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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years ago

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Creature Comforts

Prompt: hey ! feel free to ignore this if you want, but im having an anxiety moment™ and would love to see something like this in your writing style !!

so, my idea is that roman gets anxious when it storms due to his fear of the dark and the risk of the power going out, and patton has a phobia of thunderstorms, so they tend to hang out when it storms since the other understands, to some degree, their anxiety about the situation on a personal level. virgil, who loves storms, finds them / gets summoned when they're both panicking pretty bad due to a storm, and soft fluffy comfort ensues where he tries to calm them and reassure them that their fears aren't stupid. lots of soft fluff <3

regardless of whether or not you end up writing this, i hope you have a good day !!! i love your writing style sm <33 - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: thunderstorms

Pairings: uhhh whatever the one for roman/virgil/patton is, can be platonic or romantic i don't care

Word Count: 1795

For Virgil, thunderstorms are rare moments of peace. Times where he can just...relax, as much as he ever can, and watch the sky, listen to the rain, enjoy it.

Not everyone in the Mindscape feels this way.

When Virgil hears that there’s going to be a big thunderstorm, he immediately starts planning.

Headphones, check. Warm drink, check. That one ledge in the Imagination Mansion with the big windows, check. Phone charger, check. Blanket, check.

Logan asks him why he’s so happy, offering a soft smile of his own when Virgil explains that there’s a thunderstorm coming up. He pats Virgil’s shoulder and wishes him a good storm watch.

Thunderstorms are so cool. The clouds get all big and bruised and purple—which is excellent—and the lightning makes the sky have all these dimensions that you never get to see when it’s clear. Plus, the sound of the rain makes for great reading weather and it’s getting to be near fall so hot apple cider is a completely acceptable choice of beverage.

Oh, this is going to be great.

He makes sure he’s got absolutely everything he needs and makes his way to the Imagination, opening it to find the foyer of the mansion before him. He walks through the hall until he finds the parlor, parking himself in the loveseat and wriggling into the cushions with a sigh. The clouds are already rolling in, so he puts his headphones on the windowsill and grabs his mug.

The apple cider is spiced to perfection. He smiles, blinking lazily at the darkening sky. That fake Tumblr post about mentally ill people liking storms because of negative ions or whatever plays in his head and he chuckles, lifting to take another drink. False as it may be, he does like storms.

You can imagine, then, when he suddenly gets summoned outside Patton’s room, that he’s less than thrilled about it.

Virgil groans, scrubbing his hand over his face. Hopefully whatever this is can be sorted out quickly and then he can get back to watching the storm. He knocks on the door.

“Uh, hello?”

“What is it, Patton, what do you want?”

“Um—nothing, kiddo, I don’t need anything.”

“You summoned me,” he says, starting to get impatient, “so what do you want?”

“I didn’t summon you! Neither did Roman—did you?”

Great. Princey’s here too. Virgil rolls his eyes.

“No, I most definitely didn’t.”

Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I felt myself getting summoned, so just tell me what you want.”

“Nothing!”

“We didn’t do it on purpose, Virgil!”

Virgil rolls his eyes and tries to leave, only to feel the tug in his gut keeping him there. “Well, obviously one of you is doing something ‘cause I can’t leave.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Patton insists, “we’re—oh, goodness, just come in, I don’t like yelling through the door.”

Virgil grunts, opening the door a little harder than necessary and only slightly regretting it when he sees Roman and Patton jump. “What do you want?”

“We told you,” Roman says, “nothing. We didn’t summon you on purpose. We don’t know what’s keeping you here. I’m sorry for having disturbed you from your very important things—“

Virgil glares. “For your information, Princey, I was excited to watch the thunderstorm. But now I’m here, dealing with you two, and if you don’t even know why you brought me here—“

He pauses.

There was another tug at him when he mentioned the storm.

He looks at the two of them. They’ve moved apart a bit now, but they’re still curled up awfully tight on Patton’s bed. There are blankets and pillows piled around them and he can see Roman’s headphones in his hand.

He glances at the window. The curtains are drawn and fastened tightly shut.

He looks back. Patton keeps glancing at the window. Roman is doing his best to scowl at him but there’s an embarrassed red flush to his cheeks.

Ah.

Oh, dear.

Well, he kinda regrets slamming the door open.

“Are—“ he swallows, trying to make his voice a bit quieter— “are you guys scared of the storm?”

“No,” Roman says immediately, but Patton shrinks in on himself.

“Come on, really?” Virgil spreads his arms. “Obviously that’s what summoned me, there’s not really a point in lying unless you want to accidentally summon J too.”

He shakes his head.

“Patton, sure, I may have guessed, but you, Princey, really?”

“Don’t. Don’t tease.”

Oh, oops. Roman’s voice is hard now, and he’s properly glaring at Virgil.

“If you’re going to do that, leave.”

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Virgil says, holding out his hands and softening his voice, “I won’t, I promise.”

