#infinitystoner answers

[infinitystoner]

For the WIP game -

5. Bad Habit (angst)

crashes violently into your askbox, slams into your coffee table, breaks 73 lamps and 25 windows

Angst?! TELL ME MOOORRRRRRRE!!!!!!

Angst, it calls to you, like a beacon in the night. Fear not, friend. I will not lead you astray (even though you just broke all my lamps, wtf). 😂

Bad Habit is my attempt at Lovers to Strangers, featuring an Avengers-adjacent Loki. It's one of my lesser-developed WIPs and probably a bit darker than what people normally expect from me? There will be miscommunication and unresolved conflict and chaos galore! (Allegedly.)

[loki-cees-all]

why are you reblogging so much Magnus content? this feels like a personal attack 🥲

I was thinking about having ramen for dinner 😈

😘

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 1 of 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

*

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

*

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

Next chapter

[sarahscribbles]

bc we were talking about it: imagine Loki setting a gentle, slow pace, but when begged for more he just says "You'll take what I give you, sweet girl."

bye! 🫠

I hope this doesn't disappoint!

Loki Masterlist

Drabble requests are OPEN

You’re not even dozing when the sheets rumple and the mattress dips beneath you. The familiar scent immediately envelops you - cedarwood, mint, and something subtly sweet.

Loki.

You stir beneath the covers, turning over in your cotton cocoon to reach for him. It’s been too long since you touched him, an entire week, and it’s bliss to feel him firm and solid and safe beneath your fingertips.

“Missed you,” you murmur quickly against his lips, not wanting to waste a second on words; they aren’t needed, you just need him.

“And I you, treasure of my heart,” Loki replies, claiming your lips in a kiss so passionate that you feel dizzy.

You melt back into the mess of pillows and bedclothes, sighing contentedly when Loki follows. His thumbs are tracing circles on your outer thighs, but slowly his hands slide over your hips to grip your waist, and he’s toying with the waistband of your sleep shorts.

It’s enough for you to know he’s asking for your permission - permission he’ll have as long as the sun keeps spinning- and you answer with a roll of your hips against his.

The shorts are tossed to the side in a flurry of limbs and desperate kisses, followed quickly by your shirt and, in a gentle flash of green seidr, Loki’s battle leather. Your hands find their home on his back instantly, running longingly over the ripples of muscles that flexed with each minute movement.

Your lover.

Your prince.

Your god.

“You’re so beautiful,” you breath out against his mouth, letting your eyes flutter open to lock with his.

Green irises glitter at you even in the half darkness of the room, and he answers by leaning down to give a sharp nip to the sensitive skin of your neck. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Whatever teasing reply was half forming on your tongue is lost when you feel Loki begin to ease himself into you, inch by beautiful inch until you can take no more of him, until his body is pressed firmly against yours. He releases a shuddering breath when he's fully seated inside you, and the groan that floats from your own lips is sinful enough that you can feel his cock twitch inside you.

How is he yours?

“Every night I dreamed of this perfect little cunt,” he rasps in your ear, his movements tortuously slow. You want rough and eager, you want him to fuck you so hard that words become impossible.

But he doesn’t. He’s slow and gentle and teasing. Doing nothing more than grinding into your cunt as if he plans to drag this out all night. You can feel every ever ridge and vein pull against your walls and you inhale every time he pulls out - expecting his resolve to finally break.

But it doesn't, and he fills you up again just as slowly as before.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating.

It doesn’t take look until you’re arching into him, your soft whines of protest earning another nip of his teeth to your neck. “Loki…please. I need more. Please.”

He licks a light stripe along the column of your neck and finishes with a sharp bite to your ear lobe. “You’ll take what I give you, sweet girl,” he taunts with another agonisingly slow thrust. “And I plan to savour this for hours.”

Tags: @infinitystoner @cake-writes @kinky-faerie @muddyorbsblr @lunarnights95 @fandxmslxt69 @joyful-enchantress @goddessofwonderland @liminalpebble @ladyofthestayingpower @currish-rosewolfe @loopsisloops @coldnique @fictive-sl0th @mischief2sarawr @simplyholl @mochie85 @littlespaceyelf

[liminalpebble]

Stray (A Lokitty Tale) Masterlist

A/N: Hi all. This began as a prompt suggestion by @mischief2sarawr and has since grown three heads and answers to no one. It's now a multipart, very fluffy, story about Lokitty. I have no idea where I'm going with this except definitely to the comfort district of fluff town...maybe driving through a little traffic jam of angst on the way there.

Synopsis: It's 1971 and you're a single shop girl living in the tumultuous, often damp, city of Seattle, feeling lost and alone. Meanwhile, Loki (under the guise of D.B. Cooper) is on the run from Thor the moment he jumped out of that plane. After crash landing in a dumpster and disguising himself as a stray cat to lay low, he becomes your beloved room mate and an unusual friendship begins to grow.

AO3 Link

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10 and Epilogue

Stray: Winter Blues

@mischief2sarawr @ladyofthestayingpower @acidcasualties @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokihiddleston @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @marcotheflychair @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @littlespaceyelf @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @eleniblue @loz-3 @the-haven-of-fiction @sweetsigyn @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @holdmytesseract @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @sailorholly @peachyjinx @coldnique @sarahscribbles @peaches1958 @infinitystoner @mischiefmaker615 @coldnique @jennyggggrrr @tripleyeeet @itsybitchylittlewitchy @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @arunabrak @fruityfucker @averagetmblrusser @primrosesposts

[smolvenger]

Arise Fair Sun (Henry V x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Word Count: 3K

Fandom: The Hollow Crown

Summary: One night, Henry appears under your balcony to confess his feelings to you.

Warnings: None, just a lot of fluff! I guess brief mentions of sex.

