. Your rapier clattered to the floor. Shit. Stay calm.

“Anthony!” you yelled, not caring how scared you sounded. His footsteps rattled down the stairs. He was so close.

You lunged towards your rapier.

The Visitor lunged towards you.

Lockwood was in the back bedroom when he heard his name. All his senses were immediately on high alert - you were the only person he allowed to call him Anthony, so he always reacted differently to his first name anyway, and under the circumstances hearing it immediately made him fear the worst.

“Y/n?” He crept out onto the landing, slowly pulling out his rapier and listening intently for any more noise. It was moments like these he was grateful not to be a Listener, he could focus on you and not the sounds of the house's history. He was only two steps onto the staircase when his name came again, louder and more panicked. Without a second thought he ran down the stairs, only holding back enough to make sure he didn't fall. His blood ran cold when he heard you scream.

You tried to both duck and spin as your hand came into contact with the hilt of your rapier. The blade sliced upwards, connecting with the Visitor, but it was too late. Its clawing grey hand clutched onto your shoulder moments before it disappeared. You screamed as tendrils of ice shot through you, radiating outwards from the spot. Through the fog of pain that had suddenly engulfed your brain you heard Anthony, close by now, yelling your name. You had to go to him. He'd know what to do. Everything would be okay.

You took one step, then another. Your torso was going numb, your entire arm having already fallen victim to the plasm which was turning your shoulder a violent shade of blue. One more step, and your legs gave out. You just about made out the silhouette of your boyfriend in the doorway, rushing towards you as you slumped to the ground.

“No, no, no, y/n!” Anthony's face swam into view, trying to mask his utter horror for your sake. “It's going to be okay, darling, I'll go and get help.”

The fingers of your good hand twitched towards his and he took it immediately, despite how cold it was. You struggled to focus on him through your tears, and noticed the same in his eyes. “Ant-” Your voice was failing fast.

“Shh, I've got you.” He cradled your head, his own tears mingling with yours on your cheek, but you could barely feel them. Almost everything was numb. The blue had spread across your chest, and the little pink heart stood out starkly against it. “I'm so sorry, my darling,” Lockwood said softly. He choked back a sob as he leant down, placing a kiss into your hair. You wanted to do the same, to speak to him, to do anything.

His face was the last thing you saw before everything went black.

—

You had no idea how much time had passed when your vision returned, a room slowly materialising in front of your eyes. It was a bedroom, filled with knick-knacks and bathed in a warm golden light. It looked familiar, but you hadn't been here when it went dark, you'd been… somewhere else. It was so hard to remember, but you knew there had been a dark, dusty room and a feeling of agonising cold. And a person. There'd been someone there, someone you needed to say something to. Now here you were, everything feeling so normal yet so bizarre; you were still you, still able to move and see and hear, but there was a disconnect between those sensations and reality. Nothing felt real. You looked around again, desperate for answers.

There.

Perched on the edge of the bed was a boy. His crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his dishevelled dark hair, doleful brown eyes and the deep eyebags beneath. He looked exhausted, like he'd barely slept or eaten. There was something in his hand, balanced carefully on the tips of his fingers: a necklace, with a little pink heart. A spark of recognition bloomed in the back of your mind. That was your necklace. It was important. He had no right to be holding it. You drifted forward. The boy looked so familiar. Oh. The icy feeling rippled through your chest again, and you remembered. He'd been there when that feeling had taken over your body until you couldn't feel anything else. Rage boiled in your veins, and a snarl crept onto your face. But then, as quickly as it started, the anger subsided. He'd not caused it. He'd held you so gently, cried as everything faded. You knew him. You opened your mouth, finally ready to speak.

Lockwood stared at the tiny gemstone in his hand, unsure whether he wanted anything to happen this time. He'd secretly slipped it from you before DEPRAC had arrived, and spent the past few weeks periodically taking it out of the little silver-glass box in his bedside table. Part of him desperately wanted you to come back, to let him see you once more, but the other part knew it would hurt so much. What if you didn't recognise him and turned violent like so many Visitors? What if you didn't because you didn't recognise anything, just hung there as a shadow of your former self? What if you did, and he had to live with putting you back in the case and removing you from his life all over again?

The decision was made for him when a soft golden glow appeared in the corner of his bedroom. There you were. Tears welled in his eyes as the image of you sent him spiralling back to that day: your edges were a little fuzzy but everything else was the same, from your outfit to the scared look in your eye to the dark patch spreading from your shoulder. You looked at him now and he was relieved to watch you processing your surroundings. The person he knew was still in there, you weren't just a hollow shell. Suddenly you snarled and he flinched, fingers twitching towards the silver-glass case.

You moved closer.

You stopped.

Your face fell.

He watched the glimmer of recognition in your eyes, and the tears he'd been holding back spilled out along with all the things he'd wanted to say for months.

“Oh my darling, I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen, I should have been there for you, and-”

He paused. You were mouthing something. Over and over. Your death loop, he presumed. God, just putting death in the same sentence as you stung.

“I'd give anything to be able to hear you right now,” he said, voice wavering. You stopped, giving him a sad look. The realisation that at the very least you could understand him, even if you couldn't communicate fully, hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Lockwood!” a boy's voice called from outside. You both looked at the door and your anger flared again. The boy on the bed shook his head.

“He's a friend,” he told you reassuringly, before calling back, “One minute, George!” You waited in the corner, puzzled. The boy, Lockwood (you knew that name, didn't you?), gave you an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, y/n, I've got to go. I'll explain soon, I promise.” He dropped the necklace into its little case and clicked it shut, and you watched the world dissolve.

—

You still weren't sure how much time had passed when you found yourself back in that bedroom, but it didn't feel like very long. The last rays of the sunset poked through the gaps around the drawn curtains, the room lit instead by a lamp on the bedside table. The boy, Lockwood, was sitting on the bed again holding your necklace, but this time he looked at you almost immediately. His hair was a little neater, his eyebags more pronounced.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “Sorry if I disturbed you, I don't… really know how this works.”

You knew he couldn't hear you, but you gave your message again anyway.

“Maybe I should see if George knows how to lip-read,” he chuckled wryly. The sound reminded you of home, wherever that was. Things were still hazy, but part of you had a feeling this was it. Here, with this boy. “Which reminds me,” he continued, “I did promise to tell you about him.”