Roman shuffles on the bed, looking away.

“Pop Star?”

“I have a phobia of thunderstorms,” comes the too-small voice, “okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Virgil says, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, “okay. I’m sorry I was mean. It’s okay.”

Roman pulls Patton a bit closer, the two huddling in on themselves, and goddamnit, what is Virgil supposed to do, not melt? He’s not heartless, jeez.

“Oh, alright,” he murmurs like this is some big chore, “come on, you two, up.”

“What? ‘Up’ where?” Roman pulls Patton closer. “Why ‘up?’”

“Because if I’m gonna look after you two, we’re gonna need a bed the three of us can actually fit in.” He fusses them out, making sure their arms are full of the things they need, before he guides them to the Imagination. “Now, up the stairs.”

Roman blinks in surprise when he sees the mansion, turning to ask Virgil why he conjured it only for Virgil to push them gently into the nearest big bedroom. Which, of course, has a massive four-poster bed and a tall window with a heavy curtain hanging over it.

“Go on,” Virgil murmurs, giving them another gentle push, “into the bed.”

“Wait, what?” Patton turns. “Where’re you going?”

“I left some stuff downstairs, I’m just gonna go get it.”

“Come back?”

“Be right there.”

Virgil nips downstairs and briefly laments that he won’t get to finish the thing he’d been reading before he shakes his head, gathers the essentials, and heads back up.

He’s not surprised to see Roman by the window, even as Patton is snuggled under the covers.

“Hey, Princey,” he says, placing his stuff down and ambling over, “I thought I said to get in bed, not stare broodingly out the window.”

Roman doesn’t rise to the bait. Virgil places a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s up, bud?”

“I’m just thinking about logistics.”

“Logistics?”

“The mansion’s power.” Roman gestures around. “It’s unlikely that the storm will be able to target both generators at once, but I need to be able to reroute to the backups—“

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” Virgil murmurs, turning Roman’s face, “you’re spiraling, bud.”

Roman hides his gaze. Virgil ruffles his hair.

“C’mon, Princey,” he says gently, “snap yourself into something comfy and go cuddle Patton. I think he’s getting lonely.”

Sure enough, Patton’s head is poking out of the covers, looking around for them. Roman looks at him with badly concealed longing and Virgil rolls his eyes fondly.

“Go cuddle, you touch-starved prima donna, I’ll be right there.”

“’M not touch starved.”

“So you do want Janus to show up?”

“Virgil,” Roman honest to god whines, “stop it.”

He chuckles, nudging Roman to the bed. “Come on, Princey.”

Roman goes, slipping underneath the covers until Virgil can’t tell which head is poking out over the edge. He pulls the curtains shut and closes the door, carefully opening the bathroom door to make sure those curtains are shut too. Then he heads back to the bed.

Patton and Roman’s little faces peek out at him as he reaches for the ties on the corners, undoing each one until curtains fall from the four posters, creating a little bubble inside. He parts the last one and crawls into bed, pulling the others close.

“Alright, little cuddle bugs,” he murmurs, “c’mere, okay?”

The two of them seem to shrink, curling into his embrace with enough lingering fear that it makes a soft noise slip from his throat.

“I’m right here,” he says, brushing his lips against Patton’s temple, “I’m right here. Roman’s here too. You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re safe.”

Patton whimpers as the first roll of thunder comes from beyond the curtains and Virgil pulls him closer.

“Listen to my breathing, sweetheart. You’re safe. The storm can’t get you in here. I’ll look after you.”

Patton curls into him even further, trembling slightly. But where Patton is unabashed in taking comfort, Roman is stiff as a board. Virgil runs a knuckle down his back.

“It’s okay, Princey,” he says gently, “the power isn’t going to go out. Remus will keep an eye on it. You’re okay, everything’s okay. The house is fine, I’m fine, Patton’s fine, you’re fine.”

A brief flash from behind the curtain and Roman flinches.

“Hey, hey, buddy, it’s alright, you’re okay. C’mere, okay? Put your head right here. See? There you go…”

He wraps his arms tightly around the two of them, daring to nuzzle his face into their hair. Patton relaxes slightly as he pulls the covers up a bit more, but Roman stays tense.

“Roman.” Nothing. “Roman, look at me.”

“It’s dark,” comes Roman’s voice, too clipped, too sharp, “I can’t see.”

“It’s dark because the curtains are drawn,” Virgil says patiently. “Lightning can hurt your eyes, so we’re trying to block out the light. That’s why it’s dark.”

“…promise?”

“Reach out,” Virgil encourages softly, “touch them.”

A bit of light shines through as Roman bats the curtain. “Good job, bud, see? That’s it.” He pulls Roman’s head close again. “Try and rest, Princey, I gotcha.”

