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lokisgoodgirl · 10 months

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Secretive Santa: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (8) Seasons may have changed, but some hearts still need soothed. And what better time than Christmas for some well-intentioned mischief? Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Usual Lakes fare. Established relationship. Theve (?) Soft smut , mild angst, humour, fluff and cunning plans throughout. (w/c 7.3k)

You would never forget the look on Thor’s face as the Fiat had drawn up the loose stone drive to the cottage. The glow of his smile was visible through the windshield at 100 paces.

As he and Rogers had exited the car with a spring in their step, you were starting to think the last two days had been just what everyone had needed.

The air was crisp this morning, winter’s first biting chill stinging your cheeks.

Steve’s face was glossy and fresh with the flushed sheen of recent spa treatments. His forehead shone. He strode towards you with a nod, extending his hand to shake Loki’s with a quiet ‘howdy’ as Thor brought up the rear.

‘Do you really think they slept together?’ you’d gaped to Loki as you’d lain in bed after dinner last night, thoroughly sated with food and sex. Loki had laughed gently, making your chin bounce on his bare chest. ‘There were twelve condoms in the pack I bought to get a rise from Rogers,’ he’d replied. An eyebrow had risen as you stared vacantly. ‘How many times have we had sex, darling?’ Loki had continued.

A smirk had played at the corner of his perfect mouth, still glistening with your arousal. It was burned into your memory. The soft mischief in every line.

You had bit your lip, the look of intense concentration on your face making Loki chuckle again. ‘Full, or just oral?’ you’d replied wilfully. ‘Ten,’ Loki had mouthed, raking a hand through his hair as he arched his back. One of his legs draped over the side of the single bed. ‘There were ten in the box when they left. So either-’ ‘It’s happened, or it’s going to!’ you’d gasped. Loki had shrugged. Maybe, his silence had said - but he was still smiling. Now, you tilted your chin as Thor stood beside Steve.

The captain hooked an arm around the blonde god’s shoulder, the pep of the men’s familiar pleasantries filling the air like birdsong. Thor’s followed suit, giving each other an affectionate pat before breaking apart. “You guys ready to blow off?” Steve asked, gesturing to the Fiat.

Loki’s nose wrinkled. “I humbly petition to sit in the front passenger seat this time.” he muttered, making his suitcase disappear in a flash of green. “We can take turns,” Thor offered. A relevation.

Startled, Loki’s eyebrows rose. You looked between them, smiling as the men nodded agreement in sage trifecta.

Although you’d been lumbered driving for the next seven hours back to the Essex compound, it would be another world than the trip up had been. And besides, none of these particular Earth's Mightiest Heroes could drive stick.

“Let’s go home,” you murmured, meeting Loki’s eyes as his hand slid into yours with a squeeze. “Home,” he smiled.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The seasons changed again. But thankfully, Loki had not.

Frost adorned trees lining Central Park were visible from the god’s bedroom window. Like cake toppers, you mused as you pulled the curtains behind a sash, dusted with icing sugar. A pair of strong hands slid around your waist, slippers nipping at your heels as he moulded his stomach against your back.

Long fingers tugged against the loose sash of your robe.

“Come back to bed,” he murmured against the muss of your morning hair. His breath was warm in the shell of your ear, the heat of his skin sinking from his bare chest through your gown.

You could feel the bulge in his loose pyjama pants pulse against your ass. “They need me,” you whined, tilting your chin to meet his pleading eyes. He knew you couldn’t resist those eyes. Christmas lights on the tree in the corner lit up the golden veins of his irises. “I need you,” he retorted. The wounded tone of his voice tugged your heartstrings.

You rolled your eyes.

Loki tutted. “Agent?” he warned playfully. Playful, but no less devastating. It made your core flush with ill-timed desire. “We don’t do that anymore.” It had become a mantra. An amber light which snuffed out behaviours that no longer had a place in your relationship. And expectation of equality, you conceded, worked both ways. “Come back to bed,” he husked again, deeper this time.

Loki’s forefinger looped around the sash of your robe, stepping back slowly. Two steps, then three. You followed, falling to his lap as he sat back on the mattress. “It’s cold outside. Rogers will understand.” You scoffed, curling the mess of his hair behind one perfectly formed ear. Whatever happened, it needed to sound believable. Just a normal mission. A normal mission. “It’s not Steve I’m worried about,” you said.

Loki frowned, urging you to continue as his fingers danced dangerously up your leg. They began to massage the curve of your ass beneath the silk. “It’s your brother – he’s been antsy all week. All month, actually. Chewed Scott out the other day for being late – even Steve was embarrassed.” Loki’s hand paused. “Will he be there? On this ‘very important mission’?” he muttered, staring at your breasts with a faraway look in his eyes. “My brother, I mean…” You swallowed, the oath of utter secrecy bubbling behind your teeth, willing itself to be broken.

You managed a half-hearted shrug. Loki’s pinched fingers slid down the opening of your robe, before raising his gaze with a wolfish glint.

“Perhaps Rogers is rubbing off on him,” he quipped, lips stretching in a smirk. You slapped his shoulder lightly, trying to stand before Loki pulled you back in. His lips traced your own, inhaling against your breath. “Or on him,” he finished smugly.

You slapped his shoulder again.

“It’s been ages since the lakes, and neither of them have said a word,” you huffed, standing and shrugging your robe to the floor.

Taking a moment to enjoy the awed slant of Loki’s brows, you turned and made your way to the small selection of clothes you kept in his rooms. “If they were a thing, we’d know by now. They barely speak to each other these days.” You unhooked a combat suit, feeling the weight of Loki’s stare on your naked ass. “Has Thor said anything to you?” you asked innocently, glancing back over your shoulder. The god’s eyes snapped from your rear to your face.

“What?” he coughed. He was hard. “Has Thor said anything to you?” you repeated, trying to hold in a satisfied smile. “About him and Steve?” Loki crossed his legs, trying to dampen the arousal pumping through his veins. “No,” he sniffed. “But he is acting particularly meat-headishness of late. I should speak to him.” “You should-” you said, pulling the suit over your shoulders and sliding the zip upwards. Loki’s crestfallen eyes lingered as your cleavage disappeared from view. “I should-” he muttered absent-mindedly as you drew closer and leant down to give him a kiss. His train of thought dissipated in the air.

You paused, feeling his breath cloud around your mouth. As much as you wanted to stay, this was important. The secrecy that surrounded Steve’s message had made that clear.

Loki kissed you. First soft, then firm. A promise.

And the warmth of it lingered as you made your reluctant way down the Tower elevators and into the crisp New York December day.

You checked the top right corner of the screen nestled in your thick gloves. Nine seventeen. Shit. The dot on the GPS moved up East 50th street. Skies had darkened, clouds threatening snow. Wreaths and lightbulb-adorned foliage hung against shop windows, festive displays catching your eye.

That jacket would look incredible on Loki, you thought fleetingly; before the shade of a skyscraper loomed above. Making a mental note to come back and get it, you paused; taking a moment at the railing. It overlooked the golden statue in Rockefeller Plaza. Even at this time in the morning, skaters made their way around the rink with various displays of aptitude. A man who reminded you very much of Colin Robertson hung stiffly onto the side as his other half skated backwards, encouraging him enthusiastically. You smiled. “Thanks for coming,” a voice murmured over your shoulder.

You clutched your chest. “Steve!” you gasped.

Ever since the lakes, the relationship with your superior had become a lot more familiar. An unexpected bonus. The captain wore a thick hat low on his brow. And sunglasses, of course. A navy blue jacket was zipped up under his chin. He looked stiff, hands jammed in his pockets. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder while you leant against the railing. “You going to tell me what this is about, now?” you said quietly.

Steve nodded curtly, clearing his throat. It fogged the air. “Seems I drew Odinson in the secretive santa and I need your advice.” You arched a brow, ‘secretive santa’ making your lip twitch with laughter which would be entirely inappropriate.

“Go on,” you mustered warily. Steve cleared his throat again, removing his sunglasses. He produced a small microfibre flannel from his pocket, beginning to polish them. “You know him better than I do, see” he mumbled, meeting your sceptical gaze. You titled your head. Steve’s cheeks were pink. And not from cold. Not just from cold, anyway.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied softly. The captain’s eyes narrowed, searching for any hint of ulterior meaning.

“You spent a lot of time together before the cabin,” you explained, seeing his face soften. “- which I appreciate, by the way. We both do.” You squeezed his hand. “I think together we can find the perfect gift – don’t you?” Steve exhaled loudly. It was relief. “Well, I did have one idea I wanted to run by you…” he smiled shyly.

Your eyebrows rose.

In response, Steve nudged his head towards a store on the other side of the plaza. A smile stretched across your face.

“Perfect!” you cried, making Steve cringe. “Keep your voice down,” he hushed, wincing as a passer by jostled his shoulder. “I don’t want that Heimdall character ruining the surprise.” You laughed playfully. “If you’re on his radar then-” you started, before thinking better of it. Thankfully, Steve was too busy putting his sunglasses on and tugging the woolly hat down to notice.

FAO Schwarz was heaving with shoppers. Crowds bustled around elaborate displays of every toy imaginable. Normal-looking businessmen and women clutched large paper bags with boxes slotted in expert precision making their way quickly past you to the entrance. Trying to fit in what they could before work, you reckoned. The superheroes of the everyday. New York’s iconic toy-store was a Christmas wonderland, wreaths adorning pillars and large glittering snowflakes hanging from tall ceilings. Paul McCartney’s chirpy vocals rang from concealed speakers, heralding the season. Steve paused beside one of the perfectly coiffured trees lining the walkway through the store, glancing shiftily over his shoulder. “Maybe you should lose the sunglasses?” you suggested. He nodded reluctantly, slipping them into his pocket. “It’s over here,” he murmured.

He was frowning lightly, concern in those famously blue eyes. His Captain face. If you weren’t acutely aware of the context, you might be forgiven for thinking that this was a super-serious mission.

But, you reminded yourself, for him...maybe it is. You decided not to make light of it.

The two of you slipped around several hordes of shoppers towards a wall at the back of the store. Rows of plush animal faces stared vacantly in immaculate lines. Steve stopped. He folded his arms, spreading his feet in a stoic stance.

“There,” he said firmly, nodding towards a modest circular display. “Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes widening.

Out the corner of your vision, you saw Steve’s chin snap towards you; the feeling of his anxious stare beating into your profile. A grin spread on your lips. “It’s perfect,” you squealed, turning to him. You gripped his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “You’re a genius. He’ll love it.” Steve blushed, looking down. He scuffed his foot on the polished floor. It squeaked. “Golly,” he muttered, smiling bashfully. “You really think?”

You nodded, meaning it with your whole heart. “Perfect.”

Loki pursed his lips. He could hear the neolithic grunting of his brother doing some manner of inane task in the kitchen up ahead. It echoed.

Apparently, Thor had not been called to whatever mission had stolen you from his bed after all.

He rounded the corner, immediately tensing. The God of Thunder stood hunched over a toaster, miniscule in one meaty hand. In the other, he had a knife jammed deep in the contraption, wiggling it around. “You should turn that off at the wall, you know-” Loki drawled. Thor looked up, smiling.

“My breakfast is entrapped, brother. There is no other way.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I thought you weren’t doing that anymore,” Thor muttered, demeanour hardening. "The rolly-eye-thing."

Loki bristled. “For some things there is no alternate or adequate lexicology to express oneself, brother.” Thor humphed, rattling the knife deeper.

A blackened pop-tart fell to the counter amid a cascade of crumbs. With silent vindication, he raised it in his grasp and shook it in Loki’s direction. A triumphant grin spread across his face as Loki slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “So?” Loki said smoothly, tilting his head. It was a loaded syllable. Thor’s brow scrunched. Loki wasn’t sure if it was the bitterness of his ill-gotten prize or the vagueness of his opening gambit which caused it. “What?” Thor crunched. Flecks of burnt fell with abandon to his scruffy beard and a white muscle vest stretched tight on his chest. It was stained with what looked like mustard, and chocolate - one hoped.

This is not that garment's first dawn, Loki thought. He sighed pointedly. “Look, we’ve been dancing around this for weeks. Your increase in short-temperedness and decrease in both affinity and hygiene has been noted.” The blonde pressed his fingers sarcastically to his chest, eyes wide. “You talk of me?” he exclaimed incredulously before chuckling, shaking his head.

Without warning, Thor released a thundering fart. It tapered to a whining toot before he spoke again. “You must be mistaken brother.” Loki didn't flinch. Not even a millimetre.