You settled into the space in the corner, allowing Lockwood's low, gentle voice to wash over you. It was incredibly calming. George was his new housemate, he told you, who'd been living here for about a month. It was all very confusing - it had felt like both minutes and years had passed since you were last here and the same before that, but he explained that the other boy had moved into the house in mid-September, and the last time you'd been here was a week ago in late October. Where was all the time going?

“I have no idea whether you experience time when your Source is contained, whether you're aware of what's going on in between or remember things from last time,” he admitted. Source. You knew about those. They were what you'd been looking for that night in that dark old house. A spirit had been tied to it, and you had to seal the Source to get rid of it. But you'd failed and it had found you, and now… your chest tightened at both the memory and the realisation. Nothing felt real because you weren't. You were just a Visitor. You continued to listen numbly as Lockwood kept talking. Not much wonder he'd recoiled when you first appeared, he'd seen what the touch of a ghost had done to you and without knowing you'd almost inflicted the same fate. You vowed in that moment that no matter what, you'd never let that happen.

The next few months saw Lockwood getting you out every chance he got. Bit by bit, he helped restore your memories and did his best to accommodate you even though the two of you couldn't properly communicate. He set up a little daily tear-off calendar on his dresser so you could keep track of how long it had been between visits, and stored his kit bag in the bottom of his wardrobe so you could move more freely around the room. Eventually, you'd come to remember him more. Not just the events from the night you died, but him. Your boyfriend, Anthony. You wanted nothing more than to be close to him, to be a comforting presence, but you knew you couldn't. Not only because you couldn't touch, but because deep down you knew that as much as you treasured being able to keep him in your life (or rather, afterlife), you had to let him go sooner or later and he needed to do the same with you. He'd been followed around by grief since long before you met him, and you hated that you were adding to it. You were just glad to see him slowly improving week by week - his face was a little brighter, and it seemed George was making sure he stayed fed. You'd have to thank the other boy if you ever got chance. Anthony said the two of you would have got along if you'd met in life, and even now George's obsession with the Problem would have made him your biggest fan, but their friendship was too new and besides he wasn't a Listener either so you'd not be able to tell him anything.

“I've got something to show you,” Anthony announced as you materialised one sunny day in late spring. He sat down with a large pink folder and patted the space next to him on the bed. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Come on,” he sighed fondly, “you never had any sense of personal space before, don't start now. Just no hugging.”

You glowed a little brighter and drifted over, your legs disappearing into the mattress until your torso was level with his. Being careful where he positioned his arms, he angled the folder towards you. It was a photo album, labelled in handwriting you recognised as your own. Page by page, he took you through your memories, giving you time to linger on each one: you as a baby, then a toothy toddler with your first pet; your family and childhood friends; Polaroids of your first team in training to become agents. His hands trembled a little as he reached the next section. On the left were four photos: the team you'd transferred to, the one he'd been training with; a slightly blurry action shot of the two of you sparring for the first time; a goofy photo he'd taken of you cartwheeling down a grassy hill after a case; your team all proudly holding their Grade Four licences. On the other side, surrounded by two styles of hand-drawn hearts, was the two of you hugging on the steps of 35 Portland Row, Anthony's lips pressed in a smile against the top of your head. You remembered that sensation well, a frequent occurrence right up until the moment you died. The rest of the album was full of photos of the two of you, ones taken by others and candids you'd snapped of each other. You felt a pang of regret that you'd never get to take any more.

Anthony turned another page. Hold on. You knew for certain there were no more photos. You looked sideways at your boyfriend, and he gave you a bashful smile. Pasted across a double spread was a copy of a certificate from DEPRAC, confirming A.J. Lockwood & Co Investigators as a registered agency. Inspector Barnes, who you vaguely recalled meeting once or twice, had signed as the licensing authority. Anthony and George had put their names down as the founding members. But then underneath that, in Anthony's familiar hand, he had added an extra section. Honorary Member: y/n y/l/n.

He looked at you so lovingly. “We did it, darling.”

You would have reached for his hand if you could.

—

Weeks began to pass before Lockwood got you to visit again. He'd have spent every day with you, but business was good and he owed it to you to make a proper go of it. In the meantime, George talked incessantly about Visitors which gave Lockwood a chance to think about you. Each time he finally got to see you again he'd apologise profusely, and you'd repeat your death loop back to him. He tried so hard to figure out what you were saying - his Sight was good, you were as clear as day and he knew your every quirk and mannerism, but he just couldn't put the movements of your lips to the right sounds.

Everything changed the day he met Lucy Carlyle. From the moment she set foot in his living room, he felt like he was supposed to have met her. The feeling only grew when he gave her the interview tests - plenty of people had passed through, some with better Talents than others, but none had come even close to the Listening abilities of the girl before him. When she spoke of the gentleness she found in his uncle's pen-knife, he knew he had to hire her.

Lucy managed to defy even his high expectations on the Annabel Ward case. He kept his focus on the young woman's spirit hovering at the end of the corridor, rapier levelled in case the details of her aggressive nature were true, but he couldn't help but think of the first day he brought you back and how quickly you'd retreated and shown a level of sentience he'd never expected from a Visitor. Was this poor woman the same? Lucy's eyes were closed, listening intently.

“She's in pain,” she said softly.

“Of course she is, she's dead.”

“No, something's different.”

He was intrigued instantly. “What's different?”

She shushed him. “I can almost…”

Annabel launched forward, sending Lucy crashing through the wooden railing in her attempt to dodge the grasping hand. Déjà vu overwhelmed Lockwood, your pained eyes flashing across his mind as he staggered backwards.

No.

He'd already lived through this once and regretted the outcome every day since. Now was his chance to redeem himself. He sprang towards the ghost, fending her off with his rapier, pulling Lucy from her desperate grip on the picture frame as soon as the coast was clear.

“Did it touch you?” he asked in a panic as she clung to him.

“Course not, I'd be dead.” Didn't he know it. The more she explained how she'd connected with the spirit, the more sure he became. Later, when they experimented with Annabel's necklace and he listened to Lucy describe the scene in such detail, he knew for certain.

“He loves me. You love me, don't you?” Her hand stroked delicately across his cheek, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch. For that brief moment, he could pretend it was you, still with him, saying those words. Perhaps with Lucy's help, it could be.

—

It had been a while. The trees outside Anthony's window were tinted a beautiful copper. You couldn't wait to hear his updates this time.