They weather the storm like that, the two cuddle bugs wincing or flinching when the storm gets too strong, Virgil hushing them every time they do. And yeah, maybe this isn’t what he set out to get when he heard there was a thunderstorm coming, but he could get used to this.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@reddstardust@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders

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theicarusconstellation · 1 year ago

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YESYESYEYSYEYSYEYSYSYZYSYSYS YES ALL OF THIS YES.

loving a character is not trying to justify their actions or pretending their bad flaws don’t exist. first of all it makes them WAY less interesting. for example, james’ character development from arrogant and really only paying mind to his friends, mostly sirius, to someone who was willing put childhood rivalries to bed and make peace with snape and even let him be the godfather of his second child is part of who he is. trying to take that away and pretend that james was JUST a caring, loving person in his teenage years is the real character assassination. yes, those traits were there, but so were major egotistical flaws.

you can love morally grey or bad characters. just because you love them doesn’t mean you condone their behavior. i fucking love regulus arcturus black more than i love anything else in the entire world. but i don’t try to pretend like he’s perfect. i love all of him, including his flaws. does that mean i justify them? no. it just means i can navigate media enough to know that loving a character is to accept them as they are.

bellatrix was a fucking cunt. i know this. i don’t condone this. she is still one of my favorite characters. and that is okay.

the reason i don’t like certain characters is because, honestly, their personalities annoy me or because of their lack of character development. static characters have no interest to me unless there’s more left unsaid in their backstory (i.e.: how did bella get so unhinged). an example of this is that i don’t like snape, not because of the fact that he was a death eater, but because he just annoys me and showed almost no character development other than a poorly-executed redemption arc. however, i’ve read fics where writers gave him a bit more depth, and i’ve found that i enjoyed reading about him even if he as a person still annoyed me. moreover, i don’t attack people for liking snape because that would just be hypocritical. there’s nothing wrong with it unless they’re trying to justify his actions or pretend they didn’t happen, and that goes for liking every character.

with sirius black, it’s the reverse. i love canon sirius — the fucked up, flawed, utter asshole cunt sirius — and hate fanon sirius — also an asshole cunt but BORING. fanon sirius gets excused by the fandom for everything. a prime example of this is The PrankTM. the fandom makes up endless excuses for why he did it and then acts like he regretted it, as if he didn’t say in canon that he had no regrets 12+ years later. don’t get me wrong, it’s okay to add more depth to it and create a storyline where he was sorrowful. that’s why it’s called fanfiction. however, the problem is that people act as if that is universal canon. if i try to say that him being abused doesn’t justify his actions and that it’s more interesting to let him be flawed, i get a bunch of spam telling me i hate abused people. god forbid i say anything remotely related to regulus or i’ll get even more spam screaming at me that sirius had every right to leave (true, obviously, and i’ve never ever said anything that negates that), and that regulus made the wrong choice by staying. there are no right or wrong situations or decisions in child abuse, and whether you like it or not, sirius black getting fucked up and traumatized does not excuse him from anything. same with regulus, as i already mentioned, but the difference between me and the people i’m discussing is that i can acknowledge that and love regulus black’s character while accepting his flaws without trying to slap a half-assed justification on them.

LET CHARACTERS BE FLAWED. STOP TRYING TO ROMANTICIZE THEM. FLAWS ARE WHAT MAKE CHARACTERS INTERESTING. LET THEM HAVE SAID FLAWS WITHOUT TRYING TO MAKE EXCUSES FOR THEIR EXISTENCE. THEYRE FLAWED. THATS IT. AND THAT IS OKAY.

Reminder that if you love a character you should love them with all their flaws not justifying them.

James Potter? He was an arrogant asshole who strutted and very cruel when he wanted.

Sirius Black? He was even more of an arrogant asshole with effortless elegance and callousness.

Severus Snape? He was an asshole who used brutal dark magic in school on other students as a harmless joke.

Do not justify them or bash them because you love them or because you see them as heroes, villains or victims.

Accept those characters for what they are because no character is interesting without being morally gray or not being flawed.

#character analysis #character flaws #marauders #severus snape #james potter #regulus black #sirius black #fandom

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laughingphoenixleader · 3 years ago

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Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word count: no idea

A/N: This is my first fanfiction that I’m posting out in the world! This takes place an hour or two after the end of Star Wars Rebels Season 2 Episode 7: Wings of the Master. I found a fanart when surfing the internet for Kanera content (as one does) a few months ago and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since! I don’t know whose work the art is but I’ll paste it on here! If anyone knows who it’s by, please let me know :) the art isn’t mine, but all of the writing is! Obviously, Kanan isn’t blind yet in this fic like he is in the fanart. I hope anyone who reads this likes it!! I’m hoping to post more fanfiction in the future—I have three others in the works already! I’m open to any and all feedback!