A/N: This was inspired by @theartofimagining13's small post that can be found here! A lot of it was taken from the Balcony Scene from Romeo and Juliet (and no tragic ending in my fic, hooray!), bc I'm a basic bitch who genuinely loves that play, do not @ me. Enjoy!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner@littlespaceyelf@superficialdomina @muddyorbsblr

“Y/N, a marriage to the Earl of Warwick shall be a wonderful match and you must consider it!” your father said at dinnertime.

You felt as if the roast chicken you had just eaten was curdling in your stomach. Though it was a warm summer night, you became very cold. You saw stars in the fields of your vision from the shock. The words were thunder to your ears- loud and shocking and bursting from nowhere.

You did meet the Earl of Warwick a few times. He was a handsome man, though he was older. Not elderly, but close to your father’s age to where they were friends. Often, they attended events and court with the king himself there. Just yesterday, he was there with you at a ball, hosted by the king himself. He had long since been widowed. Now it seemed he was open for a replacement.

Though you did dance with the handsome young king, Henry the Fifth. His eyes were piercing but his face had a gentle smile on you. You were sure he was not betrothed to any princess. At least not yet. The times you spoke with him and attended events with him, he did speak to you. And he was so…so…

No, it was impossible.

“Father…am I…am I betrothed to the earl?” you asked, still dazed at it.

To think, you were already set for a marriage without your knowledge! Yes, you knew it would happen eventually. You never thought it would happen now!  Your fingers curled into the table’s wood as if it could support you.

“No, I will tell you, you are not. At least, not yet! He is only interested in courtship first…then we can consider a betrothal,” your father replied. He wiped off the sauce of the meal from his mouth.

Your mother turned to you.

“But the earl seeks you as his lady love. And you shall consider him, shall you?” your mother encouraged.

You blinked rapidly.

“I…I will consider it,” you answered.

“Then, we will invite him to dinner and if this continues further, a marriage for you will finally be settled. Isn’t’ that wonderful?” your father asked with a smile.

You nodded politely, despite the racing of your heart. You reached for your goblet of wine and took a sip, resisting the urge to gulp it down to calm your shock.

Not that he wouldn’t be a good husband to any wife. But…in the depth of your heart, you wanted to marry out of love. Like with….with….

No, that was impossible. Don’t dwell on him, you urged yourself.

This was it. Done and done-at this rate, you would have to start signing your letters as Lady Warwick.

That night, you were troubled. You found it hard to relax to sleep. The stifling heat on the blankets on a summer evening didn’t help. You knew marriage was never for love, but for duty and diplomacy. Love was only for knights who pined for already married women. And even that was never to be except for all the yearning and sighing. And you didn’t think of yourself as worthy of a knight’s adoration either.

You put on a white shift and a pink robe over should a servant run nearby. You went out of your room to go out to the balcony outside.  It was a lovely night. The moon was up in the sky, full and round and white. Stars were sprinkled as light as sugar dust over the ebony sky of midnight. It ran over the back of the house where you could peek over the wall that surrounded the house. Right below was the garden where trees grew so tall their leaves could kiss your fingertips. And even though you could only smell the garden and never touch it, vines and flowers blossoming from them bedecked the balcony wall. Moonlight glowed over it all, giving it a shine making it seem more ethereal.

You leaned onto the balcony railing, putting a hand against your cheek. You let out a deep sigh, just enjoying it and the sounds of the crickets of this summer night. It was cooler now with a breeze that made you shiver a little. It was as if the world sighed down with you. Crickets and owls sang their music.

Then you heard the distant whinny of a horse. Your head turned, jumping from its suddenness. Did one break from the stable? You walked up the walkway to where you could peek over the wall and saw that there was a white horse on the other side. A horse you did not recognize!

Zounds-a burglar!?

You ran down to where you saw the garden. You noticed a figure in the dark with a dark cloak running forward. Your heart raced with panic. As you lowered your jaw to let out a scream and alert someone, the hood lowered.

“Don’t be afraid, my lady!” cried a familiar voice.

Out came a head full of auburn curls and a handsome, ivory face with a goatee. And you fought the urge to let out another yelp. Of all the men on God’s creation who could be down there-fie! It was the king of England, Henry! The panic ran its cold lightning down your body.

“Your grace!” you said out of surprise, dipping into a bow out of habit.

You returned up. How beautiful his curls and skin shone against the moonlight. There was a faint glow caught in his high cheekbones. He wore a dark cloak and gloves over his red doublet, its color bleeding out between the folds of the cloak.

He placed his hands out in peace and walked forward to where you stood over. The most powerful man on earth but here he seemed so little. He looked up at you like you were a giant. Like you could squash him between your thumb and forefinger.

“What brings your majesty here and why? Without your guards? No one to protect you?” you asked.

“I do not need nor want them here. Here, my dear lady… I come here under the cloak of night-she hides and protects me.”

You began to clutch the railing of the balcony, leaning over.

“How did you get in here?” you asked.

He let out a smile that made your insides wriggle in excitement.

“I climbed over the walls-I was always quite good at climbing,” Henry said.

Peeking over, you noticed how tall they were. You forgot he was young and spry, even if he was royalty. He had the energy and strength to get over a tall wall. You turned down to look at him.

“You…didn’t answer my first question. Why are you here?” you asked.

He folded his gloved hands, looking up. His brows furrowed and his shoulders began to raise.

“I spoke with your father today-and he was making a boast that concerned me…are you betrothed?” he asked.

You felt your eyes go wide. You shook your head.

“No…no I am not. The earl of Warwick is interested in me. But no, there’s no betrothal. Not yet,” you told him.

Henry let out a deep breath and loosened his shoulders.

“I am relieved…” he commented.

“What…what do you mean, Henry?” you asked, swallowing.

You saw him smile as you said his name.

“The night brought me here…and Love.”

The air stilled around you, and the earth stopped as he spoke. His own jaw trembled and though his voice was soft, you heard him clearly. Reality surpassing your dreams.