“There's a sadness, but so much love too. She feels very kind.” That wasn't Anthony's voice. Something was wrong. There was a girl sitting beside him on the bed, holding a little pink heart on a chain. Your necklace. You grew defensive, preparing to strike.

The boy looked up and saw you glaring. “It's okay, darling.” The girl followed his gaze. “Lucy, this is y/n, my late girlfriend. Y/n, this is our new associate, Lucy. She's a Listener.” Ah. Finally. You settled back down and took in the girl properly. She was pretty, with a warm brunette bob and a blue jumper which made her eyes pop. She smiled up at you, a genuine friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she said sweetly. Anthony gave her an encouraging nod. You noticed that he seemed a little nervous, but there was also a calmness to him that had been missing for the past year. If that was Lucy's influence, then she was alright in your eyes.

Anthony spoke to you again. “She's brilliant, connected with a Visitor on our last case and I thought maybe she could finally help us figure out what you've been trying to say.” You nodded in agreement, and the girl closed her hand around the necklace.

You weren't sure whether you were in Lucy's head or whether she was in yours. The two of you blended into one as she ventured into your memories. Anthony's room melted away around you, sending you back to that cold dark room. You bristled.

“It's a bit different having her in the room with us,” Lucy murmured, eyes closed. “Let me know if either of you need me to stop.”

Anthony glanced at you, flickering slightly but still present and unagitated. “We're okay, go on.”

Meticulously, she described what you were both experiencing, or in your case reliving. It was hard knowing you were getting closer to the agony all over again, but it was important for your boyfriend to finally have a chance for answers and closure, so you kept the inevitable moving along.

“Anthony?” Lucy said softly, the same way you had. By the look on his face, it seemed he was realising now what you had at the time - that you'd tried to call him and hadn't been loud enough, that if only you'd tried again straight away, maybe you'd still be alive. “Anthony?” she called again. “Anthony!” You heard your own scream echo in your mind, felt the cold grasping your shoulder. The boy reached out and gripped Lucy's free hand, never taking his eyes off you. The gesture was supportive for her, but meant for you too. A tear rolled down his cheek. Lucy's breathing was shallow.

“It hurts,” she gasped, “and she's scared.”

“I should have been there quicker.” His voice was shaking with emotion, barely able to get the words out.

“No, there's no anger. She knew you were coming, and having you there through the end was a comfort.”

Anthony swallowed thickly. “Her death loop. Can you hear it?”

She opened her eyes and watched you as you spoke, the words spilling from her lips a second after.

“It's okay. It's not your fault.”

The boy broke down, his sobs rattling through the small room. Lucy held out her arms and he folded into them. She threw you an apologetic glance, and you said it again to her. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”

They were still hugging when, with his and your permission, Lucy gently slipped your necklace back into its case.

—

Now that the secret was out, you really did become an honorary member of the agency. Sure, you couldn't exactly contribute to the cases, but other than that the whole team treated you as one of their own. Anthony always waited for your opinion on big decisions, which you could make quite apparent with how happy or angry your energy was. George was absolutely fascinated by you, and took every opportunity to quiz the others on your awareness of various things and how you reacted to his experiments. Lucy often got you out on her own to have another girl to talk to. In return, of course, she'd fill you in on any gossip they came across or funny things that happened on cases that the boys were too embarrassed to tell you about. Through it all, you watched the three of them grow into a little family. Anthony and Lucy especially had clicked with each other; they reminded you of how you and he had been. That realisation filled you with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You loved Anthony so much, all you wanted was for him to be happy, but you'd be lying if you didn't wish it was you putting the light back in his eyes.

He sat you down shortly after New Year. His face was sombre but hopeful, and he fidgeted with his ring. Part of you could already tell what was coming.

“I don't really know how to say this,” he began hesitantly, “but after everything we've been through, you deserve to hear it.” You waited patiently for him to find the words he needed. Really, you had all the time in the world.

After a few moments, he spoke again. “I promised to always love you, and I will still keep that promise until the day I die…” But. There had to be a but. “...but I really care about Lucy too, and I just-” He didn't need to finish the sentence. And technically he was single. And he stood a chance of having a life with her. And she wasn't going to keep him tied to his past and his grief.

“It's okay.” Now he knew what your death loop was, he could tell what you'd said, and the way you'd limited it to just those words was a reminder of how remarkably well you understood everything that was happening. How you were as close to being a person as you could be, how it wasn't close enough.

“Promise?”

You touched the hollow of your neck, where the outline of a little sparkling heart sat against the darkness.

He nodded in understanding and reached for the silver-glass case. “Thank you, darling.”

“It's okay.”

It's not your fault.

[heaven4lostgirls]

You’re my happy place

husband!elijah mikaelson x wife!fem!reader

tags: fluff, happy ending, soft!elijah

a/n: if u guys even read this pls pls pls send me requests for fics u want me to write!! ok enjoy<3

You had spent the entire day at the compound waiting for Elijah and Nik to get back. They had gone on some stupid witch hunt again because Nik believed that the witches were plotting against him as usual.

You sat on the floor of the compound playing with baby hope when you hear the hurried footsteps of the two brothers and the stench of blood nearly made you vomit on the spot.

You hurriedly put Hope back in her cot before running to see if anyone was hurt. Nik looked like he had just committed mass murder but by the look in his eyes you knew better than to ask him what had happened. All you did was beckon hun closer and take a look to see if any of his injuries were major, thankfully he just looked like he had a bruised ego.

To the left of his Elijah stood in a ski liar state however he seemed to be clutching his side. You knew whenever Nik would put himself in dangerous situations your idiot of a husband would not be far behind, always looking out for his little brother.

You made your way to him slowly whilst looking over him to see if anywhere else seemed to be causing him pain, once it looked like his side was the only place he seemed to be clutching you sighed in relief.

As you reached him you carefully placed your hands on his face, he seemed to be avoiding your eyes and you somehow knew exactly why.

“Is that blood Eli?” You questioned harshly, you knew that when you both moved to New Orleans that the witch community wasn’t exactly fond of the Mikaelson family however the lacerations on Elijahs side didn’t seem to be healing and this has been an all time low for them, never had the witches hurt them so badly they couldn’t heal it. You were on relatively good terms with all of the witches however seeing your husband in this state all you could hear was your heart pounding and your blood boiling.