“I am not,” was Loki’s curt response. He clasped his hands on the counter-top, now marred with specks of charred pop-tart. They looked like ants. His disapproving eyes rose to meet his brother, now looking shifty. He was chewing, avoiding Loki’s analytical stare.

Thor flicked his hair back. It had a crispness to it. Some kind of resolve settled over his features, and there was a sharp glint in his eye Loki didn’t like.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” his elder brother quipped bitterly. Sarcasm seeped from him like steam. Or maybe that was the lingering stench of flatulence. “Again?” Loki tensed, resisting the bait. “That is none of your concern.”

He straightened, making space as Thor leant on the counter opposite, fist propped beneath his chin. The blonde batted his eyelashes innocently. Loki wanted to punch him. “Oh but it is, brother-” Thor smarmed, lip curling in a smirk that Loki would recognise in a mirror. “I am most concerned about it indeed.”

The two of them sat in silence, unspoken asgardian curses curling the air. “A truth for a truth?” Loki postured coldly, circling his fingertip on the counter. The question hung in the air. An old compromise last involked in their youth, in the days of the cabin-with-no-place.

It had become such a staple of breaking their stubborn stalemates that Frigga had commissioned the Asgardian Crones to weave a token.

‘To solidify the sentiment, for harmony’ she had said.

Millions of silken threads created the finest handkerchief in Asgard, an ombre of green and red which softened in silken waves to the centre; melding to one. Harmony.

On it, hand-stitched in the truest gold were the words. The only words which could provoke amnesty between the heirs. The symbol exchanged between them at times of familial discord. Whoever held it, must forfeit one admission for another or face the consequences.

En sannhet byttet mot en sannhet, A truth exchanged for a truth, Loki mulled as he traced a dark vein of the marbled counter-top.

It was not an accord invoked lightly. The ceremonial handkerchief itself may be lost to places known only to few, but once uttered, the oath must be fulfilled. He followed the winding tendril to the edge before meeting his brother’s eyes. Thor snorted, slapping the hand beneath his chin to the surface. “Fine” he gruffed.

“You and Rogers-” Loki cut in, seizing the moment. He watched his brother’s brow crease, short-lived victory turning to regret. “Is he the cause of the foul mood which has plagued you these past weeks?” Thor shuffled his feet, pushing himself upright against the counter. “I see not business that is of-” he began to parrot, but Loki waved a dismissive hand. “Brother, please-” he snapped sharply. “Even adorned with our lifespans, this banal rhetoric could last us to the gates of Valhalla.” He watched as his brother’s features relented, a quiet sigh rising in his chest. Thor swallowed. “He will not speak of it,” he muttered.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Of what?” Thor’s jaw set, looking at his brother with exasperation. “Our amorous union, short-lived as it was.” A small smile played at Loki’s lips.

Vindication, he thought. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

He summoned the willpower that had become so familiar from his newly-trained approach to your relationship, reminding himself that vulnerability was to be encouraged, not exploited. Carefully, he re-adjusted himself on the stool. He made sure he looked sympathetic. “I wasn’t sure if-” “Yes, yes…” Thor mumbled dismissively, glancing around the walls. Pink had risen in his cheeks.

“Rogers asked me not to say anything. But methinks it’s all for nought now regardless.”

“So the two of you...at the cottage?” Loki probed.

Thor nodded. “It started as a ruse, a part of the plan should it be required to stay you in the correct location but-” he swallowed.

“When the moment arose, the moment took me...us, and- our kinship, such as it was, had changed somehow. The nights we spent setting things in motion for the two of you, we grew closer. I cannot place it, brother. I just…”

“That sounds familiar,” Loki said softly. Without realising it, he had reached for his brother’s hand.

Thor squeezed it, staring down as he continued. “The love of a male is not unfamiliar to either of us-” Thor said, glancing up briefly. “But to Rogers…” he trailed off. “-It is all unfamiliar.” Loki finished. His brother nodded. “At the spa...we talked about what the future could look like. Many plans were made, but-” Thor swallowed thickly. “-when we returned, things were different?” Loki murmured tentatively.

Thor nodded again.

Loki knew that fear all too well. He would be lying if he said that his heart hadn’t pounded the whole flight home, wondering if a return to reality outside of the bubble created in the cottage would return you to your senses too. The thought of losing you again had been almost too much to bear. “I know not if it is his values. His image. Whether his feelings have changed or whether the intrigue was more of an allure than reality- he has barely spoken two words of warmth since our return. And when he does speak – I find myself behaving most unbefitting my feelings. Pushing him further, like you did.” Tears welled in the blonde’s eyes.

“Or perhaps it is I, brother,” Thor continued, smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. It twisted Loki’s heart. His elder brother released a mirthless chuckle of resignation before continuing, fingertip circling on the marble anxiously. “Perhaps it is I.”

In seconds, Loki stood and rounded the counter.

He drew his brother close, feeling the strength of Thor’s grip tentatively curl around his shoulders. The god’s chest heaved, shallow breaths ricocheting against Loki’s neck. He found himself pressing his brother’s head into his hold, trying to steady the silent sobs swallowed with every gulp of air.

Had they ever embraced like this? Loki didn’t think so. Not that he could recall. But, strangely, he found he didn’t care.

“It’s alright, brother” he heard himself murmur, not knowing what else to say.

Thor choked back a shuddering sigh as Loki continued to stroke his hair. He rested his chin on his brother’s head, closing his eyes. “It’s alright.”

A paper bag adorned with toy soldiers rustled by your feet below the table.

Steve had given strict instructions to keep it in your sight while he bought coffee. You peeked inside again, smiling.

Somehow, you’d managed to convince him to while away a little more time before heading back to the Tower, citing Loki’s suspicions. But really, you just wanted to spend time with him.

Ever since the lakes, Steve had softened – which wasn’t a bad thing. In some ways you felt much closer, but in others; from others – he seemed to be pulling away. “Careful, it’s hot” he quipped, nudging the wooden chair out with his foot.

He squeezed to sit at the world’s smallest table that you had commandeered in the corner of the café. You mouthed thanks, pulling the mug over. “Reminds me of the cottage,” you smiled; looking up innocently. Steve’s eyebrows peaked, before he frowned lightly. “I guess,” he muttered. Festive jazz played over the bustle of mid-morning conversation and clinking plates. The milk steamer spluttered endlessly behind the bar. You scooped a blob of cappuccino foam onto your finger, sucking it off. It was now or never. After all, it was Christmas.

“Are you alright, Cap?” you started deferentially, hoping that the softness you felt in your heart shone through. Steve looked up, blue eyes deep in thought.

“Can I trust you, Agent?” he asked warily as his gaze glanced over your shoulder. Your features softened further, tension easing. You reached across the space between you, fingers curling over his forearm. “Steve,” you whispered. “I owe you so much. So much. I care about you, and Loki does too.” Steve’s brow arched sceptically. “He does,” you smiled, squeezing his arm. The smile fell gradually as you studied his face. “You can trust me,” you said quietly. Seriously. The captain nodded, taking a deep breath. “I…” he started.

Your brow twitched, an uneasy feeling spreading under your skin as Steve readjusted his feet beneath the table. His fingernails scratched at the wood, tapping as he glanced out the window and back again. “I…” he pursed his lips, avoiding your eyes. “-fucked up,” he hissed. Your stare widened. “Steve!” you gasped. He looked at you sheepishly. “Apologies,” he muttered. Clearly, your look of abject confusion was enough to spur him on. He leant forwards, urging you to do the same. A woman stood at the next table. Both of you watched her leave. Steve turned back to you, his eyes trained on the coffee cup nestled between his palms. “Our...mutual friend. The blonde,” he said quietly. You squeezed his arm again to signal understanding. “Well...as it turns out, I enjoy his company a bunch.” Steve’s eyelashes fluttered upwards, bashful gaze swimming above pink cheeks. He bit his lip. “A bunch. You see?” “I see,” you replied gently. Steve released a wistful sigh.

He licked his lips, fingers playing with the mug handle. “Things happened at the lakes that I didn’t expect. That I never woulda...that I-” he sighed, hanging his head.

“I told him it was a mistake.” He blew out a puff of air. “What a ninny,” he chided himself under his breath. You tilted your head. It was breaking your heart. “Do you think it was a mistake?” Steve shook his head, sighing again. “No,” said quietly. “But now he won’t talk to me. Not like before– as though he’s realised it was a mistake. He’s done with ol’ chum over here. I can’t blame him. I guess it’s not a big deal for a god and whatnot but for me-” Steve swallowed, words drying up. “Trust me, I know how it feels” you whispered.

Steve’s eyes met yours. They were glassy with tears, darting from your own to the pictures hanging on the wall and back again.

“I fucked up,” he breathed again. His voice trembled on the swear.

“It’s alright,” you cooed sadly as your thumb stroked Steve’s palm. You squeezed again. "It's gonna be alright."

Loki paced back and forth across the rug in his living room.

He’d tried buzzing your apartment four times at thirty minute intervals. Each time, he had been left more enthused than the previous.

His mind was alight with the thrill of the plot.

Through an entirely subtle process of elimination over the past hours, he had deduced that there was only one member of the team you could be with on this auspicious morning. Rogers. And after his conversation with his brother – he needed the intel you had most certainly gathered – whether intentionally or no.

There was more to this ‘mission’ of yours than met the eye, of this he was certain. He was certain, because he had planted the seeds himself.

There was a knock at the door. Loki’s feet skidded back against the rug in his haste to the handle, throwing it wide and bustling you inside.

“-Loki-” you gasped while he glanced to either side of the hallway before spinning you against the wall with a ravishing kiss.

His senses came alive beneath your touch. The bright cool of your skin, the scent of coffee and spiced gingerbread clinging to your hair; an almost imperceptible tacky patch on your cheekbone where some soul had left a passing kiss. Lipbalm. Rogers.

“What have you been up to my secretive elf?” he purred against your parted lips. Your coat hung open, the avengers uniform you had donned this morning for his benefit, he was sure; on half-display.

“I...uh-” Loki smirked as your palms steadied against the wall. You were panting, face flushed from the onslaught of his affections. Fingers raked through your hair as you met his eyes, blinking several times.

“You tied your hair back,” you noted, dazed.

Loki scoffed at the attempt at subterfuge, grabbing your hand.

“Come,” he said as he pulled you towards the sofa. You landed with a soft bounce as the god took centre stage in the living room. He pressed his fingertips together, hands peaked in a triangle. It touched his lips briefly. “Brace thyself, darling” he drawled. Unbuttoning your coat, Loki felt his gaze fall down the black material tight to your arms. It clung to your chest, the zip far too low for any official business. His stare lingered on the curve of your waist, how it taunted and teased him as you shuffled back on the sprawling sofa.

“Consider me braced,” you said pointedly. He cleared his throat. “My brother,” he started, pausing for effect. You stared at him expectantly.

Loki admitted to himself that he was a little disappointed you did not seem more intrigued by the fatted bounty of gossip he was about to spill forth. But he decided to maintain the theatre it deserved regardless. “-is in love with…” he paused again, smirking mischievously- “Rogers.” Your head fell back, landing in the cushions as your hands covered your face. “Oh thank fuck for that!” you gasped, beginning to laugh despite yourself. Loki frowned. This was not the response he had expected.

Between sighs of relief, you peered through your fingers at the bemused god. He was standing with his hands on his hips, the irritation palpable. The foot began to tap.

“Come here,” you placated. Patting the cushion beside you, his face softened; but an eyebrow remained raised.

“I would have thought my most excellent investigations would yield a smidgeon more praise from you my dear,” he said with feigned annoyance as he sat. “Nonetheless, I imagine your response means welcome news?” You nodded. “Steve feels the same. At least – I think he does.” Loki’s face scrunched. “You think? Please. Rogers should be on his hands and knees thanking the norns for my brother’s affections.” It was your turn to frown. “But Steve doesn’t know how Thor feels – your brother’s been palming him off.” Loki smirked.

“Not like that,” you sighed as you fell back again against the cushions. “We have to do something Loki...they’re mad about each other. They both think the other isn’t interested for one reason or another. They just need-” “-a little nudge?” Loki purred.

You met his stare. Those beautiful eyes swirled with the warm glow of the treelights, sparking mischief in golden flecks buried in deepest blue. Shadows cast by candlelight danced in the carve of his cheekbones.

“A little nudge,” you repeated, tilting your head with a knowing smile.

“After all, it would be rude not to return the favour. Don’t you agree?” the god murmured as his fingers danced up your suit.