Hera rubs her temple as she steps out of the promotion briefing. Her head buzzes with new intel, and plans zip through her mind like starships. She is honored and ecstatic about her promotion to Phoenix Leader. At the same time, though, she can already feel the new responsibility settling onto her shoulders, all of the lives that will soon be placed under her supervision weighing on her. Hera can and will take on all of the privileges and authority her new position grants her, and she fully intends to own it, too. Still, her heart is heavy.

Truthfully, she’s still struggling with the losses they suffered on the first attempt to deliver supplies to Ibaar. Hera had been so determined to complete that mission, to find the right ship to make it possible, that the grief and sensation of failure hadn’t caught up with her. She had made sure of that. There wasn’t time to be crippled by guilt and loss when there was a mission to complete. Now that the mission was over, however, she can feel the effects of the losses setting in.

Thoughts swirl through her mind as she continues to head down the hallway towards the bay where the Ghost is docked.

If I had just let us turn back—if I hadn’t told everyone to keep going—maybe Phoenix Leader and the people on the transport would have survived.

She’d made the wrong call. Hera can still hear the panic-filled voice crying out, “Captain Syndulla!” as the transport—and the people inside—were blasted into a thousand pieces. She’d let her determination blind her, and lives had been lost because of it.

Guilt pours into her, paralyzing her. She stops walking in the middle of the empty hallway and steps into a nearby alcove to process it all. If I make a mistake like that again, the consequences will be worse now that I have more responsibility. What if I let everyone down?

Her churning vortex of thoughts and feelings is interrupted by a pair of strong, green-clad arms embracing her from behind, and a deep, warm voice comes from above her. “How’s it going, Captain?”

Pleasure surges through her lekku. His timing is perfect.

The pleasant surprise washes all of the guilt, fear, and sadness away, at least for now. Hera lets out a little “hey” of protest as Kanan Jarrus pulls her nearly off her feet, but an irrepressible smile spreads over her face. She closes her eyes and turns her face towards his, relishing the warmth emanating from him and the way his presence soothes her. Hera places her hands on the arms that envelop her, returning the embrace through a gentle squeeze.

“Better now, love,” she tells him. He releases her slightly so that her feet are fully on the ground and places his chin on her shoulder, still holding her close.

“And you usually hate PDAs.”

“If I’m not mistaken, there’s no one in this hallway.”

“What would you have done if there were?”

Hera is silent for a moment, eyes still closed. “Nothing differently.”

She can feel him grin. “Great,” he replies. “Because there’s someone walking by now.”

Hera’s eyes fly open and search the hallway—which is still empty. She elbows him. “Kanan!”

A deep laugh vibrates out of his chest. She rolls her eyes, but allows herself to settle back into his embrace.

“Really, though,” Kanan says gently, all traces of mirth disappearing. The care in his voice sends another ripple of affection through her lekku. “How are you? I could tell you needed this.”

“And you were right,” Hera admits as he guides them down onto the alcove’s bench, arms still entwined around her. Normally, she’d break away now to explain what she was feeling, the thought of fellow rebels walking by and being made uncomfortable by their display of affection present in her mind. This time, however, she isn’t ready to move away from him. Besides, this isn’t a heavily trafficked hallway anyway. She does move to the side rather than sitting on his lap, though, her shoulder overlapping his. “It’s those people we lost the first time we went to Ibaar to deliver the supplies,” she begins, her voice heavy with returning guilt. “They died because of me.”

Kanan lifts his head from her shoulder, his aquamarine eyes staring seriously into hers. “Hera, no.”

“They told me they were taking heavy fire,” she continues, her voice growing more and more agitated. “They lost their forward deflectors, and I still told them to keep going. I should’ve told them to turn back.” A sound of frustration escapes her throat. “Why am I so stubborn? Why are they putting more people under my leadership after my decision led to several deaths?”

“Hera,” Kanan’s voice cuts through her hysteria, rich and deep and sure. “Everyone here knows that any mission could be their last.”

“I know that,” she responds, voice still thrumming with anguish. “But that doesn’t mean lives should be thrown away just because of one person’s inability to retreat!” She breaks her gaze from his, shaking her head and staring down at the floor. “I don’t deserve that promotion.”

Kanan gently lifts her head so that her eyes meet his again. “No one trusting someone with authority expects them to be perfect,” Kanan reminds her. “Everyone here has made a wrong call, has failed to complete a mission—which you didn’t, by the way—but that doesn’t mean they’re a failure. You weren’t treating anyone like they were expendable—your optimism led you not to give up. You were determined to get those supplies to those in need and refused to give up hope.” Tones similar to those he uses when teaching Ezra a lesson color his voice, though with considerably less frustration. “The only way to rise above your mistakes is to accept the lessons they teach and apply them in the future. Letting your mistakes destroy your faith in yourself isn’t going to help anyone.”

Hera listens intently, his sincerity like a bacta patch on a wound.

“Sato could hear all of the comms between you and Phoenix Squadron, and he didn’t demote you or chastise you. Clearly, he doesn’t blame you for the lives that were lost.” Kanan squeezes her tighter reassuringly. “No one does.”