Elijah looks almost embarrassed as he utters a small “No?” You sigh and shake your head with a small smile, your husband would always be the one trying to make you laugh even if he did seem like he was bleeding out.

“That isn’t normally a question you answer with another question darling” all he does is smile back innocently.

“Cmon let’s get you cleaned up” you motion for him to sit on the couch as Hayley ends up attending to Nik as he grumbled about the ‘stupid witches’. You just sigh and look at Elijah pointedly

“You can’t keep running head first into ever fight that Nik picks so you can save him, it’s not safe” you tell him as you brush his hair out of his face to clean the small scratches surrounding his eyes.

“I know my love, he’s my brother, I simply can’t let him get himself in trouble, I made a vow to my mother to always protect him and it is what I plan to do as long as I’m alive, alongside you of course” you can’t help but smile at his loyalty to his family, you know it hasn’t been easy for him and Nik to gain back their mutual trust of one another especially after decades of daggers and heartbreak however for the most part they seem to have moved past all of that.

“I love you Eli, I can’t stand to see you hurt” He can feel your worry and although he and you both know he will continue to put himself in harms way to save Nik he hugs you and mumbles affirmations that he will try harder and be safer when he travels with Nik. You can’t ask for much more and you know that so as you both make your way to Freya’s room so that she can heal Eli’s wounds you squeeze his hand as a reminder he’s okay and Freya will most likely know how to heal him.

After the quick visit of Freya healing his wounds and researching about the kind of magic used by the witches that was somehow strong enough to hurt an original you both lay in you shared room.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we were never turned?” You turn to him in confusion, you had been one of the first vampires that Elijah had turned after his mother had used to spell however even after decades of being together you always thought that you were both content with how life was. “Sometimes, but I am quite happy with how we are right now…Are you not?” You admit and question almost insecurely.

As if Elijah has read your thoughts he backtracks “No no no, my love I just meant that I would have wished for us to have a family of our own, little children for us to take care of and I am sorry that I can’t give that to you” you feel tears welling up at the thought of what your life could have been. You grasp Elijah’s face in your hands and assure him that you are perfectly happy with how things have played out.

“Even if you hadn’t turned me with you Elijah I would have been heartbroken to see you outlive me, you have been my rock and compass our entire lives, seeing you daggered by Niklaus only ever brought great heartache to me, so please don’t think for a moment that this life has not been more than enough, I will always choose you over and over again my love” You can feel his smile as you rest your head on his chest.

“Do you remember the 20’s? Where we had gone to that jazz club with Niklaus? We had just changed our names and anytime someone spoke to us we would make up elaborate stories of where we came from, we spent the entire night dancing and once we got home you told me that you loved me and that you wish we could have had that life-“

“You proposed to me that night and promised you would show me the world”

“I plan to keep that promise everyday we have each other”

“I love you Elijah Mikaelson”

“I love you more Y/N Y/L/N”

[tofics]

Out Of This World

Chapter 2

Masterlist

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x fem!Reader x Dean Winchester

Summary: You and the Mikaelsons are fighting a powerful witch that’s trying to take over New Orleans. The only solution: banishment to another universe. However, the spell goes… wrong, and it’s not the witch that ends up in another universe, but you. - At the same time, over a thousand miles away in a bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, an alarm goes off: a rift has opened up. The Winchesters and their angel partners in crime decide to investigate. What will they find when they get to New Orleans?

Word count: 3213 words

Warnings: angst, panic attack, high anxiety

Previously: “No… no, no, no, no.” Your whisper grew more panicked with each syllable. The faint humming sound in your ears picked back up as your blood began to rush through your body again. Panic rose in your chest and tightened its grip until you felt like you couldn’t breathe, oxygen be damned. The spell had worked. They had successfully sent someone to an alternate universe, just like they had planned. It just wasn’t Athea who’d been transported from one universe to another. It was you.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you stood in the entrance to the alley. You kept taking deep breaths, trying to hold the panic at bay - or more like, keep it in check, before you had a meltdown right there and then. It was hard to keep yourself from spiraling, but you knew it would be of no use. You had to figure out what to do.

Your hand reached into your pocket and found your phone and before you knew it, you had Elijah's number dialed. A small voice inside you whispered that it was pointless, but you didn't listen and instead held on to the part of you that was still hoping that you were wrong. That you were somehow just hallucinating. There was no denying the spell had gone wrong, but maybe everything could be explained somehow, if you could just get in touch with your people.

It didn't even ring once before a mechanical voice informed you that the number you had reached had been disconnected or was no longer in service. Your stomach dipped, but you quickly dialed Klaus instead. "The number you are calling doesn't exist." By now, you felt bile climbing up the back of your throat. Your hands were beginning to shake, but you forced them into fists, willing them to still so you could dial the next number. Hayley was next. Then Freya. With every announcement that the number either didn't exist or was disconnected, your panic grew a little more. You tried Jackson's number and almost threw your phone against the wall in frustration when the same message was repeated to you again, groaning and tears stinging in your eyes. "Come on!" you exclaimed and clicked on Rebekah's contact next. Everyone you'd tried so far had been part of the team on scene. Maybe, if you'd tried Rebekah, who'd stayed home with Hope... Someone had to pick up. Someone just had to. They won't. They can't, the small voice whispered in the back of your head, but you ignored it and pressed dial.

The fact that the call went through and it rang almost made you cry with relief. Finally, you thought and impatiently shifted your weight from one foot to the other and back. "Come on, pick up, pick up pick up pick up," you urged Rebekah on as it rang twice, three times, four times, but no one answered. Then you were connected to her mailbox.

"This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message."

You stared at your display. You'd clearly dialed Rebekah's number. "Who the hell is Dean Winchester?," you muttered to yourself. You tried Rebekah again, but instead got the same mailbox message.

Clearly, this was going nowhere, but you refused to give up. You swiped back up your contacts and dialed Camille's number. It rang twice before the line got picked up.

"Hello?"

It was like someone was pouring warm honey over you and washing you clean of anxiety from head to toe at the sound of Camille's voice.

"Oh my god! Finally! I've been trying absolutely everyone and no one's picking up. I think something went wrong, everyone's gone, Athea too but I don't-" The words poured out of your mouth until Camille interrupted you. "I'm sorry, who's this?"