“Love gave me wings and urged me forward…and here, in this garden tonight, I am not a king who can only speak in declarations and laws and propriety. Here, there are no eyes watching us. I can speak to you honestly. I can speak to you as a man. As a man who loves you.”

You were almost dizzy. Processing it. You held onto the railing to keep your legs from knocking.

“You…you love me?” you repeated.

“Y/N…I…I wanted to give you a speech. Recite poetry and verses. But your eyes make me turn red. The sight of you and I am speechless. I cannot say a word from the fullness and longing of my heart. So I speak plain- I love you, Y/N. And that I will not be ashamed to say aloud. Not anymore.”

You then eyed the tree right next to where you stood.

“Can you climb up here…can you talk to me there…”

He then moved to the wall before yours. Easily, he pulled himself up the trees. With the grace of a dancer, he moved up and through until he went to the branch right before where you stood.   He caught his breath from the exertion, holding onto the branch to support him.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

“I have never felt better as I did.”

“Then come forward, Henry-I don’t want you to fall!” you cried.

He walked down the branch, making himself steady. You reached out a hand-touching his leather gloves, and helped him on. Though you paused when you realized- you were in the intimate position of an embrace. He didn’t let go. You didn’t want him to.

“Well-this is better, my lady…” he remarked, with a naughty twinkle in his eye.

“At this point in the poems, many men call their ladies the moon….a few call their women the sun…That should give you a hint of what to say…” you teased.

Henry glanced up at the sky, he then returned to you with a smile.

“Then…then you are the stars, Y/N. The light of this night…perhaps this does make you the sun. The sun itself is a star and all go about come alive when they rise. So should the world come to life when I see you. There were times I wished…I wished I was a mere insect in this house, Y/N.”

“An insect?” you repeated with a small laugh.

You saw Henry turn pink and both of you dipped your heads into laughter again, then he continued.

“I envy each bug. Each small crook and mouse that can go in. That can lay eyes to you, hear you speak and laugh and sing and whisper. I would trade my crown to be them. For they can look at you and hear you all the time, but Harry of England cannot.”

You never thought your smile would grow as big as it currently did. He removed his gloves and set them on the railing. Then you took your hands in each other. A touch of bare skin upon bare skin. He twined your fingers between yours. He held your hand so smoothly, a great treasure. Worth more than anything he materially possessed.

“I don’t know who would get more in trouble if my father arrived. If it would be you at the sight of a man so near me, or if he would get in trouble and be exiled by the king of England!”

Smiling and bursting into laughter-how easily you could speak to and laugh with this man. The pure joy that tingled inside you when he was near!

“I won’t exile him…at least, not too long,” he said with a wink that made you flutter in your insides.

“I love you. No other embellishments- I love you. It is like you haunt me, Y/N. There were times I’ve wondered if I’ve only dreamed about you. Then I feel the itch of my clothes or the scratch in my throat and I could cry with bliss. For it means you are real.”

You began to tear up with happiness.

“I had to tell you how I felt. Before you were sold off forever. Before you followed your father’s wishes.”

“Couldn’t you command him?” you questioned.

“When I was not sure if you liked me?! And have you hate me all for forcing your hand? I couldn’t!  I had to be sure how you felt about me! And I wanted you to…to like me. Like me a little. I had to tell you my feelings before we had to say nothing for all eternity. Before a loveless marriage was forced on me too. I wanted it to be genuine- nothing of crowns and laws and power. Only my own heart beating fast when I see you smile at me.I…”

He paused. His mouth dropping to a gentle frown.

“Y/N…How do you feel about me?” he asked.

You felt yourself warm up.

“For someone who insists he is plain of speech…you are pretty with your words…and I like them, Henry- I do. And I like you. And I…I love you too…”

Giving in, you embraced him. He cupped your cheek and kissed you. Fire engulfed you as you leaned in. You felt his hot breath from his nose against your face. You could have stayed there forever in his arms. You reached up a hand to run through his hair as you kissed again. He pressed further and your body was shot. You were so drunk on love, on his touch.

Fie, the great trouble that would land you! Both of you-more you than him! And in fact…

You pulled from the kiss.

“Henry…you come here with honorable intentions-that of marriage, do you?” you asked.

He shook his curly head.

“My lady, no- I come here with no thoughts of anything vile but only with the sweetest, purest sentiments. I swear on myself!” he promised.

“Oh, good! I’ve heard of men saying things to women to seduce them…I’m glad.”

You went up to cup his cheek. He leaned into it, kissing the palm of your hand. His eyes as bright and shining to rival the moon. Then he took both his hands to touch yours. You sat on the railing, and he knelt down to talk to you, his voice and eyes earnest.

“Y/N, I am relieved you love me as I love you. As you are a bright gem to me, a sweet pet. But I come here not because I wish to possess you- only to stay by your side. I was crowned king of a nation but here, I am only your humble servant!”

“Then…could you kiss me again?” you asked.

“Yes.”

He wrapped his arms around you. He began to repeat your name as he laid a kiss on each of your cheeks, then your neck and lips as you melted into laughter from his arms. He kept murmuring sweet nothings into your ear as he held you, nuzzling you close.

“The sweetest, dearest name…loveliest, most precious of women….”

Both of you let go. How warm he felt compared to the chill of the night.

“Then…then you will speak to my father. Tell him you are interested in me. Insist on yourself as a suitor with intentions on marriage,” you urged him.

“Yes! Yes I shall!” he agreed, nodding.

There were footsteps from inside. The air stopped in your lungs and both of you fled to a shadow. But seeing that no one approached, you let out a sigh of relief.

“To think…we have to go…there might be some to hear you…” you mused sadly.

“I can’t remember how much delight I’ve had in this hour since my tavern days…to think we could be caught-the thrill of it!”

“Henry…we should exchange tokens of love.”

Both of you plucked the flowers growing on one side against the balcony. He gave you one. You gave him one. He tucked his own flower, a large, bright pink blossom, into his doublet. He put on his gloves in the strands of his belt for security.