His voice becomes harder, more insistent. “And of course you deserve the promotion.” He sounds offended at the thought of anyone suggesting otherwise. “You didn’t volunteer to leave the mission—you were committed to seeing it through. But when I volunteered you for the mission to Shantipole, you dove in—literally—and headed straight into a world that no ship is supposed to be able to escape from—but you did. You’d only flown that B-wing once before joining the battle, but you flew it like it was built for you. You’re the reason those supplies did get to those people. When I recommended your promotion, Sato didn’t waste a second before agreeing with me.”

Kanan’s words replace her guilt and grief with a swelling of gratitude and comfort. Hera won’t forget those who had died today. She’ll be more careful to see when a situation requires a retreat, but she won’t let her confidence in herself die. “Thank you, Kanan,” she tells him, her heart full. He places his forehead against hers, and they share a rare moment of contentment and peace, enjoying each other’s presence.

Hera reluctantly breaks the silence after a minute or so, lifting her forehead from his.“We should probably get back home,” she tells the Jedi. “I liked that B-wing, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting the kids wreck the Ghost.” Kanan’s flash of disappointment is so endearing. She lifts his chin reassuringly.

“It’ll be all right, fearless leader.”

Kanan unravels his arms from around her, replying indignantly, “Hey, no, you’re officially the leader now.” They’d had the argument many times, each insisting that the other is the leader of their crew. Hera always tells him that “captain of the ship” and “leader” are two different things.

Now she rolls her eyes, smiling, but doesn’t correct him this time.

“I guess it’s about time we get back, anyway,” Kanan continues before she changes her mind and decides to refute him. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten something?”

Hera’s brows knit as she attempts to remember. “Yeah, too long,” Kanan’s suspicions seem to have been confirmed. “Come on.” He takes her hand and pulls her up, out of the alcove, and into the hallway. They share a comfortable silence all the way back to the Ghost, which Hera now realizes Kanan must have left to come find her. Even more affection for him to rises in her at the realization.

When the cockpit opens, the two release each others’ hands and are greeted by a rush of cheers and pumping fists. Even Chopper waves his grasping arms and spins around in celebration.

“Go Hera!” Ezra yells.

“About time you got promoted,” Zeb grins.

“Congratulations, Hera,” Sabine tells her earnestly.

“Mom got promoted! Mom got promoted!” Chopper chants triumphantly.

Hera chuckles, heart overflowing with fondness for her crew. “All right, all right,” she tells them. “You’re going to make the rest of the ship think that something’s wrong.”

“Who cares?” Ezra says as he pulls everyone into a group hug. “Hera cares,” Kanan replies, but he puts one arm around her and another around Sabine. The hug is a little awkward, with Zeb being so much taller than Ezra and Sabine and Chopper standing in the middle of the circle, but in that moment, the crew feels truly united.

“Okay, I can’t stand Zeb’s smell anymore,” Ezra quips, stepping out of the circle. Chopper rolls over and smacks him with a grasping arm.

“Ow! You always do that!” The blue-haired boy zips into the cargo hold, trying to get away from Chopper, who continues whacking him as he pursues.

The rest of the family shares exasperated smiles.

Kanan nudges Hera forward, dropping his arms from hers and Sabine’s shoulders.

“Lead the way, Captain Hera,” he tells her, that crooked smile of his setting the inside of Hera aglow. “We’re all behind you.”

#kanan jarrus #star wars rebels #ezra bridger #sabine wren #swr #kanera #hera syndulla #kanan x hera #garazeb orrelios #chopper #c1 10p #wings of the master #Hera is the best pilot in the galaxy change my mind #space parents #space mom #space dad #space married #best couple ever #otp

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inknopewetrust · 4 years ago

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smallest joys (Henry!Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader)

Summary: the tree in the Holmes’ backyard as a place of great peace and laughter of all, and a moment arises for it to be a place of forgiveness and love as well.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: none.

A/N: thanks so much for reading and always remember that authors love to hear any feedback on stories, so don’t be shy to share your opinions. Requests are still closed, but I’m working on getting them up and running hopefully soon! xoxo (gif not mine)

Enola was perched high above the ground in the great gray tree that sat far from the house she had grown to resent without her mother there. It was difficult, the constant want of adventure and thrill that was often smothered because of Mycroft’s inability to have a semblance of joy in his life.

Throwing the shading pencil in her sketchbook and closing it with a huff, Enola heard a set of angered footsteps make their way towards the tree in which she inhabited and she balled her fists against a branch. Half expecting it to be Mycroft yelling at her for leaving the study and half expecting it to be Sherlock doing their eldest brother’s bidding in a kinder manner, one they always hoped she’d fall for.