The temporary relief you had felt at Cami picking up the phone started crumbling away. "Wha- this is Y/N?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I think you've got the wrong number!" Camille's voice was cheery, if a bit empathetic. Your phone dropped from your ear as your arms sunk down in defeat. It was pointless. Of course Cami wasn't going to recognize you. How could she, if she'd never met you to begin with - not in this universe.

"Hello?" Her voice squeaked out of your phone's speaker. You took a big breath and then lifted the phone to your ear again. "You're right, I misdialed. My bad. Sorry to have bothered you." Your voice sounded small and defeated. The lump in your throat was so thick now that you'd barely gotten your last words out. Before Camille could reply, you quickly hung up and stuffed your phone back into your pants. I have no idea what to do, you thought. It was then that you finally allowed the tears to come.

"Go ahead Sammy, you're on speaker." Dean handed his phone over to Cas while keeping his eyes fixed on the road. The angel held it up between the two of them.

"So we've looked at what little data we have, and I can't say I've got much for you," Sam's voice croaked out of the speaker, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of Baby's engine and rain softly drumming on the car's windshield. "All I can tell you right now is that, so far, no other rifts have opened up." "Well, that's good," Cas stated in his typical matter-of-fact voice. "Sure, but I don't like how little information we have. Dean, we have no idea what you guys are walking into." Sam's worry wasn't unjustified. He had a point. But what was he supposed to do? Dean didn't see how he had a choice. Yeah, they didn't know what awaited them, but really, when had they ever truly known what to expect? As far as he was concerned, this was just going to be like any other hunt until proven otherwise. Until then, him and Cas would have it covered.

"Relax, Sammy, we've got it. We're not gonna march in there and get ourselves blown up. You know me, I'm a careful guy!" He grinned at Cas, who just raised a brow at him. Cas had gotten better at catching sarcasm, but it sometimes still eluded him. Sam scoffed on the phone. "Right, because that's what you're known for." Dean shook his head, both at Sam's response and the angel's failure to recognize his joke.

It was true, of course. If there was a word to describe Dean's life with, 'safe' definitely wasn't it. Their job came with undeniable risks, risks that both Dean and Sam were acutely aware of. It was precisely why Dean had ordered his brother and Jack to stay home. If anything went wrong, at least Sammy wouldn't be in the line of fire. As for Cas... well, Cas had powers. Powers that could come in useful. And he trusted Cas a hell of a lot more than the baby Nephilim back home in the bunker.

"You said we don't know much. What do we know, then?" Dean decided to change the subject. He didn't want his brother worrying about him. "Honestly, no more than when you left, really. I can't even tell you if the rift's still open." Dean grunted in response. They really had close to nothing. "I don't think the rift is still open." Jack's voice was quieter than Sam's. Dean couldn't tell if the younger angel was further away from Sam's phone or if he was afraid to speak up. Jack had been behaving extra cautiously around him for a while now, and Dean hadn't exactly given him any reason not to. As far as he was concerned, he tolerated the Nephilim, no more, no less than that. Sam had clearly already forgiven their mother's death. Dean didn't see that in the cards for him anytime soon. "What makes you say that?" Castiel inquired, saving Dean from having to respond. "The blinking stopped, didn't it? From what I understand, the table is set to sound an alarm for a specific amount of time once it has picked up a frequency. Wouldn't it still be going if the rift was still open?" By now, the rain had picked up and was coming down in buckets. Dean set Baby's windshield wipers on the highest setting. "Sam?" It took Sam a moment to respond. "I think Jack has a point. The original settings of the table allowed to track anything supernatural for as long as it was putting out a frequency. Once the radar picks up a frequency, the system should put out a warning for a minimum of ten minutes. Theoretically, if a rift stayed open any longer than... however long this one was open for, then the system should continue to alert for that amount of time in addition to the warning itself."

"Dude. English. I'm not Charlie." Dean couldn't see his brother, but assumed he was rolling his eyes at Dean's lack of technical know-how.

"When I updated the table, I didn't change the previous code. If the rift was still open, we should still be getting a signal, just like Jack said."

"Well, you could have just said that, nerd," Dean countered. He was certain that Sam was now definitely rolling his eyes.

"So we know the rift is closed. That makes it harder to find." Once again, Castiel hit the nail on the head with his matter-of-fact-ness.

"Yeah, well," Dean said, trying to make light of the situation, "we won't get to NOLA before early morning. We got time to figure it out until then."

Hope giggled in Rebekah's arms as she happily played with the fountain in the foyer, getting the both of them wet as her tiny hands repeatedly hit the surface of the water. Rebekah couldn't help but smile at her niece's joy. She leaned down to place a kiss on Hope's head when she heard hurried footsteps approaching the main entrance of the compound. Not a second later, her siblings stormed in, followed by the rest of the party that had gone out to deal with Athea.

Rebekah instinctually knew that something had gone wrong. Instead of boasting about their win like Nik' normally would have, he wore a grim, tight-lipped expression. However - and more disturbingly so - it was Elijah who had a murderous look on his face, when it was usually Niklaus who was known as the more temperamental one. Behind the two, Freya, Hayley and Jackson followed, all of them looking similarly upset. You, however, were very noticeably not part of their entourage.

"What happened?," Rebekah asked as she handed Hope over to Hayley, who had beelined straight towards the duo. Hayley accepted Hope into her arms and pressed a kiss to her child's forehead, but didn't offer an answer. Rebekah looked back at the compound entrance, expecting you to walk in any second as she waited for a reply. "Where's Y/N?" The silence that followed was stretched uncomfortably long.

"Freya? What happened?," Rebekah inquired again, this time with more urgency in her voice. Her sister sighed as she braced herself for a retelling of their recent failing when Elijah interrupted them.

"Yes, Freya, why don't you explain what happened."

The tone in Elijah's voice didn't go unnoticed, but Freya straightened her shoulders and recounted what had happened in the alley. It didn't take her long to catch Rebekah up. "Am I to understand that Athea is dead, but Y/N is trapped in another universe?" Rebekah couldn't believe it. Here she thought they'd finally found a way to trump Athea and that old crow had still outsmarted them. "But how is that even possible?"

"That, my dear sister, is something I'd like to know myself." Elijah had stopped pacing around and was now watching Freya intently. Freya, in return, took on a defensive stance.

"Are you implying something, brother? Do you honestly think I had something to do with Y/N's disappearance?"