They fastened around the zip at your chest, pulling slowly down. In seconds, Loki had gracefully shifted and buried his face in your cleavage. Hot kisses worked against the skin, breath warming any hint of chill still lingering in your bones.

Your hands slid past his temples as he made it to your neck, fingers winding in the lengths of his ponytail before pulling it free.

“Minx,” he slurred against the curve.

You could feel the sharp of his teeth against your collarbone as he smiled. Hands sliding over his broad shoulders, you took a moment to appreciate the tight knit of the camel sweater he wore at the meat of his biceps. Camel, he’d insisted. Not beige. And in the heady afterglow of lovemaking amidst a sea of sparkling Christmas lights, a cunning plan began to form.

You made your way to the common room, gift-bag swinging.

The presents that you and Loki had procured for your team-mates sat nestled inside – one for Scott, one for Wanda.

The tradition was a fairly new one, but a highlight of the festive calendar. On Christmas Eve, before outsider guests for Tony’s annual party began to arrive- the Avengers gathered and exchanged all manner of tat and risque shit. You often wondered how much the picture on your phone of Bruce holding up the dinner-plate sized cock ring Tony had made for him would fetch on the open market. But you had decided long ago that it was priceless. “Brother!” you imitated in a deep, accented growl.

Thor spun on the common room sofa, his wary look melting to a wide smile. You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He spun, making you squeal. A whining mash of faint tunefulness emitted from his chest as the god lowered you to the ground. Jingle Bells. “Ah, you pressed the penguin’s nose” he hummed, booping the knitted beakish blob. “He sings,” he explained, pleased with himself. “I can see that,” you said as you made your way to the tree. “But turn around – you can’t see which presents are ours...” Thor obliged, smiling as he busied himself fluffing a garland by the fireplace. "Perhaps we should invite my Penguin friend to the carol concert at Stark's festive jamboree tomorrow," he boomed across the room. You watched him, remembering the feeling of acting normally while tendrils of heartache wrapped around your insides.

"-Certainly, he can hold a tune better than I" Thor continued, chuckling to himself. A pang of sadness mellowed as you turned back to the pile beneath the tree. Scanning, you tried to look for one that could be Steve’s – but none fit the bill. “Okay I’m done,” you said casually as you stood. Thor continued fluffing the garland. You sidled over, trying to act casual. “Have you um...added yours yet?” Thor shook his head regretfully. “Having a little trouble with my assigned giftee” he muttered. His eyes flickered to yours guiltily. “There is something I wish to give them, but I am unsure it would be welcome.” A small smile played on your lips. “Something tells me any gift of yours would be welcome,” you said, watching his bottom lip roll beneath the top with a sceptical grunt. “Is it something I can help with?” you probed, “maybe a second opinion would ease your mind.” “No,” Thor mumbled. He sighed. “I fear this is something I must endeavour alone, sister.” You frowned. How the fuck did Thor manage one of these cunning plans, you wondered as Michael Buble crooned in the background. “I wished to speak to you as it happens,” he murmured. Your lips pursed. The tone of his voice, the tension in his shoulders. Flashing lights interwoven in the fireplace garland illuminated a newly crimson hue to his skin. “Did my brother...mention anything to you of late?” You snorted. “You’ll have to be more specific when it comes to Loki. He never shuts up,” you smiled, feigning ignorance. Thor chuckled. “Indeed,” he said as he picked at a ribbon. “Well then...more specifically about, me.” You shook your head. You hated lying to him, but in this case – it was for the greater good. The god nodded softly, still inspecting the ribbon between his fingers. “Good. Well. That wasn’t what I wished to speak to you about anyway.” You swallowed. Cryptic Thor was never a welcome guest at any gathering. “My brother,” he continued cautiously, eyeing you before moving his fingers to another strand of greenery hanging over the side of the mahogany mantel. “-He intends to declare his love for you this Yuletide.”

Your jaw dropped, neck craning forwards. “Oh,” was all you could manage.

The side of Thor’s mouth twitched in an apologetic smile. “I am aware that your relationship has been, what is the parlance...taken ‘back to basics’ in some respects-” “Yeah,” you mumbled. Suddenly the ribbons decorating the garland looked very interesting. You and he stood in silence, straightening Pepper’s ornamentation.

Thor cleared his throat. “Knowing you the way I do sister,” he said softly, “I thought that forearmed would be forewarned.” “It’s the other way around,” you snipped. "Forewarned is forearmed." Out the corner of your eye, you saw Thor’s face fall. “Sorry,” you added quietly. The god’s hand curled around your shoulder, pulling you to him in a brief sidehug before releasing it.

“It’s just...we agreed not to rush things,” you explained under your breath.

You knew that he knew this, but verbalisation was needed. The cogs of your mind whirled.

“We haven’t moved back in together, we just keep a few things at each others places...go on a lot of dates, we’re working on ourselves, you know? Avoiding the mistakes we made last time. Like...well, like rushing things.” Thor turned towards you, bicep leaning against the mantle-piece as he listened diligently. You could feel the track of his gaze over your face.

Unable to take it anymore, you turned to look at him. “He’s doing so well, Thor. We’re doing so well. I’m happy. Really happy,” The words sounded panicked. You hated that. Thor reached out, cupping your hand in his. “I just...I don’t want it to ruin anything,” you finished. Looking up, the god’s concerned stare was waiting like you knew it would be.

“Do you love him?” was all Thor said.

Heat rose in your cheeks.

The truth was that you did. That you always had, and probably always would. But in hindsight, those three little words had heralded the beginning of the end last time. When his rose-tinted effort to contain the smarm and arrogance had well and truly gone absent without leave.

In some ways, the old Loki had taken your love to mean your unending loyalty. Unconditionally, in the truest sense of the word. Your unquestioning support and adulation no matter his behaviour, however many times you tried to stand your ground. And while his actions these past months had gone a long way to assuage those lingering doubts – the fear that it could flare up his old habits made your blood run cold.

Seconds ticked on while Thor’s question hung in the air.

“I thought it best you have time to consider it before the moment was upon you,” he said quietly. “My apologies if I have overstepped.”

You shook your head, linking your fingers through his. Without realising, tears had begun to prick your eyes. He raised a palm to your cheek, wiping away a droplet which had spilled over the rim. “No tears, sis” he rumbled lovingly. “It’s Christmas.” You felt a weak smile grow as Thor extended his forefinger. It lingered in the air between you. He paused, raising his eyebrows.

He moved the finger slowly to the penguin’s beak.

It pressed against the jumper. Against the lumpy misshapen knob of black knit, Thor's eyes never leaving yours.

And as the squeaking whine of electronic Jingle Bells filled the air, it dissolved the scent of sadness into a waft of cinnamon candlesmoke. You and the god of Thunder began to laugh.

Loki leant against the counter of your kitchenette.

He watched as you waited for the kettle to finish boiling, staring at it intently. Something was off. Your fingertip ran around the rim of a glass teapot sitting on the side. Loki could smell the spiced chai leaves from here. “Are you alright, darling?” he ventured cautiously. You offered a weak smile as the kettle clicked off the boil. Steam billowed around your jawline as you poured.

Loki was careful not to let his face betray the nerves bubbling in his stomach. If he was honest with himself, he’d been waiting for something to crop up that would throw the fine-sailing vessel of your relationship off-course.

It’s only a matter of time until she changes her mind, he’d think with twisting sadness as he watched you sleep. With me, it’s always just a matter of time.

He absorbed the purse of your lips, the absent-minded wipe of a droplet of tea from the counter-top before you blew the steam gently. Its motion sent a wave of rich tea and spices in his direction.

Your slipper socks rustled against the tiles as you made your way over to him, still resting against the counter’s lip. You set the mug down to his side, hands sliding over his hips. They clasped behind his back at the base of his spine.

“I have to talk to you about something, and it’s not easy-” you murmured softly.

Your eyes were wide and vulnerable, a slight tremble of your lip making his heart race. The scent of your festive perfume filled his nostrils, like ginger biscuits.

“Go on,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure he could manage much more.

You swallowed thickly, fingers toying with the back of his sweater. Black, today. Loki hoped it was not an ensemble of foreshadowing. “I ran into your brother in the common room."

Loki exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh,” he breathed, a small smile breaking. But your expression didn’t change. The god felt your fingers pull nervously against his sweater. Bad for the knit. “He um-now, don’t be mad at him-” Loki began to frown. “He uh, mentioned that you were maybe thinking about...um, saying something soon. To me.” Realisation blossomed, vines of anger and embarrassment twisting around the thought as he cursed his brother’s loose lips. He should have known. Loki swallowed, feeling his features harden but being unable to stop it.

Your gaze fell, the trace of your fingertips around his middle as you brought them together in front of you; pulling nervously at the ends.

“That devious, two-faced buffoon” Loki muttered bitterly, concerned eyes darting back to your face. “I told him that in confidence.” You looked up at him incredulously. “Well, he told you about Steve in confidence.” “That’s different,” he snipped, noting the immediate rise of your eyebrow. “It’s you.” he finished, glancing to the floor as he felt his cheeks begin to flush. “Loki…” he heard you begin softly, curling a rogue strand of hair behind his ear. He couldn’t look. “Loki,” you repeated, firmer this time. Your forefinger nudged beneath his chin, tilting his face up. He wondered if he looked as wilted as he felt. From the look in your eyes, he suspected he did.

“I understand,” he heard himself say. It was petulant. It was cold and detached in a way that scared him. The warm hit of your lips meeting his unexpectedly made his knees buckle, hands bracing against the counter-top. Your palms slid up his chest, over the tensed ropes of shoulder muscle, over the curve of his neck. Everything was in that kiss. The heat, the longing, the need. “Loki,” you breathed softly into his open mouth. “Mmm,” he mewled, eyes closed. “I love that you feel that way, I’m just…I’m scared that-” Loki opened his eyes. He saw a swirl of tears threatening the beautiful hues of your irises. There would be no tears of sadness this Christmas, he had decided. Not on his account. “Afraid, of things that may change?” he probed quietly. You nodded.

Loki sighed, cupping your jaw. He ran a thumb back and forth across your lips, moist from the kiss. “Change be not always a harbinger of doom, I hope the last few months have reassured you of that.” You nodded again. “I know that it's different now, it just...took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected...I just-not yet...” you trailed off. Loki smiled softly. The way your body was pressed against him, as close as you could be. The way your fingers gripped and grasped against each dip of muscle it encountered as though he would turn to dust if you did not.

Loki realised in that moment that if this scenario had occurred years before, he would have been insulted. He would have been childish. Enraged, perhaps, at the audacity of the woman he adored doubting him. But now, all he felt was closeness. The bravery of your admission that he felt his soul. That you trusted him again.

Words, he pondered as he placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. What wounds have I inflicted on this woman with words.

Action must once more be paramount. The words can heal, he realised as he memorised the softness of your skin beneath his lips. But words can wait. “Perhaps we can agree” he began, measuring every syllable with the rise and fall of your chest against his own, “that, should you feel comfortable in doing so...you could, say it first- when it is right for you. When it is right for us.”

His voice was deep and melodic, a rumbling lullaby of devotion he willed would still your thundering heart. He hoped you could feel the love simmering in those words. He had never hoped anything more. You tilted your head into the curve of his neck, kissing the exposed skin. “-and be safe in the knowledge the sentiment will be returned, when you are ready” he added quietly.

Your hands slipped once more around his hips, pulling him tightly against you with your head buried in his neck. Loki held you like that, letting the waft perfume from your hair fill his nostrils.

I love you, he mouthed silently.

The soundless click of his tongue over mute syllables wound its way through strands of your hair.

He felt your fingers begin toying with the waistband of his trousers. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Darling,” he purred as your head left his shoulder. You tilted your face to meet his gaze, alight with the comfortable joy he knew so well.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered. A smile had spread across your face that made Loki’s heart burst. The first button on his chinos popped. “Well, quite-” he smouldered playfully. Loki felt his hips rock upwards into your waiting palm, a low groan bubbling in his throat while you stroked the arousal growing beneath cotton. “You fixed the secret Santa, didn’t you?” you coaxed. Changing the subject, Loki noticed. But he let it pass. It was hardly a question.

Loki rolled his lips, pondering. “I may have ensured that my brother and Rogers drew each others names, yes.” He let out another moan as you squeezed the thick root of his cock through the chinos. “Good boy,” you hummed. It sent a shudder of need up his spine.