But it wasn’t. Y/n L/n, Sherlock’s feisty assistant from London was irate with her cheeks as red as apples storming toward the tree. Without noticing Enola above, Y/n leaned against its trunk and her head fell into her hands in embarrassment.

“Did you do something stupid?” Enola inquired and you jumped ever so slightly, looking up with great haste at Enola above. The young girl was smiling down on you kindly but also with such an inquisitive mind, you weren’t sure if she truly cared or just wanted manor gossip to share with the housemaid.

“And why would you ask such a thing, young lady?” You shoved your hands on your hips and narrowed fine eyes at Enola, trying to forget why you stormed out in the first place, though that was practically impossible because you knew he would follow after an argument.

“I asked you first, Y/n. And I’m not a young lady, you sound like Mycroft.” Enola swung her feet off a branch and rested her head in her intertwined hands that laid on top of another arm of the great tree.

“What happened? Did Sherlock finally recognize your talents for discovery or did you say something stupid that angered him?” Enola asked again, more in depth than before and her eyes narrowed now at the woman she had grown to admire very much.

Y/n was always someone who Enola could depend upon. Whether it be for new books from London or a simple lesson on dust particles, she knew Y/n had many of the answers. But as of late, with her mother gone and the tension in the home only growing, Sherlock appeared to be easily angered or upset by small comments, jokes or jabs at him that were not unusual from his assistant and Enola took notice. She saw the way Y/n’s eyes fell or how she would storm out of the room, angered at either herself or his reaction to her little joys and she couldn’t quite figure out why it was always her he was getting angry at. It had never happened before they had come to stay at his childhood home to help with Enola.

“Enola, I do not want to burden you with the petty arguments of adults. It is no concern of yours.”

“If it is my brother’s fault I consider it my concern.”

You pursed her lips at the girl before indulging in your frustrations.

“Every little comment I make he gets angry at. I am not use to being yelled at by him and I certainly do not understand why he is so uptight ever since we arrived. I try to help with his inquiries about your mother but even then, my input seems to go in one ear and sails out the other! Enola, I mean nothing by this, truly, I am simply frustrated by always being second fiddle to a man who appears to need no help at all.” You managed to mutter out in a moments time and Enola understood. Mycroft was the one treating Enola the same way at the moment and she wanted nothing more than to place a metal helmet on his head and bang a stick against it to set his mind straight. The men just do not appear to respect the intelligence of the women in the house.

“I am not meant for a life of domesticity, Enola. I am sure you can tell by the way I stir a pot or fold the laundry, I like adventure and I enjoy mystery very much. I simply want Sherlock to see that too. I don’t want to lose my dearest friend over one little spat.”

Enola smiled down at you and jumped down, meeting the grass with a thud and wiped off the shards that managed to catch themselves on her stockings.

“And that is why I admire you, very much, if I may add. And are you sure you don’t love him? If friends act the way you two do, I would have to choose my friends wisely.” You chuckled, reassured her you were simply just friends and embraced Enola in a some-what motherly manner, though Enola saw it as what she’d imagined would be a best friend, or sister.

“I would tell him how you feel. Make him understand you better and believe me when I say he will listen.” Enola retracted from the embrace and shot off towards the house, leaving you in state of bewilderment and confusion but when you turned around yourself intending to watch Enola run toward the house, you were met with the man you had no more than ten minutes ago stormed away from.

Sherlock stood with one hand in a pocket and the other clutching a book to his chest and a small pout on his face. The pout wasn’t one of sadness or disappointment, but of wonder and curiosity, already trying to decipher the situation before him.

“She was quick to run away.” Sherlock observed and moved toward the tree, leaning his back against it and looking over to you, just slightly to the side of him but facing him, not the land surrounding the tree.

“Well if she knew your temper as well as I do, I would run away too but obviously that has proven to not be an option.”

“I came here to apologize.” Your eyes, ears, and heart managed to perk up at the sound of Sherlock saying the word “apologize” because it wasn’t one he had ever said before, certainly not to you or anyone else he interacted with.

“An apology? From the great Sherlock Holmes? What ever shall I do with this honor?” You faked a gasp and held a hand to your forehead in a manner that only suggested a maiden swooning. Sherlock enrolled his eyes at the joke, seeming to understand that it was simply that, and as your hand made its way down from your forehead, he captured it softly in his empty one and held it gently, yet firm and your eyes flicked up to meet his.

“I would like to be serious about this, Y/n. My actions towards you the last few days have been unlike me and I am sorry for making you feel as if your opinion doesn’t matter, because it most certainly does.”

So he had heard you short conversation with Enola.

“Your opinion I value more than anyone in this world and I am frustrated I have gotten nowhere with my mother’s case in several days. I want her to return safely and with every passing day that outcome becomes less likely.”