The two siblings stared at each other for a moment before Elijah's gaze ultimately softened. "Of course not. You have proven your loyalty to this family. My first concern is to get Y/N back. I don't expect arguments over why this issue should take precedence." He paused briefly as if to give room for possible interjections, but none came. He briefly nodded at the unspoken collective agreement and continued. "However, I do believe it's necessary to investigate how Athea gained knowledge of our plan. We cannot afford a spy in our midst, even if the evil has been defeated."

"I'll put word out, see if our people can find out anything," Jackson volunteered. Klaus nodded appreciatively but held a hand out to the man. "Be careful. It shouldn't become known that we're chasing mole. We wouldn't want the rodent to scurry in fear and bury itself before we can find it." Jackson grunted in agreement and headed towards the grant entrance.

"I'll go back to Kol's playhouse, see if we missed anything. He had the banishment spell, perhaps he's hiding a retrieval spell somewhere as well." Freya shot Rebekah a look who instantly agreed. "I'll come with," she said and linked her arm through her sister's. "Four eyes see more than just two. Six eyes might see even more," she added with a look at Klaus. "I'll keep my eyes on our brother instead," the hybrid replied and patted Elijah on the shoulder. "Make sure he doesn't shred the place to pieces." He winked at his brother. Elijah scoffed. "Don't mistake me with yourself, Niklaus." Klaus grinned. "We'll hold the fort. Call us when you've got something." Freya and Rebekah nodded and left for the cemetery.

With the two Mikaelson sisters leaving, only Hayley and the two Mikaelson brothers were left at the compound. She hesitated briefly, then walked over to Elijah with Hope on her arm. She squeezed his shoulder briefly. "We'll find her, Elijah. Don't worry."

The doorbell jingled, announcing your presence to the room, but only a few eyes darted your way as you entered the bar. Your heart clenched at the familiarity of the place. This might not have been your universe, but this was every bit your Rousseaus' as you knew it. The same familiar smell, the same furniture, the same decorations. Hell, even the patrons looked the same.

"You look like you could use a drink."

How could a voice provide so much comfort and pierce your heart so harshly at the same time? It pained and gave you solace at once. There she was, polishing a glass with that warm, expectant smile she gave to any lost soul that stumbled into her bar. You'd seen her put it on about a million times and had always wondered how she always just knew. Camille wasn't a vampire, but she had a fine nose regardless that gave her the ability to sniff out the dispirited ones from a mile away. Admittedly, it sort of came with the territory. Half the people who sought out bars came to forget, not to mingle. You'd always been one to mingle. Tonight, however, you might just switch camps.

"Why don't you take a seat and I'll pour you one? First one's on the house."

Ah, there it was. The line that put a smile on the mingler's faces and got the wary ones to stay. Not that you'd needed any convincing to stay in the first place. You had nowhere else to go. Literally and figuratively.

You slid into a seat at the counter near the register. Your eyes briefly darted to the right, far-off corner of the counter, just quick enough to notice your usual spot close to the kitchen was empty. Your nails scratched at a dried spot of something unrecognizable in front of you. The chatter of the pre-evening crowd and the subtle music faded into the background as the buzzing in your ears picked back up. To have a place look and feel so much like home when it couldn't possibly be any further from your own reality...

A glass clunked down in front of you, pushed into your field of vision by a delicate hand.

"Here you go!"

You fixated on the glass for a couple of seconds before your silence stretched too long and into the territory of discourtesy. "Thank you." Your voice was small, barely above a whisper. Nevertheless, Camille had heard you, as her hand moved over to yours and squeezed it gently.

"You're welcome. If you need to talk, wave me down. I'm a good listener!" You didn't have to look up to know she'd winked at you warmly. You'd heard it in her voice, and you'd seen her do it too many times to not know. You'd always been in awe of her ability to have her warmth, combined with a drink, provide immediate, albeit small relief to people she didn't know. It would have worked on you too, had it not been for the fact that your best friend showed no sign of recognizing you. She was giving you the same lonesome duckling treatment that she gave all her customers. You'd always wondered what it would have felt like if you hadn't know Camille and had just randomly wondered in one night, looking to forget and to be provided with her solicitude. Now, that you were on the receiving side of it, it was just painful.

Two drinks later, you still hadn't said a single word. Cami had wordlessly replaced your first drink once you had emptied it and hovered around you from time to time, to see if you would open up. But you couldn't bring yourself to talk. Hell, so far, you hadn't even managed to look her in the eyes. You just couldn't. To look up and find absolutely no recognition in her eyes - you were sure it would wipe out the last of whatever was keeping you upright in your seat right now.

The doorbell jingled again, followed by a quick set of steps that approached the register. "Hey Cami, you got a quick burger for me?" You felt your insides tighten as the man who'd stopped next to you spoke. He was drumming on the countertop with his index-fingers, blissfully unaware of your reaction. "You got it, Vince. Just give me a couple minutes," Camille replied and turned away from the wall of liquor she'd just been busying herself with. She was about to pass you by when she slowed down in front of you. You could feel her eyes watching you, piercing the top of your head. You hadn't only not spoken, you also hadn't looked up once since you'd come in. "Hey, why don't you wait over by the kitchen? You can snack on a few fries, if you want," she added after a brief pause. You heard Vincent clap his hands together in excitement. "You ain't gotta tell me twice," he quipped before he strode off to the kitchen. A hand snuck into your field of vision again, softly tugging at one of your fingers. "Hey, make sure you don't break this one, yeah? Blood is such a bitch to clean up." Your brows furrowed in confusion before you realized that you were clutching your glass so tightly, your knuckles had turned white. You forced yourself to relax your fingers and in return received an approving pat on your hand. "There you go. Thanks!"

You couldn't help it but glance up then. Camille smiled and winked at you, before she sauntered off after Vincent. You watched this world's version of your best friend as she disappeared into the kitchen and couldn't help but wonder if anyone had ever felt more lonely than you in this very second.