“How long have you been planning this?” you said, beginning to walk backwards with Loki’s sweater firmly in your grip. He chuckled, curls tapping against his jaw. “A while,” Loki smouldered. “Seeds that I have planted have sprouted most elegantly. Although there were a few pieces of the puzzle which remained unclear until the last few days.”

You paused, making the god’s stomach collide with yours. He released an exaggerated ooft.

“Final pieces of the puzzle? Like the fact they actually have feelings for each other?” you giggled. Loki shrugged non-nonchalantly. You were playing. “A minor detail,” he drawled. “Everything needed to be in place, just in case.” Your mouth hung open, stunned into silence. “It’s Christmas,” he added with mock-incredulity – as though it explained everything. “Miraculous things happen at Christmas in this realm, do they not?”

His fingers curled around your shoulders, switching your positions and lowering himself to the sofa. He widened his legs, hips flexing upwards. Fairy lights gleamed and sparked their warmth in a halo, golden spills rolling over your skin as you pulled the jumper you wore over your head. Firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows against the walls.

He would never understand the beauty of you. And perhaps, Loki surmised, he did not have to. It was his fortune to appreciate it, not question it.

A finger twirled in the air, evaporating his clothes in a seasonal golden and scarlet shimmer. Yours followed. Loki’s thighs widened further as you manoeuvred onto his lap, covering his mouth in a hungry kiss. His fingers raked through your hair, hips bucking up as he sought the sweetest harbour his body had ever known.

“Say it again,” he pleaded darkly as you slipped a hand between your bodies, guiding his throbbing cock to your entrance. Twin gasps cut the air as you seated yourself on the thick tip, slow motions rocking down into shallow moans. “Good boy,” you murmured lovingly in his ear.

Loki let his head fall back against the cushions, fingertips sinking into the soft rounds of your ass as he bottomed out. He let you work against his body, feeling your pleasure spill and slip against the taut veins of his cock. Every little gasp, every breathy groan of his name. Your god. Each slow roll of your hips met the gentle buck from a clench of his ass. Your god. He was yours, completely.

You knew that now for certain. He was sure of it. And all the while, a few floors below, his brother was wrapping a gift for Steve Rogers.

As the final strip of crinkled sellotape was placed firmly against the paper, and as the ribbon he had smuggled from the common room garland was retied- one might have been forgiven for thinking a green light glowed within it; leaking from loose edges.

Thor had frowned, doing a double take.

The package seemed to tingle in his hold. The blonde put the strange feeling down to nerves.

But as his younger brother lost himself in pleasure, spilling his seed and his devotion within the arms of his beloved; the gift had been made whole in Thor’s oblivious hands.

A gift that would change everything.

Continued in Comfort and Joy (Final)

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delimeful · 10 months

Text

the end of being alone (6)

remember how this installment was mostly fluff up until this point? we'll get back to that!

... just not this chapter <3

part 2: how does a kid end up stranded in space, anyhow?

warnings: bad self care, illness, panic, child in distress, minor injury, non-consensual drug use, trafficking, unethical imprisonment and treatment of prisoners, child endangerment, implied offscreen minor character death, ambiguous character fates, this is a heavy tearjerker chapter but it does have a hopeful ending, lmk if i missed any

Virgil’s condition hadn’t improved.

They’d tried as many non-medicinal techniques as they could, struggling to figure out what would help and what would harm an unpredictable biological system that they barely understood.

Nothing had helped. Nothing was working.

And each time Virgil woke up to the sight of the ship around him, he wept and struggled and shouted, burning through his meager energy and only worsening his health.

He didn’t respond to heartfelt pleas from any of them, rarely even seeming to understand they were in the room with him. His stare was distant and terrified, his mind somewhere else, and each time it happened, Logan wanted to understand how to help so badly.

So, after several cycles without sleep and with the pressure of increasing desperation weighing heavy on his head, he finally succumbed to the deeply unwise impulse to start a Vidi.

He’d only wanted to understand what Virgil was yelling, try and grasp the reason behind his fear in the hopes that they could abate it, even slightly.

The moment he’d made contact, however, his mind had been dragged into a memory with intense force, the metaphorical handles of the Vidi ripped away, leaving him unable to steer and barely able to move.

His fingers twitched with the urge to pull away, but he stopped himself. It could hurt Virgil, and he’d endured plenty of traumatic memories before. He could handle this.

With a blink, he was looking through a much younger set of eyes.

—

The ship came during the summer.

Virgil remembered, because he’d been reviewing holidays and important events with his class before the break, and his half-birthday was coming up in a week!

His birthday was in winter, so his half birthday was in the opposite season, summer! He’d said as much before trying to debate his way into a trip to the park with his friends, and failing miserably.

So, he’d snuck out. And gotten himself lost between one turn of the neighborhood and the next.

He’d run into one of his neighbors, who’d been more than a little concerned to see him wandering around alone, especially because there had apparently been some people disappearing lately.

“Where did they go?” he’d asked, and gotten an uncomfortable reassurance, which definitely wasn’t an answer.

He’d frowned, tried to ask again, but his neighbor had gone quiet and grey-faced, staring at something over his shoulder. Before he could turn to see, there was a sharp thunk, and a bright bolt of pain in his shoulder.

There was a high, crackling scream, which was bad, but Virgil couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to figure out where it came from. A pair of warm hands caught him when he staggered, and then he was out.

He barely recalled what happened next, the memories fragmented like someone had taken a hammer to them. He didn’t want to think about them, but he kept the pieces close and tucked away anyhow, knowing they were important even though they hurt.

He felt flickers of awareness, the sensation of eyes rolling against heavy eyelids, a rapid pulse pounding away in his ears like a big drum, angry and fearful shouting barely audible beyond the clamor.

And then: the barest glimpse of the docking port of a ship from the inside, the entrance ramp folding up and sealing away the green trees and blue sky on the other side. Replacing the brief vision of home with cold metal and unearthly lights.

There weren’t any warm hands holding him, now.

His whimper turned nearly soundless on the way up his throat, but it drew the attention of his captors regardless.

A rush of unfamiliar language above him, another flood of numbness spreading through him, but even from that one fragmented moment, Virgil understood that they were taking him away.

Another blank period, like dipping one's head briefly underwater, and then he was waking up again.

“Easy, baby,” a familiar voice said, a hand stroking through his hair, slow and gentle. “You’re okay, you’re alright.”

“Miss Susan?” Virgil asked, and his voice came out small and crackling. He coughed, trying to force his crusted over eyelashes apart with a growing sense of panic.

“Hey, I need some water for the kid!” Miss Susan called lowly, before setting a hand against his back and helping him shuffle upright. “Take it slow, baby, don’t choke. There we go.”

Virgil opened his eyes and got his first look at the room he’d be stuck in for the next several months.

It was dimly lit, and smelled bad. The floor was metal, with a few thin stripes of grating, like a shower drain. The walls were made of tinted plastic and covered with sharp-edged wire netting, and there were a whole bunch of people inside with him and Miss Susan.

They all spoke to him at one point or another, but he only remembered some of their names. The thought made his stomach twist painfully, and he clamped down on the sensation.

He couldn’t be sick. Being sick was bad.

The time shifted, Miss Susan still at his side but her hair longer and her skin sallower. They were all seated, tired from the cold and the dark and the gross food that he wasn’t allowed to throw up.

Mister Ben was coughing, hard and rasping and wet, one after another. A few people were crouched near him, talking to him in hushed voices as they tried to coax him into stopping, but his body curled in and convulsed like he couldn’t control the coughs at all.

Before long, there was a clang, and a spraying sound like that time a fire hydrant down the road had been busted open. A few people stood between the door and Mister Ben, but the room grew more and more hazy with the thick air that made his legs go all numb, and they were swaying with the effort of staying upright.

Virgil knew by now what happened next. He turned and pressed his face against Miss Susan’s side, and she drew him close and held him tightly as the suits came in.

The aliens were always wearing them when they came into sight. Thick rubbery suits with dark-tinted visors, each with an electric zapper in hand. They’d drag the sick one out, and Virgil would never see them again.

“Leave him alone!” Miss Susan cried, joined by the rising voices of the rest of their roommates. “Don’t touch him, you leave him the fuck alone!”

Virgil kept not looking, but he said it too, into the worn fabric of Miss Susan’s blouse. “Leave him alone, don’t touch him, leave him alone, don’t touch him, leave him alone…,”

It didn’t work. It never did. The aliens didn’t listen to them, and they made them weak and floaty if they tried to intervene.

His voice cracked as he kept repeating it, even as the door clanged again and the hiss of air stopped. If he didn’t look up, he could pretend that Mister Ben was still there, only quiet because he was all better from his cough.

"It's okay. I know. It's alright, honey." Miss Susan’s hands shook as they stroked carefully through his hair, soothing him to sleep through the last of his hiccuped sobs.

Everyone who spoke to him was kind, even when they were unhappy. When Miss Susan slept but he was awake, Mister Aaron would invent word games to play or Miss Kelsey would challenge him to push up contests, and they would all take turns trying to think of the worst possible combinations of foods to compare to their mush food.

The best was Miss Susan, though. When he was bored, she would tell him stories about her nieces and nephews, and the farm she grew up on, and silly people at her job before they got taken. When he couldn’t sleep, she would hum whichever parts of lullabies she could remember.

Even when he got sad and didn’t want to move or talk at all, she would hold him close and poke at his side and gasp about seeing the firefly that had snuck onboard with them, until he had no choice but to wiggle free and inspect every corner for its light.

The other adults would spot it every once in a while, too, and try to point it out to him. He never saw it, which he would report back to Miss Susan every time.

“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there,” she’d tell him, waving at the dark ceiling of the room. “Glowbugs can’t be bright all the time.”

“Why not?”

“Well, they’d get too hot and sweaty. They’d have to go swim in the ocean, and then they’d probably all turn into anglerfish,” Miss Susan said, even though she hadn’t known what an anglerfish was until Virgil had told her everything he could remember about them.

“No way,” he said, laughing despite himself. “Bugs can’t turn into fish!”

“Maybe they just get too tired, then,” Miss Susan said, ruffling his hair. “It must be exhausting, being so bright.”

She went quiet for a moment, and Virgil leaned into her touch, squinting at the dark corners and willing the bug to show itself.

“Even when they’re blending in with the dark, though, they’re still there,” Miss Susan finally continued. “So don’t give up. You’ve just gotta trust in it, and eventually, you’ll spot it.”

“I want eventually to be now,” Virgil had responded, petulant as he flopped against her side, eyes growing heavy.

Miss Susan pet his head, humming quietly until he was almost asleep. She let out a big sigh, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. “You and me both, kid.”

And then it was the last day.

He knew because Miss Susan’s hands were carefully cupping his face, coaxing him into waking up with a careful tap to the nose. They never woke him up on purpose, because 'growing kids needed their rest', except for the last day.

Virgil felt his brow scrunch with confusion even before his eyelids started fluttering, and Miss Susan chuckled and pressed her lips to the crown of his head for a moment.

“Come on, baby, wake up. It’s important, okay?”

He forced himself to open his eyes and keep them open, a little unease running down his spine.

Everyone had been scared, lately. Their group had shrunk in number, their room had been moved onto a bigger ship, and there were distant sounds of crowds at all hours, making his skin prickle with nerves when he was trying to sleep.

Some of their roommates were really smart, and they’d started puzzling out the words of the alien language from the ship directions that were given over the intercom and the overheard conversations of those passing by or rudely peeking in at them.

They’d taught Virgil some of them, whenever he was awake enough to remember. The words they whispered now weren’t ones he’d learned yet, though.

‘Transfer’ and ‘auction’. Everyone disliked them, felt too upset or angry about them to explain, even Miss Susan. Or maybe they just didn’t want to explain them to him, like they wouldn’t tell him what the aliens did with people when they got taken away. There had been a lot of arguing and shouting in low voices, trying to keep him from overhearing.

But now, they were waking him up.

Virgil let himself be coaxed to his feet, following Miss Susan over to the corner where everyone stood in a huddle, the tallest of them on the outside.

“Okay, sweetie. I need you to listen to me very closely, alright?” she told him, turning him to face the corner where they usually kept extra clothes in a pile. “You’re going to have to be very brave for me, okay?”

The clothes had been moved. There was a hole in the wall, where the netting had been peeled back. The edges of it were rough and curved like they’d been made with fingernails, like it had been painstakingly carved through one scratch at a time.

It was a small hole, barely the size of a vent, or a cat flap. Virgil could probably fit through it, but he was the only one.

“No,” Virgil shook his head immediately. “I don’t want to! I’m scared.”