“If you spoke to me about your concerns earlier we may have found a middle ground Sherlock. I accept your apology but I will not forgo my jokes in any situation so enjoy the humor while I still walk this earth.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but let the smallest smirk grace his face at the comment. He knew you always took your work seriously, but humor helped with the difficulties some cases can bring and he often failed to recognize the importance of laughter and enjoyment even in the darkest times. He still held your hand in his, in which he then brought it up to his lips and kissed the inside of your palm. It was personal, intimate, and apologetic.

“I am sorry you have to put up with me. I shouldn’t be so harsh when you’re trying to brighten the darkest days.”

“If I want to leave I can, but I seek thrill too much to let you or these cases disappear from my life.”

Sherlock actually smiled and sat down against the trunk, leading you to sit beside him and wrapped his free hand around your shoulders pulling you close. Ever since you arrived at his home, intimate interactions were seldom as Mycroft would have a million harsh words about how you were not a “proper lady to Sherlock”, but it wasn’t like Sherlock would have cared anyway.

“Shall we return to this story?” Sherlock said in a low, “fancy” voice in your ear and you couldn’t help but let out a snort at his attempt to be regal.

“I sincerely hope Elizabeth slaps Mr. Darcy across the face after what he said about her family. If that does not happen, the story dies there.”

“Would you slap every man who offends you? Because if so I’ll brace for one now.” Sherlock was actually joking for once but you slapped his chest lightly with your hand and let it fall, playing with a button on his waist coat. He looked down at you, a curl from the top of his head falling onto his forehead with a spring and you smiled at the handsome man you curled up against.

“Perhaps.”

Sherlock laid a lingering kiss on your forehead and opened the book, removing the leaf that served at the bookmark and began reading in total comfort with you beside him. It was perfect until a rumble came from the bush and Enola shot up with sticks in her hair.

“So you ARE together!?”

#Sherlock Holmes #enola homes #enola holmes netflix #henry cavill #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Sherlock Holmes one shot #Sherlock Holmes fic #henry!sherlock #henry!holmes #x reader #female reader #post #personal post #original post #original writing

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transmalewife · 4 years ago

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Alright, let's talk about attachment

I can’t find clear information on when exactly the non-attachment rule was added to the code. It was either soon before or soon after the great sith war. Either way, for the VAST majority of the existence of the Jedi, it wasn’t a thing. Jedi got married and had families for over 20000 years, then added the non-attachment rule, which ultimately led to their destruction. And before anyone tries to tell me I believe they deserved to be genocided, I don’t. I have never actually seen anyone say that, but I see people argue against it constantly, and imply anyone who doesn’t think the Jedi were perfect and blameless thinks that. I don’t think they deserved to die, I think they needed to change. And Yoda says that himself, many times. The Jedi weren’t prepared for the return of the sith, or the war. They had separated from the military 1000 years before, and the galaxy was in relative peace all this time, so the order’s role changed to one that worked very well with their rules. Detachment meant they could be impartial when overseeing political disagreements, lack of possessions meant they would be focused on the mission at hand and not prone to taking bribes, and distancing themselves from the general population meant they were more or less uniform, and could be trusted not to side with someone for personal reasons.

All of this falls apart once they become an army again. Impartiality is a flaw when they have to defend one side at all cost and not even allow themselves to consider compromise. Lack of possessions and attachment to people means they are prone to taking unnecessary risks, because they have nothing to lose, and do things like send 14 year olds into battle, thinking of the “greater good” over the safety of children. And the order being a monolith, with set rules and philosophy distinct from the rest of the population meant the Jedi trusted Dooku long after they should have stopped, because he used to be a Jedi after all, surely he still follows the code.

Now, I am not saying non-attachment is always bad, I think it served a very specific purpose in the order, and to some extent worked for many years. However.

Humans are a social species. Human babies NEED physical contact and affection to develop physically. Children need a stable, strong, and supportive relationship to their caregiver to properly develop psychologically. And after last year I don’t think anyone will argue that adults don't need connection with other people just as much. And not just shallow interactions, but open affection and love. Love of any kind, because claiming that the Jedi only forbid romantic love is just untrue. I think people tend to forget that "Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life. So you might say, that we are encouraged to love." isn’t the actual doctrine, it’s a literal pick up line that Anakin uses on Padme.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan both get criticized by other Jedi for their entirely platonic attachment to Anakin, and vice versa. Now, humans are the most common species in the galaxy, and in the Jedi order. Many other species are near-human, so it’s safe to assume at least some, if not most of them also need that companionship and affection to develop and live happy and stable lives. I do believe that non-attachment is a valid philosophy and chosen path in life if done carefully and within reason, I just don’t think we have a single major character that actually applies to. And chosen is an important word here. Jedi don’t get much of a choice. I’m not trying to start the baby-stealing debate here. I hear the argument of ‘force sensitives are dangerous if left untrained, and said training should start as early as possible’. I think finding a way to deal with that problem was an insanely complicated decision, and taking children into the temple as young as possible is not a bad solution. I don’t entirely agree with not letting them see their families later, (especially since in legends Obi-Wan was allowed to visit his family, which implies Anakin couldn’t go free his mother specifically because he was already too attached), but the idea is sound. I do also understand that no one is forcing Jedi to stay in the order and they can leave for whatever reason at any time. But that isn’t exactly a free choice either. Leaving the order means leaving the only home you remember, the only people you know to make your own way in the galaxy, and staying with those people means you can never fully love them. It’s a difficult solution to a complicated question, and for the most part, it worked (not always, and not exactly as intended, but I’ll come back to that.) Children grew up in the order, were trained to control themselves and the force, and became Jedi who were impartial, patient, and balanced. But everything falls apart when you introduce someone who wasn’t raised in the temple.