“Here….symbols of us. To remember each other…” you said.

He said, tilting your chin up to his. You touched his arm gently and smiled.

“Henry, when you talk to father-come here. You could see me tomorrow…I’ll put my ears against the door when you talk to Father! I doubt he could refuse the king of England as a son in law and his daughter a…a…”

The word, in your disbelief, went to a mere whisper of your voice. The idea gripping you.

“a…a queen.”

“And what a queen you shall make!”

He took his hands on you and lifted you up in an embrace to where your feet didn’t touch the ground. He twirled you around. You let out a small shriek in spite of yourself, despite the risk from the surprise.

He kissed you again on the lips. The man was insatiable for you, but you would not complain about it.

“I’ve never been…been this happy…I am not sure if I want to leave…”

“Well then…you must…you don’t want my parents to suspect anything. And servants like to talk- wouldn’t you provide some interesting gossip for them,” you sighed.

“I could brave them all if I had to. But if I must…”

He held your hand as he began to climb out to the tree branch. Your own arm reached out, holding his. Just enough so that you still felt secure on your balcony.

“I will see you on the morrow, when the sun rises and all of dawn and day shall behold your face where it will stand by mine soon for all eternity…” Henry said.

“And I cannot wait until then…” you replied.

You held onto him until only the bits of your fingers touched. To memorize his skin. His feel. He then climbed down the tree. then you let go. Your own hand holding onto air. Feeling the ghost of his touch as he had to use both of his hands to climb down. Then you released it as well. Watching him vanish.

You blew him a kiss and he caught it, putting it to his lips. He bounded across the gardens. Then he crawled up and over the wall-and his cape did seem like a birds wings in the night. You ran over to the other side of the balcony wall to watch the last of him. You saw him on his white horse, like a maiden’s sweet dream. With a last smile, a smile of promise, he kicked his heels against his horse and rode off into the night until the whiteness of the steed was a mere speck.

You missed him already. But you told yourself, it wouldn’t be long now. Just a few more hours. And you would be reunited. Bound to never part forever.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Who are some newer peeps (like within a year)

that have kind of just appeared one day and have stood out to you lately?

🌸

Hey sweet! I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer this as I've also been here under a year so take with a pinch of salt.

I remember when @joyful-enchantress @simplyholl @superficialdomina @lovelysizzlingbluebird and @infinitystoner first posted their stories they absolutely blew my little frickin mind. Like blew it to smithereens.

I've also loved sinking into the worlds of @psychospore and @littlespaceyelf and @liminalpebble who are imagery experts and magicians in the oneshot and mini series, and the mind of @chantsdemarins continues to amaze me in their utter unique creativity. It's actually insane.

@fictive-sl0th and @holdmytesseract and @muddyorbsblr came up around the same time as me and I continue to adore everything they conjur with Loki, it's quite the feat!💕 Their styles are all so different and yet, fill all my voids 🤭

There's honestly so many incredible Loki writers on this platform and I'm finding new ones to obsess over all the time, even if they're just new to me and actually they're legends 🤣 I make good use of the usual tags and if I see a new name I'm like *gasp* so I recommend you do the same, it's fun!

Ps this list is not exhaustive, I tend to avoid rec questions as I always feel I'm leaving people out as I read a LOT - however these are writers that come to my (CV addled) mind that have started in the past year.

I tag all my Loki reblogs with #loki fic recs so you can always search my blog for that if you like ♥️

[superficialdomina]

hi! ✨for the astrology asks:

descendant & 7H

Eeeeh thank you @infinitystoner - I love both of these!!

Descendant: What kind of people do you usually attract?

I'm not sure I really know the answer to this one, because my life is filled with all sorts of people. But I do seem to have a lot of friends who fall into the "misfit" category; people who are outsiders, or lonely, or a little bit sad or broken. Maybe I seem like a safe person?

Basically, anyone except the cool kids and the jocks - they seem to have no interest in me 🤭❤️❤️

7H: What do you consider green flags in a relationship?

This is a great question! I was going to say all the standard stuff, like communication, self-love, listeners... But honestly, that stuff is bare minimum to me these days. So instead I've got three things that are "bonuses" - not requirements by any means, but they would pique my interest:

1. Sets and communicates boundaries. Anyone who has, knows and articulates their boundaries is more likely to respect yours.

2. Currently (or recently) in therapy. Anyone who is actively working to improve their mental health is a superstar in my book.

3. On good terms with their ex(es). If someone is friends - or at least, amicable with - their ex, then that says some pretty great things about the way that relationship went. Kudos to them.

(Again, none of these are prerequisites; if all your exes treated you like shit, then you absolutely don't need to and should not be friends with them, and I would never think less of you for it).

Thank you for the fun asks, Infinitystoner !! ❤️❤️

[infinitystoner]

Tell me about Only the Sunset Knows. Will it stab me in the heart? It sounds like it could.

Maybe? Only the Sunset Knows is my Magnus Martinsson series. I'm only expecting two people to read it, but I'm excited about it nonetheless!

The title is a lyric from the Wallander theme song, "Nostalgia" by Emily Barker. It's rather haunting.

I don't have a summary written yet, but the reader meets Magnus during a temporary stay in Ystad. Does any of this even make sense? Whatever, here's a snippet. 😂

“My aunt– she owns a cottage in Löderup. It’s right on the beach and–” “Is that where you take all your flings?” You try to make it sound lighthearted, to force out a playful laugh, but the twinge of jealousy in your voice is evident, especially to him. You – happiest in your privacy and mystique, never daring to let anyone in for fear of the carefully constructed walls crumbling to dust – intermingling with someone who studies patterns and cracks codes for a living.