Miss Susan squatted to be level with him, holding his hand in hers. “I know, honey. But it’s important, okay? We’re going to get out and find you, but you have to go first and stay safe until we do. I’ll send our little glowbug with you, and it’ll light the way in the dark.”

“What about your dark?” Virgil asked, rubbing harshly at his stinging eyes.

Miss Susan softened, pulled his hand away and smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone. “Oh, baby. I’ve seen that glowbug a hundred times, here with you. I’ll be okay without it for a little while.”

Virgil turned to look at the hole again, imagining a little firefly crawling through with him so he wouldn’t be alone.

“Do you promise?” he asked, and Miss Susan pulled him into a hug so tight, it felt like it squished all the air from him.

“I promise,” she said, and her hands shook a little but her voice was steady. Virgil smushed his face against her shoulder for the last time.

“Okay. I’ll— I’ll go.”

The barrier of bodies around them seemed to relax, just slightly, though it still took Miss Susan a few moments longer to release him.

They told him everything he needed to know, everyone chiming in. That he had to run, as fast and as far as he could, and be sneaky and quiet when he was too tired to run. That he should find hiding places and hole up in them, wait until nobody was around to keep running.

That he should always hide from aliens, even if they weren't wearing the suits. That he should never let them see him, because they hated humans. That if they did grab him, he could do whatever he needed to do to get away.

“Just like stranger danger, right, buddy? You can bite, kick, scream, whatever you need to do.”

Virgil nodded, trying to push down the sick, stressed feeling in his gut, and when there was finally no advice left to give, he turned to the gash in the wall.

Wiggling through it was hard, because there were still sharp, poky bits that scratched at his skin and the inside of the wall was dark and stifling, but every time he wanted to stop, he could hear the encouragement of everyone else, who was still stuck inside.

There was a little bug with him, he reminded himself. If he closed his eyes and froze up, he wouldn’t ever be able to see it glow.

Finally, he squirmed free of the last few inches, dropping onto the floor of a very small dark room with shelves in it, like a linen closet. He turned back to face the hole, calling out, and Miss Susan reached an arm through.

He grabbed for her hand and pressed his face to it, clung to her for a long moment, his breaths stuttering as she cradled him the best she could.

There was a muffled clang, and Miss Susan ran her wavering thumb over his cheekbone one more time before pulling away.

“Run, Virgil. Now. Run!”

So he did.

He ran and hid, just like they told him, but he picked the wrong place to hide because it was part of another ship, and it took him far away. He kept running, pulled himself into tiny little nooks on spaceship after spaceship, snuck food wherever he could get it and only ever whispered to his invisible firefly.

Eventually, he left a ship and there were no other ships around to board, only the wide landscape of a different planet, full of weird trees and weird animals and a weird town that he fled from. No more ships came, and that was fine because he didn’t want to run anymore. He wanted to stay and wait for them to find him.

He laid on his back and faced the sky, searching for a sign that they were coming. He was hungry and tired and lonely.

The stars above looked just like fireflies, hundreds of them. Enough for all of them to watch together. Except there wasn’t a ‘them’. It was only him.

Virgil felt his face growing hot, his throat closing up at the thought. It was too frightening to be alone.

No, he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t. He had their firefly with him, somewhere next to him in the grass.

“Just because I can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there,” Virgil said to himself sternly, and rolled back to his feet.

He would find something to eat, somewhere to sleep, and he would wait. They would find him. They would find him. They would…

—

When Logan finally eased the mental connection closed and pulled himself free, he found there was a low, buzzing keen building in the back of his throat. The sort of sound he hadn’t made since he himself was a child.

Virgil still lay there unconscious, but his cheeks were shiny and damp with tears. Logan reached out, ignoring the heat radiating from the pupa’s skin, and gently smoothed a narrow finger over his cheek, wiping the wetness away as best he could.

It didn’t do much, but the crinkle in Virgil’s brow seemed to ease just slightly at the sensation.

Roman paced by again, pausing at the sight. “Specs? Is the kid alright? …Are you alright?”

Logan wondered what Roman would think about the fact that Humans and Crav’n had more in common culturally than he would have ever guessed. That an entire group of Humans had given up their only boon for the slim chance of getting the only child present to safety.

No time to waste, now. That conversation would have to wait until they’d launched.

“Let Patton know we’re leaving, and meet me in the navigation area,” he instructed, already turning to leave. “I’m going to clear our landing area for departure.”

“What— I thought we agreed it was a bad idea to actually leave?” Roman asked, glancing between Logan and Virgil with visible worry.

“It’s a worse idea to sit here and wait,” he replied firmly, and then he was down the hall and out the hanger door, ignoring the shiver of secondhand trepidation that Virgil’s mind had left in his.

He circled the ship, placing the warding discs that would keep their launch area organism-free down one by one, and then paused at the sight of a familiar creature standing by the main entrance hatch.

It was a Humlilt, one with a distinct little white splotch on its head. Logan was fairly certain that it was the one who had stood between them and Virgil during their second meeting, the most loyal of the bunch, only proved further by the way it had been waiting outside the ship since Virgil had been taken aboard.

Logan was also fairly certain that Virgil had named this one Susan, after his neighbor. The Human who’d taken care of him, in those memories.

“You’ve taken care of him, too, haven’t you?” he asked, still far too affected by the painful sympathy that had washed over him post-Vidi.

The Humlilt stamped a hoof and trumpeted at him warningly as he neared, still obviously holding a grudge at them for stealing Virgil away.

Logan attempted to rationalize himself out of the decision he was about to make, and utterly failed.

—

It took some digging and reaching out to a few of Logan’s less savory contacts, but the ship was on its way to a waypoint station that was rumored to have a Human expert in residence. It could have been a trap, a lie meant to lure interested parties into an attack, but they were going to have to risk it.

The three of them had all agreed to the plan. They wouldn’t be able to live with themselves otherwise.

Now that they were in transit, Logan sat down with his two closest friends, and began to explain just what he’d learned about their kid.

A few rooms down in the medical bay, a half-conscious Human reached out a feverish hand and found a small, fluffy presence curled up at his side.

The Humlilt crooned a few notes, sounding just like the aimless lullabies its namesake used to hum.

For the first time since boarding the ship, Virgil breathed a little easier.

#wibar #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #space au #humans are deathworlders #teoba #the end of being alone #mind the warnings #writing #my writing

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shadidanin · 1 month

Text

#intense pulsed light #intense pulsed light treatment #Intense Pulsed Light Treatment In Brighton

0 notes

vecnawrites · 10 months

Note

Jaune did it. With two girlfriends, he made it all the way through November without spilling his seed even once. But at what cost? Jaune's now strapped to the bed, Weiss and Winter in pale blue and dark blue lingerie. A half hour later Jaune's pumping a month's worth of jizz into Weiss' unprotected womb as she bounces ecstatically in cowgirl, squeezing her little titties as Winter hungrily feasts on her future hubbie's fat, pulsing ballsack. [2Koma]

Jaune huffed, feeling incredibly uncomfortable as he felt his swollen balls smack against his inner thighs, the orbs overfull from how he had managed to survive the entire month of November. Which, with two beautiful girlfriends? Was a lot harder than it sounded.

Weiss Schnee and Winter Schnee were beautiful, elegant, and outright sexy, and the mere fact that he managed wasn’t due to his own real desires for doing No Nut November, but the fact that all three of them had been busy for most parts of it, and by the time they were together again, there was a week left.

But...that last week was a nightmare. He had been able to ignore his own libido while on the hunt he had been on (nothing to stop arousal like death hanging over you), even with the photos that his girlfriends had sent, but when they were all back home?

The girls had turned the hotness factor up to twenty.

They had gone for full on spa treatments and worse, they had brought him along while they shopped for clothes...though thankfully he had managed to avoid attacking them in the changing rooms. He did not want to become well known due to a scandal like that!

But the days passed and soon enough, he had survived No Nut November, though with little fanfare or bragging, since he hadn’t been intending on doing it.

But he also failed to notice that Weiss and Winter were sharing looks behind his back…

As he headed into the bedroom after a nice warm shower on the chilly evening of December 1st, looking to snuggle with his girlfriends, he stopped, eyes wide as he stepped into the bedroom, his cock swelling and bulging his boxers. Why?

Both Weiss and Winter were standing before the bed, smiling seductively, clad only in lingerie; Weiss wearing a pale blue set of lingerie, and Winter having a darker blue that stood out against her pale skin. Both stared at him with hungry eyes, and Jaune heard the door close behind him definitively.

“Now, lover...we have to talk about you doing this ‘No Nut November’ nonsense…” Weiss began, with Winter raising a hand that was already glowing with a Glyph.

“Ah! Oh, fuck!” Jaune groaned, his eyes rolled up in his head as he strained against the ribbons that held his arms and legs as he watched Weiss’s slim body bounce up and down on his cock, her face twisted in pleasure as her hands groped and squeezed her small breasts, pinching and plucking at the light pink nubs, her clenching pussy massaging and flexing around his cock. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping him on edge and about to blow.

SLURP! SMACK! The blonde ground his teeth as wet heat wrapped around his balls, a skilled tongue working along the heavy, swollen orbs, sucking and pulling them further into her mouth as she sucked, the pleasure in his belly so intense that it was a miracle (and his own willpower) that kept him from exploding.

“Cum, Jaune~!” the blonde forced his eyes open to see Weiss staring down at him hungrily, still playing with her tits. “Fill my womb up~ Pump your seed into my belly…” her eyelids lowered a bit, looking at him hungrily. “Afterwards? It’s Winter’s turn~ We have a whole month’s worth of cum to drain from your balls, after all~”

“HNNNNGGGGGHHHH~!!!” What could Jaune do but erupt in what must have been the most powerful orgasm of his life?

He filled Weiss’s pussy, her womb up with his thick seed amid her ecstatic cries of pleasure, all while Winter sucked and worshiped on his heavy balls.

He knew he would hardly be getting a break, but he found that he couldn’t mind it...and if them thinking he was trying No Nut November got him this treatment, maybe next year he would announce that he actually was going to do the challenge!

Jaune Arc:

Status: No Nut November Survived!

Time Survived: All Thirty Days

Reward Given: Weiss And Winter Schnee Dominating Him And Draining His Balls

#No Nut November #Success #Jaune Arc #Weiss Schnee #Winter Schnee #2Koma

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heavenlytouches · 17 days

Note

The Walking Dead x Rick's Sister Reader please?

Y/N was in a special unit but she was bitten so they tried an experimental treatment on her, the virus was stopped but she had bloodshot eyes, black veins all over her body and increased aggression and less ability to talk more growls but the infected don't notice her when she's around. She runs away from her brother, but he convinces her to come with him.

Hello love!! Thank you so much for this great request! I really love your idea, it's great. I hope you'll like this one ^^ El <3

Rick Grimes- find a way

•𓇼°🐚·☾.

FEM reader

<3 (SFW)

TW- none

BROTHER! Rick Grimes

Post-infected reader

Rick Grimes

The moon hung low in the night sky, its pale light filtering through the twisted branches of the barren trees. You could hear the faint rustling of leaves, each sound amplified in the heavy silence of the world that surrounded you.

You had once been part of a special unit, proud and trained, but the bite had changed everything. It was a nightmare—once human, now straddling the line between survival and something monstrous.

The experimental treatment had saved your life, but it had left you more beast than person. Bloodshot eyes, black veins like gnarled roots spiraling across your pale skin, and an unsettling growl that replaced words.

Tonight, you were running away from your brother Rick, who had cared for you with an intensity that made your heart ache. You could feel him close behind as you darted through the remnants of what used to be civilization, but you didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to hurt him, and you couldn’t bear to have him look at you with those eyes full of worry and love.

With each step you took, anger and fear coiled tighter in your chest. You glanced back briefly, catching a glimpse of his familiar figure shadowed by the moonlight- a pillar of strength, always brave, always careful.

“Stop!”

He called, voice thick with desperation, breaking the stillness of the night.

But you didn’t stop. You kept running, the weight of his concern trailing behind you like a haunting whisper.

You had become something else. Something dangerous. You brushed past the remnants of a crumbled street, the echoes of the past whispering secrets you no longer understood.

Rick wasn’t like the others, the ones who had succumbed to the virus. He could always see you- his sister, the one he fought for. The thought made your pulse race, a painful reminder of the love you wanted to reject for both of your sakes.

As the infection spread through the world, Rick’s world, you had become an unwanted weapon, a living danger lurking within the shadows.

“Please! You... don’t understand!”