A/N: Only took me forever to get here, but we've made it, chapter 2 is here! I had this chapter planned out for so long but couldn't find the right words. Not a lot of action compared to the previous chapter, but I promise, there is more to come! How's Y/N gonna get on all by herself? And how are Dean and Cas go about finding out what happened to the rift in NOLA? Stay tuned to find out! 😉

Feedback is greatly appreciated! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist ☺️

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[lettersfromaphrodite]

[2.22]

― pairing : Han Jisung x fem! reader ― content warnings : angst, fluff, implied smut, wolf au, reader is a witch, soulmates, medieval settings as always, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ; for the witch hunter part I kinda got inspired by the Merlin and Freya story but without the tragic ― word count : 2.670

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🐺🔮 WOLVES! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho part one | part two // Felix // Jeongin

Branches roughly scratched your face and your arms, the sound of the dry leaves breaking under your feet as you desperately ran through the woods, trying to save yourself in what had started as a quiet and cool autumn morning.

Gritting your teeth as every limb in your body started to ache, your left hand was tightly pressed on the bloody wound on your right side, disheartened by the fact that you couldn’t use magic to heal your wound. You felt your own blood wetting your trembling fingers, and you wanted to cry, both by the pain you were feeling and both because you didn’t even have time to rest for a few seconds.

So, you kept running, a hunter following you close behind. You have been hearing rumours spreading through your village that the King had called for a hunter to investigate presumed supernatural events that started to happen at the court, but you had never thought that said hunter would have chased you as soon as he arrived. You did not have anything to do with the alleged magic episodes happening in the Castle, but you have heard from your mentor witch that hunters never stopped in front of anything.

Witches, werewolves, shapeshifters; the hunters would hunt everyone, trap them, and execute them on a public square. Therefore, their weapons and methods of capture improved through the years and adapted easily to every need.

This was the reason why you could not use your magic to defeat him, nor to heal yourself; your wound was caused by an enchanted blade, which would neutralize your magic unless someone else healed you.

A small clearing opened in front of you, and your heart sank at the view. Two wolves, one with ginger fur and hazel eyes, and the other with white fur and blue eyes immediately snapped their eyes towards you, both alerted and wary at your state and sudden appearance. Your eyes met hazel ones, and between all the pain, you felt a confusing warm sensation invading your senses.

«R-run,» you tried to say, but it came out as a raspy, weak whimper, «hunter.» you managed to add, pain clouding your senses, feeling as you were about to faint. You saw the wolves sharing a look, before the white wolf stopped the other from walking towards you, pushing him towards the woods behind them instead.

This was the last thing you saw before darkness enveloped your senses.

The dark night sky met your eyes as you woke up feeling sore due the metal bars against your back. Pain immediately shot through your side as you tried to move, blinking few times to gradually take in your surroundings as you weakly managed to breathe. Large, heavy metal cuff adorned your wrists, connecting them to the metal bars of the small cage you were trapped in. You were in one of the streets of the village, so that cage must have been the one that the hunter carried along with him, pulled by his horse; you hesitantly looked around, but did not find any trace of the hunter. With slow movements, the shackles rattled as you lifted the hem of your skirt, noticing that at least, your ankles hadn’t been tied up as well.

Tears blurred your vision, realizing that, that was it. You would have died like that, since you did not know any other witch who could heal you, let alone someone who could save you. Judging by the pain you constantly felt, the effects of the enchanted blade were still active, and you suspected that the handcuffs were enchanted too, if not the whole cage, meaning that you could not save yourself.

Basically, you were doomed. You closed your eyes as the hunter exited the tavern, leaning against the cage bar with a gloved hand.

«I hope you’re not feeling too cold, witch.» he spat, with an obnoxious and gruff voice. «They’ll warm you up soon enough.» with a merciless laugh, he walked away from you, and your heart sank even deeper.

“At least, for now they’re both safe.” You thought, your mind briefly recalling soft hazel eyes and fur as white as snow pushing him away.

You most definitely lost count of days; you could not stay awake, and you could barely sleep. You were stuck into an impasse. Night fell once again, hasty and sneaky whispers suddenly catching your attention, along with few low growls. You tried to identify the shadows approaching your cage, trying to help yourself with the light the full moon provided, wondering if the hunter changed his plans for you.

Fear spreaded through your body and the shackles rattled loudly as you attempted to press yourself even further against the metal bars, the desperate attempt to somehow save or shield yourself even if you were helpless and trapped. A boy around your age with white hair and long white eyelashes suddenly jumped on the carriage, in the front of the cage’s locked door, his index fingers in front his lips signalling you not to make any noise. You nodded at him, still trembling, just to notice another boy with light brown hair effortlessly climb on and kneel next to him.

«How’s it, Lix?» the boy asked the one with white hair, as they both studied the padlock.

«It’s a piece of cake.» the boy’s deep voice startled you, and he started picking at the padlock with what you thought was a thin fragment of sharpened iron. «Let’s say I expected more from a hunter’s cage.» he smiled to himself as the padlock opened with a soft “click”, and they both opened the door of the cage with slow movements, in order to prevent any squeaking noise from the rusty iron.

«We’re not going to hurt you,» The boy with light brown hair smiled warmly at you, two dimples appearing to corner his smile. «I’m Chris, and he’s Felix.» he gestured to the white haired boy which was now picking at the locks of the heavy handcuffs around your wrists. Felix looked up with a soft smile at the mention of his name. «There are others outside the cage. Me and my friends are here to save you.»

«Let’s save the introductions for later,» Felix mumbled, placing the handcuffs on your side, away from you, and your first instinct was to rub your red and sore wrists, «we’re running short on time.»

Chris nodded, and with a gentle «I’m so sorry for this.» he leaned towards you and picked you up as gently as he could, as you tried to suffocate another wave of pain running through your side. Chris effortlessly jumped down the carriage while holding you tight, and you noticed that “the others” which he was referring to were indeed a pack of wolves.

«Han, Seungmin, get her home. We’ll take care of him.» Chris said, and obediently, two large wolves slowly walked towards you. Your eyes met hazel ones, and the ginger wolf you saw few days earlier was looking at you as he was feeling your own pain.

«You’ll be fine now, your mate is here.» You heard Chris say once again, his gentle voice reaching your ears distant and muffled. The last thing you remember was being helped climbing on the back of the ginger wolf, which partially leaned down to help your movements, and you caressing a small fraction of his soft fur, feeling somehow as safe as you have never felt. You let yourself trust your saviours enough to close your eyes, and darkness once again enveloped your soul.

The feeling of dizziness was the first thing that welcomed you as soon as you woke up. An unfamiliar wooden ceiling met your tired eyes, and you realized that you have been laying on a soft mattress, instead of a metal cage.