[loki-cees-all]

wishing you the happiest birthday, bb! <3

omg 🥹🥹🥹

this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seennnnnnn sidijsjsjksksksksksk

ilysm bb!!!! <3<3<3<3

[maple-seed]

I gotta say, I'm surprised by the final results of this poll. The #1 answer is "you shouldn't be looking for answers"?? I expected better from the denizens of this hellsite.

And the #2 answer is that Vision doesn't even have the parts? Poor Wanda!!

I originally voted for Vision having a dick but not ejaculating, but I think @lokischambermaid makes a strong case for her binary jizz. Surprisingly, @ladyjanesta has swayed me a bit on her porridge scenario, but only in the case of oral. I'm not interested in porridge downstairs. I fully headcanon Vision shapshifting his dick into existence, though @lokisgoodgirl's James Bond gearbox has its appeal. 😂

All in all, I think we did some solid work here. Well done everyone, and congratulations on not being cowards, unlike 34.8% of the voters.

@lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @gigglingtiggerv2 @muddyorbsblr @litaloni @cleo-fox @glitchquake @loki-cees-all @mischief2sarawr @smolvenger @unlucky-number-13 @ladyjanesta @infinitystoner @loopsisloops @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @goblingirlsarah @mrsbarnes32557038 @agathaandgwenslesbian @brw @thestarlightforge @shinisinko @magellan-88 @lesbpotmurdocklokistan @flesh--amnesiacunrated

The Miss Minutes discourse from season 2 of Loki brought me to this discussion with @loopsisloops and @ijuststareatstuffhereok89. I felt it deserved further investigation. I know I could go look up some smutty Vision fanfiction to see what the fandom consensus is but this seemed like more fun. Please, by all means, elaborate on your answers.

Just gonna tag some scholars I thought might like to weigh in.

@lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @gigglingtiggerv2 @muddyorbsblr @litaloni @cleo-fox @glitchquake @loki-cees-all @mischief2sarawr @smolvenger @unlucky-number-13

[sarahscribbles]

It's that time again!

Loki will be taking over my blog again this weekend (June 23 - June 25), so get thinking if you want to ask him anything!

You can start sending asks in now, but priority will be given to anyone who sent an ask in before that didn't get answered!

I hope this can be another weekend of fun and shenanigans!

@infinitystoner @the-lady-amphitrite @currish-rosewolfe @use-your-telescope @fandxmslxt69 @lunarnights95 @muddyorbsblr @simplyholl @joyful-enchantress @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @mochie85 @give-me-a-moose @@tactac286 @twhxhck @acidcasualties @ladyofthestayingpower @goddessofwonderland @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @littlespaceyelf @loopsisloops @mischief2sarawr @liminalpebble @smolvenger

[ask-infinitystones]

Soul: I don’t know a ‘Black Widow’, I don’t know an ‘Avengers’, I don’t know a ‘Thanos’, and I’ve never met anyone who calls themself a hero! It’s just me, the red guy, and two. Empty. Worlds!

Please, just stop asking.

[nomoremutants-com]

Question Answered! Download images at nomoremutants-com.tumblr.com Key Film Dates:: Marvel - Thor: Ragnarok: Nov 3, 2017 - Black Panther: Feb 16, 2018 - New Mutants: Apr 13, 2018 - The Avengers: Infinity War: May 4, 2018 - Deadpool 2: Jun 1, 2018 - Ant-Man & The Wasp: Jul 6, 2018 - Venom : Oct 5, 2018 - X-men Dark Phoenix : Nov 2, 2018 - Sony's Silver & Black: Feb 8, 2019 - Gambit: Feb 14, 2019 - Captain Marvel: Mar 8, 2019 - The Avengers 4: May 3, 2019 - Homecoming Sequel: July 5, 2019 - Untitled MCU Film: May 1, 2020 - Untitled MCU Film: July 10, 2020 - Untitled MCU Film: Nov 6, 2020 #marvelcomics #Comics #marvel #comicbooks #avengers #avengersinfinitywar #xmen #newmutants #captainamerica #ironman #thor #hulk #spiderman #uncannyxmen #wolverine #starlord #guardiansofthegalaxy #infinitygauntlet #infinitywartrailer #deadpool #loki #infinitystones #cable #cyclops #NoMoreMutants #thanos #blackpanther #punisher #groot http://ift.tt/2iioh7U

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Seven (Cpn James Nicholls x fem! Reader miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 4K

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sex, but it fades to black and no actual smut. Some fluff but LOTS of angst. Discussions of war and battles and death. Mentions of pregnancy but no pregnancy tropes.

Series Summary: It is 1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven//Part Eight Finale coming soon!

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

A/N: Hi y'all! I intend this to be the penultimate chapter-this Baby is almost complete! I hope you guys enjoy it! Comments, reblogs, asks, and dms about my works are always appreciated!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510

“Can’t I at least scratch my arm! It’s beginning to itch!” you teased, though you did feel an itch on your arm.

It was a peaceful late afternoon. James had returned from work. When he announced himself, you immediately ran over to throw your arms around him and kiss him, something he enjoyed. As he changed into his everyday clothes, he asked if he could draw you. You agreed.

The sun was setting with its orange glow melting through the windows. You felt it behind you as the red curtains tickled you and the sunlight warmed your back. The inside of the sitting room looked lovely in its light. You looked down on the main sofa as James sat on a chair opposite. He was working on a sketch of you as you sat there, your hands folded on your lap. James looked at you from behind his sketchbook and smiled.

“Right now, I am focused on the details of your face- of course you can scratch your arm!” he answered.

You put a hand to move your sleeve up to scratch on it. Then you put your sleeve back. You heard his drawing more. His eyes dated from you to his page. The clock began to tick.

“How is it going- I only hope I am a decent model for you!” you said.

You heard him make a flourish. Then he lifted his pencil, checking between you and him.

“Y/N with the light pouring out behind you, you seem to glow like an angel, Mrs. Nicholls.” He rolled the last two words with the enthusiasm for a foreign language understood and learned.

You looked down briefly, feeling tingly from the compliment.