You felt the words bubbling up, but in this wretched state, all that escaped your lips was a low, deep growl. It sent shivers down your spine, and you clenched your jaw shut, refusing to acknowledge the truth- you were losing yourself.

Rick's footsteps grew louder, and it lit a fire of panic within you. You didn’t want him to catch you. The thought of him seeing you in this state made your insides twist with a primal urge to hide.

But even as you ran, you could hear his comforting voice cutting through darkness.

“I won’t leave you! You’re still my sister! We’ll find a way!”

The relentless pounding of your heart echoed with every growl that reverberated in your throat. Instinctively, you knew that the infected didn’t see you as one of their own.

They passed by, oblivious, but only because you controlled the monstrous side of yourself, the side that wanted to rend and tear. If Rick were to come close, if he were to truly see the horror that was now you, there would be no way to reassure him.

You hurtled through the void, branches clawing at your arms. The truth flooded your mind- the experimental treatment hadn’t eradicated the virus; it had transformed it, refined it into something that twisted your very humanity.

You hadn’t asked for this battle; you hadn’t chosen this path. The growls emerged, and as you reached the edge of a dilapidated building, you heard Rick bark your name again, filled with both fear and determination.

“Please! Just let me help you!”

Your feet slowed, the instinct to flee stalling as his voice wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. Torn between the ferocity growing within and the warmth of familial love, you gasped, the remnants of your humanity surfacing.

In that very moment, you turned to face him.

Shoulders squared, chest heaving, bloodshot eyes locked onto his, you growled again- a low, instinctual response to the fear that clawed at you. But beneath that growl, the fragmented pieces of you screamed for help, for understanding.

Rick took a cautious step forward, his jaw tight but his eyes unwavering.

“You’re not a monster...”

He said, voice steady, holding your gaze like a lifeline.

“You’re my sister. Whatever happened, we can face it together.”

You felt the weight of his words, the truth they carried. And yet, the tears that you couldn’t allow to surface burned from within. Rick drew nearer, a beacon of hope shining through the murky fog of your existence, and it began to crack the hardness pooling around your heart.

With a sudden rush of energy, you fell to your knees, the growl subsiding as anguish rippled through you. Your vision blurred, the black veins pulsing like dark rivers beneath your skin.

“I-I don’t want to hurt you..” You finally managed to whisper, your voice raw and quivering, a faint echo of the sister he remembered.

Rick knelt before you, the distance between you closing like a bridge forming across an abyss.

“You won’t hurt me. We’re in this together. I swear it.”

The deep-rooted instinct that had driven you into isolation began to ease. You felt the layers of fear start to peel away.

Yes, you were different, yes, there was darkness creeping inside you, but there was still a flicker of light- a bond forged through love and resilience.

As you looked up at him, your heart full of conflicting emotions, you understood that if you were going to fight against what the world had made you become, you wouldn’t do it alone.

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll come with you.”

You managed to say before another growl ripped it's way out of your chest. Rick didn't back out. He just stood there, looking at you.

Rick smiled, a mixture of relief and pride lighting up his face.

“Let’s find a way to make it through this. Together.”

And as you stood to face the chaos ahead, the shadows breathing around you, they faded just a little, replaced by the bond of family. The last remnant of hope in a world gone dark. It was time to reclaim who you were, and with Rick by your side, you would find a way.

I hope you liked this one!! I really adored this theme, it's so unique and cool. Remember guys, I write for a lot of characters/fandoms and requests are always open!

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

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myfaveficrecs · 2 years

Text

Talk Dirty to Me

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader (f)

Word Count: 2,009

Warnings: pwp, dirty talk, unprotected sex in an established relationship

AN: Please be kind...it has been quite some time for me since I put content out and I have a lot of anxiety about it. Feedback is welcome! I do miss writing and engaging with people on here.

Everything about Bradley was an absolute turn on to you. The way he looked, the way he laughed, the way he licked and bit his lips…oh those lips. The sounds he made with that mouth were enough to make you shiver and quake with desire. The sound of his voice made when he sang - goosebumps rise across your skin, and dear God, the words that man would let fly out of his mouth. The dirty talk could almost make you come without a single touch.

You were lying on your shared bed, Bradley on top of you and resting between your thighs. Completely connected from lips to hips, he was kissing you slowly, but with so much passion you were becoming dizzy from the intensity and the grinding of his bulge pressing into just the right spot. He pulled back just far enough to slip your dress off, tearing the buttons instead of untangling them; arousal thick in the air along with the heavy panting of both of your breaths.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Leaning down he nipped at your pulse point, soothing the sting with his tongue. Trailing feather light kisses down your neck, across your collarbone and in between your breasts, whispering sweet nothings to you along the way.

“I can’t get enough of you…you taste so fucking sweet…you feel so good beneath me…”

Your temperature spiked with each word, each brush of his lips, the pulsing in your core almost painful in the need to have him fill you, trying desperately not to flip him over and take control. You knew he loved getting you worked up, and he knew exactly how to do it. Foreplay with Bradley was a euphoric experience in itself, something all women should experience once in their lifetime, and you almost felt bad for all those women that would never know what you had. Almost.

Quickly he bent his head, sucking your right nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue until it was at a tight peak. With a gentle scrape of his teeth, he pulled back with a smile only to give the same treatment to the other one. Your back arched with every flick of his tongue, your thighs starting to quiver from the undeniable want running through your veins.

“Roo…please…” You panted, gripping one hand into his loose curls, the other wrapped tightly into his shirt and trying desperately to pull it off of him, wanting to feel his warm bare skin on your own.

“Please what, baby? Why don’t you pull on those nipples for me? Start real gentle…twist and pull at the same time as I would.” His plump lips began to trail kisses down your stomach. You instantly obeyed his instructions, desperately trying to hold yourself together.

Sitting up on his knees between your spread legs, he palmed his cock through his jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure that had become almost painfully tight. The image you were giving him making him twitch painfully behind his hand.

“Fuck, love. Look at you all spread out for me…got me so fucking hard.”

You let out a whimper, his words causing your walls to flutter and clench around nothing, desperate to be filled. The sight of him completely dressed and hard just from looking at you, already starting the coil in your belly to tighten and your hips to wriggle on the luscious thick comforter, searching for some type of friction. Looking into his eyes you could only see the small ring of his beautiful gold, the black of his pupils almost covering his entire iris.

Grabbing your ankles gently, he began to pull you towards the edge of the bed and placing your feet along the edge, keeping you spread wide for him. Ripping off his shirt and unbuttoning his pants and buckle, he let out a sigh of relief. His own body temperature through the roof with his own arousal. “God…so beautiful and you smell so fucking good. I can almost taste you from here, honey.” Leaning on the floor he began trailing kisses from your ankle to your knee, and landing on your inner thigh, giving a nip with his teeth causing you to moan low in the back of your throat.

“That’s it, let those pretty noises out for me.”

Burying his face into your folds your legs spread willingly, relieved to finally have some attention where you needed it most. His broad tongue giving hard strokes over your clit, inserting first one thick digit before adding another, getting you ready for the inevitable stretch his thick cock always gave you.

You were already so worked up that it didn’t take long before he had you right on the edge, but not quite enough to push you over just yet, wanting to enjoy the taste of you on his tongue a moment longer. “Such a pretty pussy…tastes so good…you wanna come all over my face don’t you, baby?”

His words were muffled but clearly understood, the vibrations giving the perfect sensation to your clit when mixed with his tongue. Letting out a primal moan, you grabbed your breasts and began pinching and pulling on your nipples, trying to push yourself over the edge that he was so desperately trying to keep you on. The noises emitting from deep within his own throat making you feel like you were the best thing he had ever tasted. With a simple crook of his fingers, he hit your g-spot with laser like precision, and you finally went over the edge.

Your thighs clamped down on his head, boxing him in and not allowing him to let up on the delicious torture, not that he wanted to go anywhere. He slowed the movements of his tongue, making the pressure a feather light touch, letting you ride out the waves of your high. As soon as your body let up on his fingers and your thighs loosened their grip, he withdrew from you, a cocky smile on his face.

Licking your excess juice from his lips he crawled up the bed, pulling his pants down. His cock jumped up proudly, bobbing heavily with each of his rapid heartbeats. The sight of his weeping, red cock made you lick your own lips in want. Rooster took notice, giving a chuckle before wrapping a hand around his thick base, giving slow and gentle pulls and tugs making your eyes widen at the view before you.

“Look at how hard just the taste of you gets me. You see that?”

You weakly nodded your head, dying to have him inside of you at this point. Your hips started to writhe once again of their own volition, no coherent thought behind any of your actions. This was how crazy this man made you, every single time.

He swiped his thumb over his tip, collecting the drops of come sitting at the slit and held his thumb to your mouth as he crawled between your thighs. You needed no further invitation before you took his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit and making his cock twitch against your folds. Your hips jut up making your pussy slide up and down the underside of his member, coating him completely in your slick.

“Shit…you want this cock inside you? Want me to fill you up like only I can? I’m going to start off by rubbing my dick all over your pussy, get it nice and slicked up…maybe just hold myself at your tight little hole and make you wait for it. Then I’m going to fill you up so good, watch you take everything I ha-” Bradley’s sentence choked off when you released his thumb with an obscene sucking sound, and you moaned loudly. Grabbing onto his shoulders to pull his body back down onto your own you wrapped your legs tightly around his hips.

“Fuck, Brad…just stop teasing and get inside me.”

“Ask nicely.” He suddenly started grinding his cock against your clit, your wetness giving him the easy passage over the tight bundle of nerves. “Come on, let me hear you.” He whispered into your ear before biting down and sucking on the earlobe making an almost inhuman growl leave your mouth.

“Please…please please please.” You chanted, seemingly capable of no other words at the moment, but it must have been enough for Bradley and he quickly plunged his length inside of you, your eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. Leaving your hips flush together, he allowed you to adjust to his size, gently rocking upwards, applying pressure to your clit. As soon as you started to grind your pelvis back into his he knew you were ready and pulled back, leaving just the tip inside of you. Resting his forehead onto yours he gave you a cheeky wink and thrust in hard and fast, making your breath catch in your throat from the sheer pleasure that ran throughout your entire body.

“You have…no idea…what you do….to me…love. you.” His thrusts never let up, knowing exactly what you both needed in this moment. You were entirely too worked up for either of you to want nice and slow. “You take my cock so good.” He growled into your ear, moving to suck a dark mark where your shoulder met the soft slope of your neck making you whimper and intertwine your fingers roughly into the soft spikes of hair on the nape of his neck. Your other hand leaving half-moon indentations into his tanned skin.

“Oh shit…oh my God!” Your voice was becoming a much higher pitch than usual, letting him know you were close to reaching your end. Widening his knees onto the bed, he gave a white knuckled grip to your hips and bent his upper body to take a nipple back into his mouth. The new angle caused you to scream out his name making him smirk into your breast.

“Come on…fucking come all over my cock. I can feel your…tight pussy gripping…around me…want me to fill you up?”

“God yes…Brad…Ro-” Your back arched and you grabbed onto his strong biceps to ground yourself, the intense pleasure making you feel as if you were floating. He wrapped his strong arms around you, bringing you as close as he could possibly be, his face buried into your neck as he slammed his hips into you with enough force to bruise your thighs. You had stopped trying to meet his thrusts knowing you would throw his rhythm off if you continued to try, and just took what he gave. The bed frame pounded the wall in protest and the abuse you were both putting it under, the headboard slamming hard enough into the wall to leave a small dent from one of the finials on the post.

Your orgasm was swift and intense, slamming into you with such force that you thought you were going to pass out from the pleasure. You had screamed his name so loudly that Bradley swore all on the base could hear you, not that he cared.

“That’s it…so fucking tight…so good…let it go…fuck!” Your walls clamped down onto his cock with forceful contractions, making his hips falter one, two, three more half thrusts before he slammed his lips onto yours, burying himself deep inside of you, emptying himself. Each twitch of his cock prolonging your own pleasure and causing him to grunt.

When both of your highs had come down you separated your lips, panting heavily into one another’s mouths, stroking one another using your fingertips. The little flutters of aftershocks running through you made him shiver and you felt his cock twitch again inside of you, making you look at him in disbelief.

“I told you…can’t get enough of you. How about you get up on all fours so I can spank the pretty ass of yours and watch your cunt swallow my cock over and over again?”

God knew just how much you loved that dirty mouth of his.

Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@roosterscock

@roosterforme

@bradshawsbitch

@jupitercomet

@seresinhangmanjake

@fandomxpreferences

@wildbornsiren

@babyrooster

@gretagerwigsmuse

@ohtobeleah

@callsign-marlie

@callsign-milano

@callsign-phoenix

@call-sign-jinx

@oncasette

@hufflepuffprincesse

@topguncortez

@topgun-imagines

@rolycolysficrecs

@call-sign-shark

@cherrycola27

@thedroneranger

@notroosterbradshaw

@almostgenerallyalways

@roosterbruiser

@teacupsandtopgun

@endofdays56

#rooster x reader #female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #tgm #topgun #bradley bradsaw x reader

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zoeykallus · 2 years

Note

Hello there! I was wondering if you could do echo and reader oneshots where the reader is gets injured during a mission and she’s scared of the droids and equipment like echo is and he helps her stay calm during the medical exam. 🥺 I just feel like echo would be such a caring little bean with something like this.

General Kenobi! Aloha!

Sweet Echo is perfect for a scenario like this, for sure!

TBB Echo x Fem!Reader One-Shot - Right Here With You

Warning: Angst/Panic Attack/ Injury/ Fluff/Comfort

__________

After being injured on a mission, you need to go to the infirmary. Your anxiety flares up, and you want to get out of there as soon as possible. However, Echo comes to help you get through the time in the infirmary.

__________

You are lying on the stretcher, surrounded by two medics and a medical droid. Your pulse is racing, you feel the pain in your side and in your leg, where the blaster shots hit you. But more intense than the pain is the feeling of helplessness, the sterile environment you've just been brought into, the droid, the strange faces, the equipment and medical tools around you.

Your eyes twitch in panic from one point to another, searching for something familiar, but everything you see and hear is alien and sterile, cold and mechanical, even the two medic clones. Familiar faces and yet not. Bright, cold light surrounds you.

Your heart beats fast and hard in your chest, as if trying to break out, your breathing is erratic and much too fast.

"She is hyperventilating," you hear the droid say in his mechanical manner.

Somewhere in the chaotic helplessness you feel, you keep feeling the pain burning up, sharp, stabbing, hot. Yet the pain is not predominant, it is fear that is much more dominant, helplessness. Tears run down your cheeks, you didn't even notice, but now you realize that your face is wet. You feel as heavy as lead, as if paralyzed.

Someone injects you with painkillers. The pain subsides, but the panic does not.

"She's still hyperventilating, her pulse is going crazy," says one of the clone medics.

The other says, "It's not the pain."

"A panic attack," the droid says matter-of-factly.

"Echo," the word, the name, comes over your lips, shaky and quiet, but one of the clones has heard you.

"What are you saying?" he inquires softly.

"Echo," you repeat a little louder in a hoarse voice, "Echo, I want Echo."

The clones look at each other.

"Echo? Is that one of our brothers?" one asks the other.

"Yes I think so"

"He was with me when I arrived here. Where is he?" you say much more clearly, yet panic still almost constricts your throat.

The droid says, "It's against protocol to-"

"Shut up tin can," one of the clones grumbles at him and says to his colleague, "Go check outside, maybe he's waiting there."

The droid says, disgruntled, "This is unusual and not according to protocol"

"I don't care, I want Echo" you growl at him.

The clone with you says, "It will definitely help her to calm down if he is there".

The droid says impassively, "Tranquilizers would have done the trick."

You hear a familiar voice say your name. You turn your head and see Echo enter the treatment room, accompanied by the second Medic. He looks worried. The look in his eyes is gentle, but his brow furrows in worry.

"Echo!" you exclaim with a sob that startles not only him, but you are a little as well. Until just now, you didn't realize how upset you really were.

He hurriedly comes closer to your side, reaching for your hand on your uninjured side. You cling to it with trembling fingers.

Echo speaks to you calmly and gently, "Hey, sweetie, it's okay, it's going to be okay".

"Please stay here," you say softly, still crying.

Echo nods with a soft little smile.

"I'll stay right here with you".

You let out a shaky, relieved sigh. As you look at him, your pulse gradually calms. Your heart still feels a little agitated, but nowhere near panic anymore.

"Look at me and breathe with me, slowly and steadily, deeply in and out".

You do what he tells you and gradually feel the fear dissipate. The clones and the droid tend to your wounds, but you only look at Echo and he at you. His smile widens a little.

"You're doing great," he says affectionately.

"I'm sorry," you say softly.

He frowns.

"Why? What are you sorry for?"

"For being so whiny."

Echo shakes his head, "You're not whiny. You took quite a beating, and you're still in a bit of shock, I've seen seasoned soldiers have more severe panic attacks over lesser things."

You smile and say, "I know you're lying, but that's sweet of you."

Echo shakes his head, "I'm not lying."

You take a deep breath, feeling his hand gently squeeze yours. Finally, you ask him meekly, "Please don't tell the others."

Echo leans in slightly and whispers, "It will be our secret."

"Thank you" you say touched and add, "I feel safe with you. I'm sorry if I ambushed you with this".

Echo laughs softly and says, "I'm the last person to blame you, you know how much I hate this place" more gently he adds, "And I'm very flattered, my dear"

"Can you stay until I'm allowed out of here?"

Echo nods and smiles.

"As I said before, I'll stay right here with you".

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@starwarsnerd111

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izvmimi · 2 years

Text

does megara mourn her children still?

cw: horror ie. dark content, minors dni, domestic abuse (including violence towards a child) although nothing explicitly graphic. reader and izuku have an unnamed infant son.

a/n: for @shuwuji's scare me collab! (not me submitting at the last minute, forgive me bb)

Izuku has been strange since his last mission.

You can’t exactly pinpoint why. Izuku at his very core is resilient above all else and this last threat was not the most sinister - really, nothing compared to the trial of his teen years - but ever since he came home beaten and bruised but with that triumphant smile on his face, you can sense a tension in his shoulders and neck that has yet to cease.

Nothing you’ve done for him has changed either. The painstaking care you perform in love, rubbing oil onto his scars, kneading his sore muscles, whispering soothing words that chase away the occasional nightmare… none of that gentle treatment has been forsaken in the interim. He’s thankful to you as usual, and the matters of daily life have resumed as expected.

And yet something is wrong.

It’s been a week since then - in fact, it is 2pm and Izuku has not yet risen. You feed your infant son alone, thankful that he’s being quiet as a small mercy to his hardworking father. He claps his hands and you smile and give him kisses to his forehead between bites of pureed vegetables. He is round and soft and looks the spitting image of Izuku, harmless and sweet.

Lunchtime ends and your son remains attached to your hip as you briefly tidy up the house. Pillows are fluffed, teething rings are picked up and sterilized, and surfaces are wiped down. You spend the next few hours allowing your child to crawl on soft carpet and explore, while you watch him with one eye and read with another.

Izuku has yet to rise by 5 pm and your son falls into your lap, begging for a nap.

You pass by the master bedroom in the hall and peek inside, finding that Izuku is no longer in bed, a mess of perspiration-soaked sheets taking his place. You can hear a suppressed fit of coughing and see fluorescent light leaking from the closed bathroom door. You don’t call out to him in worry of waking up your slumbering infant, drooling peacefully on your shoulder.

Your child is laid in his crib with tenderness and after tucking him in you make your way to your bedroom to meet your partner. There’s a strange pit in your stomach that forms as you enter the room, an odd miasma that worsens in intensity as you round the corner into the bathroom. He stands there, back turned to you, and staring at the mirror, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the sink. You get the impression he’s been standing there for a while and the marble strains under the pressure of his fingers. Perhaps it mimics his psyche at the moment.

A mental note is made to have it repaired.

“Izuku,” you keep your voice soft. His eyes widen as he hears you call his name and he turns quickly to look at you. The look in his eye is odd, as though he’s not sure he recognizes you; his skin glows with night sweats and he practically trembles, even if his feet are planted firmly on the ground.

“Are you…” your voice trails off. It would be silly if you asked if he was okay. Instead, you step towards him and press the back of your hand to his forehead. You can practically feel his racing pulse in your fingertips, but he’s not feverish. Yet.

“I-I don’t know what’s going on,” he whispers. His hand closes around yours and pulls you off him gently, his eyes closing. “… this headache won’t go away no matter what I do.”

His voice comes out raspy, as if he were parched.

“Do you need some water?”

He shakes his head and you frown. You’ll bring some anyway in case he changes his mind.

“I can call for a doctor’s appointment,” you offer. His eyes open again and he frowns. You can tell he doesn’t believe it will help with whatever ails him but he doesn’t argue with you.

“Okay.”

You decide to leave him for a moment given that he hasn’t yet collapsed, and passing through the bedroom (drawn curtains compound the darkness of the early evening), you hunt for your cell phone. It takes you a moment of hesitation to consider if he should be seen now rather than later while you wait for the hold music to cease, but he looks… stable to say the least.

“What time tomorrow?” a young woman asks on the phone.

“What’s the earliest time you have?”

“How about 8 am-“

Her voice drowns under the sound of your son who is crying all of a sudden.

“C-can you hold on please?” you interrupt the poor scheduler. “I’m so sorry.” You automatically put her on a hold, then walk briskly at first towards the child’s bedroom but soon something compels you to run those last few paces - the cry is strange, louder and more distressed than you’re used to.

And as you turn the corner, you realize why.

“Izuku, what are you doing?!”

You push past him to snatch your crying child who he has raised in the air, a hand unnaturally tight around his midsection. When you arrive, you can see him squirming in his father’s unnatural grip as Izuku stares vacantly into his eyes, green into teary green.

Izuku barely budges as you nearly shove him out of the way and does not let go.

“This thing is the issue.” His voice is unattached and robotic. Your ears ring, part-shock, part-rage, as your son continues to wail.

“W-what the fuck are you talking about!?” You shriek, your swipes at him more and more aggressive as you try to rescue your kid. Izuku side-steps you nearly effortlessly and turns, your son raised much higher and out of your reach, until you’re jumping around him in a manner that looks more and more foolish, the more desperate you become.

“Put him down!”

The child wails, arms reaching for you now.

“I’m getting rid of it.”

“You’re doing what?” You scream.

Izuku walks slowly, eyes still lowered as if a man possessed, as if he cannot feel the fact that your fists are beating against every part of his body that you can reach. There’s something he murmurs under his breath about noise and evil and a headache he can’t stop and something about a curse he can’t break, and all manners of nonsense as your cries get louder and louder until your voice barely comes out at all, replaced with your sobs.

When you fall in a heap and decide to beg instead, to plead to something still reasonable inside of him, terrified by your baby’s incessant crying, he does stop, pivoting in your direction. Through tear-blurred eyes, you watch him dangle the now unconscious infant upside down as though they were a dirty toy and you rub your hands together in a plea.

“P-please… I don’t know what’s gotten into you… but stop.”

Your eyes follow the child who swings gently like a pendulum, and you are hypnotized. You think you may pass out as well.

“If I get rid of this, it’ll go away. It will be better,” he repeats over and over again as a mantra. You pull at his ankles, a weight that is feather-like to him, and he keeps walking towards the front door, dragging you along. The fact that you are crying means nothing to him, the fact that he holds an infant like a sack of potatoes in his left hand means nothing compared to the throbbing pain behind his right eye.

A voice repeats in his head with increasingly loud crescendo, nuisance, nuisance, nuisance.

“Annoying,” he murmurs under his breath.

He looks at you, and you start to resemble the child more and more the longer he holds his gaze.

“The vestiges say I need to get rid of you too.”