Feeling an unfamiliar sensation of warmth around your right hand, you glanced down, just to see an asleep boy sitting on the floor with his head on the mattress, as he was still holding your hand. A strange sensation of familiarity pervaded your senses as you saw his delicate features cornered by long blondish hair.

You tried to sit up, but pain shot through your side again, and you whined, collapsing back on the bed, involuntarily waking the bow up. You were confused by the pain you were feeling; it was definitely different from the one generated by the enchanted blade. Could it be that your saviours found a way to heal you?

The boy blinked twice before noticing you were awake, and his eyes widened immediately.

«Here, let me help you.» he offered, his hand hanging in mid-air, waiting for your approval. Due to a strange pull you felt in your chest you found yourself nodding, and he delicately helped you sit up, your back lying comfortably against the fluffy cushions.

«I’m Jisung,» he smiled, reaching out to your nightstand to offer you a glass full of water, which you gladly accepted. «I’m part of the group that saved you last week.»

«Last week?!» you shrieked, your voice hoarse and your throat burning due to not having spoken with anyone not having drank anything for apparently, more than a week.

A sad smile adorned Jisung’s pretty lips, «We’re very lucky to be both alive.» he said, confusing you, but proceeded before you could ask. «There are other witches in the pack, they’re my friends’ mates.» you nodded, recalling Chris’ saying the same word that night. «They healed you, and took care of you.» due to you still dizzy state, you noticed only in that moment that you had been completely bathed and you weren’t definitely wearing your clothes anymore. You nodded, slowly taking in everything that happened and everything he said. You most definitely owed them your life.

«Thank you,» you offered Jisung a sweet, sincere smiled which he immediately mirrored. «But… How did you know I had been caught?» You furrowed your brows, waiting for Jisung to confirm your thoughts.

A pack of wolves mysteriously showed up after you’ve warned two wolves you randomly found on your way, and coincidentally, one of them had human features which reminded you of the white wolf you saw, so, this meant that-

«You told me yourself,» Jisung’s soft voice intruded your thoughts, and for some reason, your heart sparked up at the confirmation to Jisung being not only the ginger wolf you’ve seen but there was a probability of you being his mate. «I was going to pick you up immediately, but Felix convinced me it was probably better to alert the others and to come up with an actual plan to save you.»

«How am I even supposed to repay this debt.» you mumbled to yourself, throwing your head back and meeting yet another fluffy cushion. Jisung chuckled softly at your reaction.

«Come live with us, with me. I mean-us.» he said, blushing as he stuttered on his sentence and you softly giggled at him, rubbing your eyes with one hand.

«Whose house is this?» you asked, weakly, feeling yourself getting drowsy once again. «Mine.» Jisung said, taking away the empty glass from your hands. «Okay then,» you mumbled, «I’ll move in.» «I’ll be here when you’ll wake up.» was the last thing you heard Jisung say, before you fell into a peaceful sleep.

You have been falling in and out of sleep few more times, and Jisung had always kept his promise. Sometimes he would be awake, sometimes asleep, but as soon as you woke up, he would be the first thing you would see.

Something brushed against your shoulder, and you woke up to find Jisung laying on top of the blankets and cuddled on your side, his forehead brushing against your shoulder as he tried to occupy as little space as he could. Following your instinct, you turned on your side to face him, happily noticing that finally your side stopped hurting, and scooted closer to him, so that you would fall asleep once again with your forehead against his.

You woke up few hours later due to the feeling of Jisung’s fingers delicately brushing few strand of your hair away from your face, his eyes burning into yours from up close. During sleep, you managed to intertwine your hands, and neither of you tried to move from the contact now that you were both fully awake.

«Jisung?» you mumbled, and he hummed in response. «Why did you say we were lucky to be alive?» you saw his eyes soften, and his hand reached out to gently caress your cheek.

«You and I are mates,» he explained, «if one of us dies, so does the other.» Jisung’s voice made your heart sank in realization that you unknowingly almost killed your mate and, feeling your emotions, he re-adjusted your positions so that he could hug you close to his body.

«I’m sorry it took us a while to come and get you but, everything is going to be okay, now. We’re together.»

You quickly adjusted to your new life. First of all, you were happy you could use magic once again, and consequently, to finally have friends with the same gift you had.

The pack welcomed you, but they simply acted as you had always been there, nothing changed in their routine, neither in yours, and you felt home and safe with them accepting you so easily and making you feel one of the family. Jisung was the goofiest and most caring mate you could ever have. His loud personality always made you feel at ease, and so did his natural desire for contact and skinship. Despite the two of you acting like a lovesick couple for the whole day, you and Jisung shared your first kiss a month after your arrival.

Due to what happened, he spent the day walking you around the woods, both in his human and wolf form, showing you that there was no more reason to be afraid, since the hunter had been taken care of and from now on, he would have been there to protect you.

And so, your first kiss was shared under an old oak tree, after you’ve been playing hide and seek all afternoon, and finally, you felt one with the nature and you were no more afraid of the dangers that it could hide.

«Found you!» you excitedly jumped in Jisung’s arms, which held you up immediately, his hold unwavering.

Jisung chuckled. «You did, again.» you inched down, closing the space between you and capturing Jisung’s lips in a soft kiss. Effortlessly keeping you up with his right arm, his left hand reached up to tenderly cup your jaw, gently angling your head to have a better access to deepen the kiss. You kissed him back with equal fervour, feeling as your souls were now connected at a whole, different level.

Eventually, Jisung carefully laid you down on the soft grass, peppering your body with sweet kisses as you made love under an old oak tree, shielding you from indiscreet eyes, as you were lost in each other’s touch. Jisung’s hands and the promised of undying love he whispered against your skin made you feel like you were on fire, as you both tried to adapt to the new sensation of completeness that inevitably came as your bodies rocked and grinded together, chasing your release while tightly intertwining your hands together. Jisung’s left hand intertwined with yours and his right hand cupped your jaw once again to kiss you as you came together, absorbing each other’s moans with a tender kiss, your left hand hanging loosely around his right wrist.

«I think I really love you,» Jisung mumbled in the crook of your neck as you both shared the bliss of your post orgasm state, and you felt your heart soar. «And I’m really glad you found me.»

«I love you, too.» you mumbled back, feeling Jisung’s hammering heartbeat right against your skin, «And I’m really glad you found me right back.»

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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