“Such high praise….” You murmured in your giddy joy.

“It’s only the truth-you’re a natural model…come look…” he urged.

You got up from your seat and walked over to where he sat to see the sketch. He had gotten your face and sitting position on the couch.  You worried it would be unflattering. You were human after all, you didn’t like what you saw in the mirror some days. But it was James’s view of you- and you were glowing with a smile that spoke of love, joy, and life.

“James-it’s wonderful! I love it!” you said.

He set it down and took your hand.

“I must tell you-have I shown you the painting, yet?”

“Painting? I never knew you painted-what is it?” you asked.

He took your hand and walked over to a cabinet. He unlocked it and opened it up, showing an almost complete painting sitting in it. You gasped as you took in the sight. It portrayed a beautiful brown horse looking wistfully into the distance. His ears perked as if hearing someone approaching. But his gentle, dark eyes and the white diamond on his face could mean it was only one horse you knew of.

“You’re making a painting of Joey!?” you cried.

He shrugged with a low smile.

“I’m no Stubbs, but I’m doing my best. He’s too beautiful a fellow not to- and it’s been too long since I painted. I hope to give it to the town hall as a gift. I should be able to finish it before I leave.”

You clasped your hands to admire it.

“Oh-James, that’s wonderful! It’s going to be beautiful! Albert will be beside himself!” you cheered.

You went over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You began to work on dinner-working on what you knew of cooking and from the few groceries you got today. James offered to help. You chatted as you ate your meal.

“How was recruitment today?” you asked.

He nodded.

“It went astonishingly well. It seems almost every able man is signing up. To think riding school begins so soon. I hope they are ready for it.”

His tone darkened. He set his fork and knife down, his food half-done. He folded his hands together and sighed.

“Y/N…I do my best to be brace, but…I am scared. I have never seen a battle before. I’ve never even listened to a gun being shot. I’m a leader for them…but I’m no better than any of them…” he confessed.

You blinked, leaning forward. He perked up to look at you.

“You are good. Do you see your own hands, James?” you asked.

It was a small table. You reached over and took his hands.

“They’re kind hands…gentle hands…You act because you care. That is what leaders do! Do you remember when Joey first plowed the field? You gave me orders right there!” you recalled.

He laughed and nodded at the sight.

“And when you’re with Albert, you see my brother shying himself. He knows your station. But the way you speak to him…you speak with reason and wisdom, and do you know what Albie does? He listens! And Albert never listened to Mother tell him to eat his peas when he was seven! It was why I loved you. Why I married you and not Lyons…”

Both of you broke into a small laugh at that notion. A flood of gratitude that this was your picture now. Not an unhappy wife to a rich man but a loved companion of a good one.

“James- you will know what to do. And people already listen to you.”

He went over and gave you another kiss. You then stopped him from another by putting a hand on his chest.

“Please let Albert see Joey this week before riding school begins! Do this for me, at least!”

He smiled.

“I will, my dear.”

The days were quiet. Peaceful. Your friends and family would stop by and visit when they could. Your mother gave you a recipe book to enjoy meals of your own in your new home. New meals to make with new memories of your new marriage. All of you got to go to see Joey in his new stables and Albert petted and caressed him. Never wanting to leave the stables. James put a bucket down to sit and drew you petting Joey. It did not take long for him to finish the painting. It was given to the town hall with much joy. It would be opened there with a bronze plaque around it.

Things were quiet as a wife-other than visitors and looking after things, you couldn’t wait for your husbands’ return. Call it the honeymoon phase, but you always wrapped your arms around him. Enjoying every minute, every ticking of the clock that gave him to you. After he finished his painting, he would help you with dinner. You would eat and talk for a long time. He sometimes even set the gramophone music so you both could dance slowly to it. Some nights, you made love beneath the quilts as the grandfather clock ticked by and the owls hooted in the night sky. Then you would hold each other close and sleep as the coals in the fire faded. Or you would read to each other or hold each other and chat until you both fell asleep.

They waned slowly. You wanted them to be slow. To savor every minute of James before he had to go.

Your last day in that cottage and with it your last dinner before his conscription.

“There’s a parade for us. To celebrate the boys going over to fight-they’ll drive me in my motorcar. And they’ll show the horses-Joey among them as we all go off to riding school. Poor chaps. They’ll have to learn how to take orders soon.”

You cut your pork chops into bits. But James had not touched his dinner.

“May I confide something in you, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He looked into your eyes with a hardened face. His jaw was tight and as he folded his hands, you saw the knuckles turn white from how hard they clasped together.

“This is going to be a nasty war. They say the Germans are armed with machinery. The English- not all of us, but my calvary have silver swords and horses,” he confided.

You set down your knife and fork.

“Then…why can’t you fight with machinery?” you questioned.

He nodded.

“I agree. If two men go to a fight and one has a sword and the other a gun…you know how it’s going to end,” he said.

“Then shouldn’t they be armed with guns and not swords? How do you hope to even win the war? You might as well bring a toothpick!” you argued.

“We do not lack for guns in our army’s division. I will have to teach them to shoot straight. But the riders, the calvary-they must do what they did during the Boer war. Point straight and keep charging.”

“But with an army full of guns, how is that going to work out? Why do this- why agree to this?” you asked. You felt your voice begin to rise.

It was anger, in a way. That so many men, your husband included, were sent to fight guns with swords. It was worry, fear, dread.

James shook his head.

“This is how we will fight. We will follow our orders- if we play our cards right. If we surprise them, we have a good chance. We will do what we must around it. The times the idea of the calvary having weapons other than guns, the superiors called it ‘rubbish’ and ‘defeatist.’”

“Why is this defeatist? This is how to win-you shouldn’t be the one at the Calvary. You need to adapt! You need to play the same game the Germans are, James!” you cried.

He folded his arms, but his voice never raised a decibel. His eyes looked sad.

“I must follow the tradition. It is how it is done, Y/N,” he said.