#cw horror #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #cw dark content #bnha x reader #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: izuku #mimi's notes

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noblebs · 8 months

Note

💬?

thank you! 🖤

I think I've shared a couple lines here and there of these scenes.... but in the interest of forcing positivity upon myself, I like them both a lot so I'll share both lol

from chapter 3 of EWT:

Orion remembers seeing photos when the story broke: grainy opportunistic action shots sandwiched by columns of text reporting the monstrous operative of a heretofore poorly understood government agency crashing a diplomatic convention. The most prominent and well-distributed of the photos was of the agent himself, a dark, broad figure towering over everyone else in the shot. It's the low angle and the camera's zoom, she always thought, that lent him such an imposing height. As it turns out, there couldn't be a camera operator in the world who could make a demon standing 8 feet tall with arching horns to top it off less imposing. He squeezes through his own front door like a grizzly bear trying to use a dog door. The harsh sunlight gleams on his skin—is it skin, or is it actually the obsidian it looks like? A wife beater stretches across his deep chest, probably the largest manufactured size but still decidedly too small, a sliver of beer belly bulging above his waistband. Orion fights to keep too wide a smile from splitting his face. "Good afternoon," he all but purrs, "I'm Orion. Do you have a minute?" Devilant crosses his arms and considers him; his eyes burn bright orange like the embers of a dying fire. "Whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'." Orion smiles coyly. "If I had something to sell, I doubt you could afford it. I work with Annex, and—" "Oh. Piss off, then." He interrupts her with a dismissive wave of his hand and turns back to the door. It bangs shut behind him, the wood rattling in the frame. Not the first time it's endured such treatment. She lunges forward and skips one of the two steps onto the porch, twisting the door handle before it can get locked in her face and throwing it open. "Hey," Devilant grumbles, sounding more bewildered than angry. "Get the hell out of my house."

from chapter 4:

"No." Madrigal snorts, her nose wrinkling, and shakes her head. "That's not what I mean. I meant...this." She lifts her hand toward his neck. He flinches back. "Wait, don't—" "It's okay. I think I understand." Her fingertips skate beneath Orion's jaw, following the upper edge where teeth break ragged through the skin of his throat. Her thumb presses against his larynx, a featherlight touch that crushes the breath out of his lungs. No one risks touching his teeth. But she is cautious like they are fragile, not dangerous. "I might not look it, but I know what it is to be lonely like this. One of a kind isn't all it's cracked up to be." Orion's appetite swells once more with such a ferocity she barely keeps a grip on her impulses. Madrigal looks at her with such intense honesty; her hands are so confident. This was what she sensed, the hound in her blood catching a scent, even from more than fifty feet away. She wants to sink her teeth deep into that expression on Madrigal's face and never let her go. Madrigal smiles—must feel the accelerated pulse kicking up under her fingers—and lets her hand slip away. "Finish your wine. It's the least you can do after making me pay for it." Orion takes a deep breath, still unsteady and distracted by the tension winding up inside her chest, but manages to smirk and dutifully take a sip. She lights a cigarette just to give her other hand something to hold: a tether to the here and now, a leash to draw her back from swallowing Madrigal whole in public. "I don't recall making you do anything. You came over here begging for a reason to talk to me." "Begging?" Madrigal straightens her posture and frowns severely. "I wouldn't be caught dead. I took pity on you." Orion scoffs. "Your pity put you out seventeen dollars for one glass, so I hope it was worth it." "Oh, I think it will be."

(shout-out to @anarchistserum for providing me the world's sexiest senior citizen, strictly speaking Devilant is her character but I got shared custody)

#everything with teeth wip #oc orion murphy #oc madrigal baptiste #oc devilant #there now he has a tag I GUESS #ngl Ive been having a really hard time feeling anything good about my writing so its nice to focus on the parts I do like #character interactions my beloved

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s666j · 2 months

Text

008 | fever dream

19-D until Olympics.

Mark awoke slowly, the dull throb of an early morning headache pressing against his temples. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the pale hospital room, the sterile white ceiling above a stark reminder of where he was. For a moment, a sliver of hope flickered within him—perhaps it had all been a strange dream, a figment of his imagination that would dissolve in the morning light. But as his senses came into focus, the reality of his situation settled over him like a heavy shroud.

The steady beep of a heart monitor filled the room, each pulse a relentless affirmation that this was real. Mark shifted slightly, feeling the IV tube tug against his arm, the cool sheets rough against his skin. He sighed, an unfamiliar weariness settling into his bones. The door creaked open, and a nurse entered with a soft, practiced step, her presence both comforting and disconcerting in its familiarity. She wore a crisp uniform and a badge that read “Irene,” and her eyes crinkled with warmth as she approached the bed.

“Good morning, Mark,” Irene greeted, her voice gentle and encouraging. “How are you feeling today?”

Mark hesitated, searching for the right words. He knew he needed information, but he also needed to avoid arousing suspicion. “Morning,” he replied, attempting to infuse his voice with normalcy. “I’m... adjusting, I guess. Everything feels a bit fuzzy.”

Irene nodded, her expression understanding as she checked the monitors. “That’s to be expected. It’s been a tough road, but you’ve been making great progress.”

Mark nodded, absorbing her words while trying to piece together what he could. He watched her carefully, noting the way she moved with a sense of purpose, her hands deftly adjusting the IV drip.

“So, about this treatment,” Mark began cautiously, hoping to draw out more details without sounding too lost. “It’s a lot to keep track of. Could you remind me what we’re focusing on right now?”

Irene paused, her gaze meeting his with a flicker of empathy. “You’re currently on a regimen called Hyper-CVAD,” she explained, choosing her words with care. “It’s an aggressive treatment plan, but we’ve seen positive results.”

Hyper-CVAD. Mark rolled the unfamiliar term over in his mind, trying to attach some meaning to it. The words felt heavy, laden with the gravity of Mark B’s reality—a reality filled with battles he had never fought, struggles he had never faced. “And how long have I been on this treatment?” Mark asked, his curiosity genuine.

Irene’s eyes softened as she considered his question. “You started several months ago. It’s been intense, but your body’s responding well. Some days are harder than others, but you’ve shown incredible resilience.” Mark nodded again, feeling a mix of admiration and anxiety. The idea of enduring such a regimen was daunting, and he couldn’t help but wonder about the strength it had required from this person to get this far.

He shifted slightly, trying to ignore the discomfort in his muscles, the ache that seemed to settle into every joint. “I suppose it’s normal to have some memory gaps,” he ventured, hoping to cover any missteps in his questioning. “Absolutely,” Irene reassured him, her voice steady. “It’s not uncommon to feel disoriented, especially with the medication. But you’re in good hands, Mark. We’re all here to support you.”

Mark offered a grateful smile, appreciating her kindness. “Thank you, Irene. I really appreciate everything you and the team do.”

Irene returned his smile, a hint of pride in her expression. “We’re all rooting for you. You’ve got a lot of people on your side.”

As she continued to check his vitals and make notes on her clipboard, Mark took the opportunity to study the room. He noticed the small, personal touches that marked the space as someone’s temporary home—a few photographs taped to the wall, a colorful blanket draped over the chair, a pile of books stacked neatly on the bedside table.

“Those books,” Mark said, nodding towards the stack, “are they mine?”

Irene followed his gaze, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “Yes, they are. You’ve always been an avid reader, haven’t you?”

Mark smiled, the statement resonating with a part of himself that felt familiar. “I guess so. It’s good to know some things haven’t changed.”

Irene chuckled softly, finishing her tasks before giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. “You’ll get through this, Mark. One step at a time.”

With that, she left the room, leaving Mark alone with his thoughts and the steady rhythm of the machines. He took a deep breath, trying to process everything he had learned. The pieces were starting to come together, slowly forming a picture of the life he now inhabited—a life marked by courage and resilience in the face of uncertainty. Mark lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as he considered his next steps. He needed to understand more, to gather enough information to navigate this world without losing himself in the process. Each conversation, each interaction, would be crucial in piecing together the puzzle of his current existence.

Despite Irene’s comforting words, the enormity of living in a world not his own weighed heavily on him.

As the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, its warmth filtering through the blinds, Mark felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. His body, unaccustomed to the ongoing treatment, demanded rest. He surrendered to the weariness, allowing his eyes to close and his mind to drift.

In the depths of his nap, a dream unfolded. Mark found himself standing at the edge of an athletic track, the sun high and bright, casting long shadows across the field. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of grass and chalk. It was a familiar setting, one that stirred something deep within him. There, in the distance, he saw Haechan—lean, focused, and determined—running laps with the effortless grace of an athlete in his element. Each stride was powerful and sure, a testament to the countless hours of training and dedication. Mark watched as Haechan pushed himself, his movements fluid and precise. He could almost hear the rhythmic pounding of feet against the track, the heartbeat of determination and ambition.

The scene tugged at Mark’s heart, filling him with a poignant longing. It was a world where Haechan thrived, where challenges were met head-on, and dreams were chased with relentless vigor. The dream felt so real, so achingly close, yet impossibly distant. In his mind, Mark reached out, trying to call out to Haechan, to connect across the vast chasm that separated them. But no words came, only a deep yearning that echoed through his soul.

He felt a surge of nostalgia for the life he’d left behind—the shared laughter, the unspoken understanding, the certainty of knowing exactly where he belonged. The memory of Haechan, of his unwavering support and their shared aspirations, wrapped around Mark like a comforting embrace.

As Haechan completed another lap, he slowed, glancing up as if sensing Mark’s presence. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, Mark felt a rush of emotions—hope, sadness, love—all intertwined in the bittersweet recognition of what had been lost. The dream began to fade, the vibrant colors of the track and field dissolving into the soft, muted tones of the hospital room. Mark awoke with a start, his heart heavy with longing and the vivid memory of Haechan’s determined face etched into his mind.

He lay still for a moment, the weight of reality pressing down on him like a tangible force. The dream lingered in the edges of his consciousness, a reminder of the world he desperately missed and the person he yearned to return to.

Mark took a deep breath, steadying himself against the wash of emotions. The room around him was unchanged, yet everything felt different, colored by the dream’s lingering shadow.

A knock on the door drew Mark’s attention, and he looked up to see a doctor entering, clipboard in hand. The doctor, a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a reassuring presence, offered a gentle smile that failed to reach Mark’s heart.

“Good morning, Mark. I’m Dr. Park. How are you feeling today?”

Mark nodded, mustering a polite smile that felt hollow. “I’m doing okay, just trying to get my bearings.”

Dr. Park sat in the chair beside the bed, flipping through the notes on his clipboard. “I understand you’ve been having some memory gaps. That’s not uncommon given everything you’ve been through. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to share.” Mark took a moment to gather his thoughts, feeling the weight of his situation pressing down like a vise. “I was wondering about my progress and what the next steps are. Irene mentioned the treatment plan, but I’d like to understand more.”

Dr. Park nodded, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “Of course. You’re currently undergoing Hyper-CVAD chemotherapy, which is an intensive regimen designed to target the leukemia aggressively. We’ve seen some positive responses, but it’s crucial to monitor your condition closely.”

Mark absorbed the information, feeling a heavy sense of inevitability rather than determination. “And how long will this treatment continue?”

“We’ll assess your progress regularly. The duration can vary depending on how your body responds. Right now, we’re focusing on the next few cycles, ensuring you’re stable and showing improvement.”

The words “stable” and “improvement” felt like empty promises in the sterile confines of the hospital room. Mark nodded, but inside, he felt a growing chasm of despair. The path ahead was not just challenging; it was suffocating, with no light at the end of the tunnel.

“Thank you, Dr. Park,” Mark said, his voice barely a whisper.

As Dr. Park left the room, Mark felt an overwhelming sense of abandonment. The words “you’re not alone” echoed mockingly in his mind, hollow and meaningless against the backdrop of machines that beeped and clicked in their ceaseless vigil. The dream of Haechan, so vivid and real, now felt like a cruel trick of the mind, a fleeting glimpse of happiness that was forever out of his grasp. He had tried to call out, to reach across the chasm that separated them, but no words had come. Only silence and an aching emptiness remained. Mark placed the book back on the table, feeling the weight of his solitude press down on him. The room, though filled with the hum of activity outside, felt like a void, a vacuum where hope could not penetrate.

He lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes against the harsh light filtering through the blinds. Exhaustion seeped into his bones, not just from the treatments but from the relentless reality that he would never return to the life he knew. The vibrant world outside was an illusion, a distant memory that faded with each passing day. In the quiet, Mark allowed himself to grieve for everything he had lost. The laughter, the unspoken understanding, the shared dreams with Haechan—all were fragments of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. A life he would never reclaim.

As the day wore on, Mark surrendered to the weariness that wrapped around him like a shroud, pulling him into a restless sleep. The dream of the track and Haechan's determined face lingered in his mind, a haunting reminder of what once was. But even in dreams, there was no escape, only the harsh reminder of his own frailty.

When he awoke, it was to the same sterile room, the same relentless beeping of machines, the same oppressive sense of confinement. Mark realized with a sinking heart that he was trapped, and there was no way back to the life he had lost. The realization settled over him, cold and inexorable—a future devoid of hope, a world where the life he had known was forever out of reach.

The isolation was absolute, the despair unending. Mark lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, knowing that he was alone in a world that would never again feel like his own.

In that moment, the dream felt less like a connection and more like a cruel reminder of a reality that would never be his again. The vibrant world he longed for remained beyond reach, a tantalizing illusion that faded with the dawn.

#nct dream #haechan #mark lee #markhyuck au #mahae au #nct #nct 127 #donghyuck #lee donghyuck

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