“You are a captain-a leader. The men will look to you to make decisions! Tell them otherwise!” you suggested.

“Others shall mock me. My superiors-the majors and generals-will criticize me. Or call me a traitor. And that would be risking my neck.”

You paused. You leaned closer to him.

“My mother once told me that women tend to silence our own thoughts to please others. I see now it’s no different with men too…Do you think it is possible you could…talk to your superiors? Change their minds, James!?” you asked.

“I married you so you would have protection as a widow.”

You bit back the urge to cry.

“I do not want to be a widow, James? How hard is it to understand?”

“Must I demean the military’s glory and question it?”

“There will be no military alive left if they keep it at and adapt…”

“It could be fruitless.”

You retreated to your seat. You found your own voice softening. You had never argued with him before. To think it would be one of your last conversations. So, you made your tone match his in gentleness, quietness…but never losing strength.

“You could try! This is your life and the lives of your men.  And I would like to see you come home in once piece and not in a casket. I’m sure their own wives and families will say the same.”

You went over to the chair next to James and took both of his hands. You kissed them, and you found yourself tearing up. You felt him relax at your touch.

“Promise me James- you will talk to them. You will convince them a mounted calvary won’t be successful. You could ask for a change. Arm them with guns, not swords. Please…Jaimie’s your friend and he’s a senior officer. He’ll listen to you. Talk to him-you don’t have to be honorable, you only must be alive, James… talk to him! Tell him you know it’s useless to fight guns with swords!”

He wiped a tear from your face with his finger, cupping a cheek of yours. He then looked at you, his eyes shining and sad. But he gave you a small, trembling smile.

“I promise…I will go to Stewart. See if we can adapt in our weaponry,” he replied.

You kept clutching his hands.

“And promise me…you will survive…you will survive for me…James-for us. For both of us…I don’t want to spend my life mourning you. I want us to live together and grow old and bicker like any other couple!”

You both laughed a little. You began to speak despite the mixture of laughter and tears.

“Promise me, James,” you begged.

“I…I promise…”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Who knew how long the war would last? Every man would brag about how they would kill every German in sight and be home in time for dinner. But you knew they were only bragging about their prowess. You knew the truth of the matter. Everyone knew. No one wanted to say what the truth was. That it would be months, perhaps years if you ever saw your dear husband again.

You awoke to the birdsong as he kissed your face.

“I’d like to see the countryside…. Could we walk there. Before the parade?” he asked.

You both walked to the fields, seeing the beautiful country in his clothes like an ordinary man, not a soldier. He wasn't in uniform yet. It would be your last walk for a while. Mountains stood proud in the distance like giants. You both walked to where the grass was as tall as your waist. James then embraced you. He kissed you with ferocity, and he held you tight. Needing you, clutching onto you, keeping you to him. He looked around. He began to hike up your skirts, feeling your legs.

“No one is around….” He assured you.

You said yes. There, among the tall grass, you led him down. You lifted your skirt, and he undid his pants. You both made love one final time there, hidden in nature. A wedding bed from God himself. Only the birds heard you cry your husband's name when oblivion broke you. They flew up in the commotion- the only stirring that signaled you were there. He did turn red with blushing, but he held you tight. Panting as it ended, holding each other tight.

“Thank you…thank you, Y/N. It was beautiful…you are beautiful…a beautiful last moment…at least for now…” he said, kissing the top of your head.

 You both got up over the flattened area of grass. As you helped him up, you brushed off grass from his clothes as you both laughed.

You returned home. He changed into his uniform for the parade and went to the town square. The other soldiers Before the parade Jaimie began to chat with him about parade particulars, then James took off his cap. He looked at you, a small smile on his face. Your own family let you, keeping a few steps away.

"I would like to kiss my wife before I must go...."

You were far from the only couple doing so. But he went to you. He wrapped his hands over your cheeks. He then kissed you deeply and you widened your arms around him, joining other couples in the last literal seconds of physical intimacy. You tasted the sweetness of his breath and felt its heat. You felt him breathe right into you.  You didn't know how long it lasted. But he let his lips go.

"It's time. Y/N,” he said.

      You handed him the sketchbook, a small picture of the both of you at your wedding, and the glove as well.

"You will always have a piece of me with you, James." Your own family came up, each wishing the new son and brother-in-law goodbye. His parents hugged him goodbye. Mrs. Nicholls brought up a handkerchief and was wringing it in her hands.

"I may be fighting the war, but all of you are soldiers of your own. You will face your own battles- but all of you will be brave and fight them,” he guided.

He turned to Albert.

"Joey is only being leased to me. I will pour all of the love and care you have given that horse on him and return him when this is done- I swear it."

Albert nodded. The horses were behind, and Albert then turned to run up to Joey's place. 

He got into the motorcar. Someone else would drive as people would cheer for their marching boys for the parade. One could feel the heat of the sun and the murmur of the crowds. Stewart then ran up.

"It's time, Jim. Say your last words."

He gave an embrace to you, good and tight. You made sure you memorized each small touch and the smell of him. He cupped your face and spoke directly. Words for you alone. He was tearing up himself.

"Goodbye, Y/N. I will fight bravely. For you and our families. I’ll write to you as often as I can. I love you-I love you with everything I am. I will never regret marrying you.”

You smiled, leaning into his hands. Smiling and crying as you heard the words.

 “No matter what happens-know I love you more than I love life. And if I must give my life for you to be safe and happy, I will give it without question.”

He gave you a last kiss and then let go.

You walked slowly behind the car- he kept an eye on you. You held onto James’s hand in the car until it began to speed up. If you kept on, you would have been dragged in the dirt. Finally, fighting hesitancy, you let go.

   Always dashing in his uniform, he turned around and began to relax in the chair.

The parade began.

The people flooded Devon today. And it struck you. They were celebrating James, in addition to the other men. They threw confetti from their windows. They cheered and waved even more flags. The soldiers were marching to the tune of "The Jolly Plowboy." Some were even humming and singing along, and it moved the young soldiers- an entire generation of young men- off to the battle. It kept their speed. It was an anthem in everyone's heart. 

To think it was a little over two years ago you worked at that shop and were tasked with returning a missing sketchbook. That he gave you a handkerchief when you were crying over the unstable future of your farm. There was the town hall you danced in once. There was the church you were married in just over a week ago. The town was so full of him as it was of you. The parade continued. You did your best to show support and cheer. You cried plenty of tears and they ran down your face like a cold river. Your parents hugged you and comforted you.

But you remembered- you were a grown woman. You had another family to see. And a new life in a new place. You enjoyed the last comfort but now...without James...without your family...who were you?

You would find out. You would go to Somerset and find out. And there wasn’t time to lose- his parents were driving you there today.

You indulged in a last look around the cottage. Around each room that was the start of your new life. You let yourself feel the dent of his body on the mattress.   You missed the sound of James' pencil scratching the paper. You missed hearing his footsteps throughout the house. Seeing the way he bent under the doorframe. How he would caress you at night as you discussed what happened today.  

 You put on a traveling dress. Blue with a hat and gloves. You packed your bags and recounted your things. Then You hugged your mother, your father, and your brother. You told them to say goodbye to the animals and give Harold extra nice seeds to munch on. For you would miss that goose and his antics.  As you got into the car, you took around to notice all sorts of things- like the greenery and how pretty it looked against the houses. The white birds fly above the smoking chimneys. How truly hilly and sloped the place was as the car began to drive through the town.

You wished it a last goodbye as the car broke into the roads of the countryside.

The hour slew by, surprisingly. The countryside was not too different over there. Somerset was only a little bigger in size.

“You’ll be delighted! We’re going to serve you a dinner in your honor-My wife is going to bake a cake herself for your arrival-most delicious thing you’ll ever eat!” Mr. Nicholls said.

He helped you out and into that house. A far bigger house and far nicer than your farm. Already there was one maid who took your coat and a servant who carried your suitcase in.  Mrs. Nicholls went up to you.

“I’ll show you to your room, dear…oh- what’s the matter! You look frightened!” she said.

You looked around the ornate wallpaper and mahogany furniture.

“This house is so nice…And I’m just…just a farm girl who chases geese.”

“Y/N, you are our daughter in law. You’re family now. It’s your house as much as ours. We aren’t lords, but…we’re comfortable…” she explained.

That evening they did serve you an incredible dinner. And the cake was delicious- rich and topped with buttercream and walnuts. Then that evening, the Nicholls showed you how they would entertain their children. Mr. Nicholls read a story dramatically, Mrs. Nicholls would play music fitting the mood for the story. When it became scary, the chords were dissonant and jumpy. When happy, they were light. You laughed and clapped your hands.

It was a quiet life. Three servants to do the chores and cook. Meeting visitors, including family and friends who wanted to meet James new wife. You did your best to smile and greet them. No one was terribly rude. If they objected him marrying a lower-class woman, they didn’t say it to your face.  It was nice. They liked to speak of James. What a shy little boy he was and what he would do growing up. This house. So filled with reminders of him.

 But they left. And your worries screamed inside you.

It was the third day it got to you. You ran up to your room to cry again. You let yourself sob and mourn the man you loved. Let yourself sob and miss him. Mrs. Nicholls would return to embrace and comfort you.

As the month passed your courses arrived. Announcing that despite your passionate nights and the last morning in the tall grass, you would not have James’s child. Part of you lamented that there wouldn’t be one last reminder of him left.

But the other part of you knew the practical truth- a baby would make things even more complicated than they already were. It would be worse to be left a single mother to fend for herself and her child. It would be worse to have a baby who would never really see what the man their father was. To have a little child who would never know what Papa’s voice sounded like. To never meet their father- their actual wonderful, kind, genuine, father.

It was only one less thing to deal with. With those thoughts, relief flooded you as you fetched rags.

 A letter arrived from James at last announcing that by the time you got it, he would be in France fighting the first battles. That the painting was done and sent to the town hall. Inside was a small sketch of Joey. You smiled and kissed it. Then you sat and realized…there was only so much you could do. You couldn’t run to France and save him. You couldn’t be a soldier. But what could you do…

That morning, you joined them for breakfast. Your father-in-law poured over a newspaper and greeted you warmly. Your mother-in-law was putting jam on her toast.

“Mrs. Nicholls…are there any groups where women can…can do something for the soldiers?” you asked.

“Hmmm…I know there is a group that is planning to gather to knit socks and scarves for them. I’d like to join it-would you?” she said.

“Oh-yes! Yes, I can do that!” you said. Even if it was small, it was a start.

Mr. Nicholls then turned to a page in his newspaper.

“Oh! Have you seen the papers, dear Y/N?”

He showed you an advertisement. It featured a picture of women in aprons and caps. It had blue letters on the bottom reading “URGENTLY NEEDED.”

“Here…there is an advertisement for something called The Voluntary Aid Detachment. They’re with the Red Cross. Setting up in a big manor house nearby. They’re assistants for nurses and doctors for the war, should soldiers arrive and need help…no need for years of studying.”

You looked at the advertisement and then nodded. Feeling the pull over to you. Even if you couldn’t save James…you could help someone else’s loved ones survive.  And who knows? Maybe one day, he would be the one pulled up there and you would save him. He saw his call. And you saw yours.

“I’ll answer it,” you replied.

[cinemashedng]

Remember - WRONG ANSWERS ONLY!! 🤣. . Who are you and what are you using? . #cinemashed #infinitystones #avengers #AvengersEndgame #thanos #marvel #mcu #wronganswersonly #fandom #wronghole #fun #funnyanswers #game https://www.instagram.com/p/B0TewojnHn7/?igshid=1ayy0rzzgvcm2