In The Rising Force, 13 year old Obi-Wan had barely been off Coruscant in his life. He describes himself as sheltered and unaware of all the pain in the galaxy, and says it was done on purpose, so younglings wouldn’t have to face the dark side before they were ready for it. But Anakin had seen nothing but darkness, pain and injustice before he joined the order. He was severely traumatized, and while the temple might have had some ways of dealing with trauma and PTSD in adults, they had no experience in treating the same in a child, because their children were kept safe and protected. The idea of letting go of your pain and fear only works if you know you have a safe place to come back to, if you’ve spent the first decade or so of your life in the most protected place in the galaxy. Anakin spent the first decade of his life as a slave. He couldn’t let go of his fear, because fear was what kept him alive. Fear is not irrational if you are constantly in danger, it’s what protects you, keeps you aware of the limits you can push before you get punished. And that mindset doesn’t fade just because you’re out of that situation, especially if your only family, the closest person to you, is still facing that danger every day.

I’ve seen people use every excuse possible to explain why Anakin didn’t see his mother again to avoid blaming the council, including, and I shit you not, “He just didn’t have her comm number”. But to me that seems disingenuous, when we see in his first meeting with the council that they already consider him too attached. It's one of the main reasons they don’t want him to be trained, so it seems logical that they wouldn’t allow him to see her once he became a padawan. I also want to mention that what Yoda says, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” Is just… blatant catastrophizing. Right? Like we can all see that the escalation is not rational there at all. Maybe it could apply to something else, but not to a child who just left his mother for the first time in his life and went from a tiny dustball in the middle of nowhere to the most populated planet in the galaxy, and is now being tested by a bunch of old people with the power to decide his future. Obviously he’s afraid, and obviously he’s not dealing with it the way Jedi younglings do. That, in and of itself doesn't doom him to fall. Also what Yoda misses there is that suffering leads to fear. This is a closed loop, and one that has defined Anakin’s entire childhood.

Let’s come back to how the system doesn’t always work. The way I see it, most of the characters we see are attached. Obi-Wan is considered one of the greatest Jedi of his time. Windu describes him as “our most cunning and insightful Master—and our most tenacious”. And yet, he was not insightful enough to look past his love for Anakin, his attachment, and see how close to falling he was. Ahsoka was so attached to Anakin she refused to listen to Maul on Mandalore, refused to even consider the posibility he could fall. She was arguably the person with the best shot at preventing the empire forming at that point, and she loved anakin so much she doomed him and the entire galaxy. Aayla admitted to thinking of Quinlan as her father, and also, apparently in legends had a long relationship with Kit. Even Mace didn’t follow the code when he decided to kill Palpatine, which directly led to his death and the empire. He also indirectly caused the war to start. According to wookiepedia “Windu viewed Dooku as the shatterpoint of the entire Separatist movement, which meant striking Dooku down would theoretically end the imminent clone war before it even began. However, Windu's prior attachments to Dooku clouded his judgment.” I’m not even going to mention Kanan and Ezra, who are obviously family.

So basically everyone is attached and lying about it. How has no one thought that maybe this isn’t the healthiest way to live and tried to change the code? Well, I have a theory, and it’s Yoda. He was 900 years old when he died, and was on the council for the vast majority of his life. I can’t find when exactly he became grand master, but it’s safe to assume he held some degree of power over the entire order for most of a millennium. At the end of TPM he tells Obi-Wan “Confer on you the level of Jedi knight, the council does. But agree with your taking this boy as your padawan learner, I do not.” Then he reverses that decision by himself. So either he has the power to veto the council’s word, or who gets trained is entirely up to him. Either way, not great, considering his lifespan is so much longer than most Jedi, and therefore his approach to life is vastly different. Humans need love and closeness to live. However, while we don’t know much about Yoda’s species, it probably isn’t a social one. You could count all the characters of this species on two (human) hands, and Yoda lived in complete isolation for 20 years on Dagobah, and only went a little bit insane. They are naturally rare, and therefore probably lead solitary lives in nature. Moreover, Yoda outlived every master who trained him, and almost every padawan he trained himself, (there’s a great post about that here) so even if he wasn’t naturally predisposed to non-attachment, he would have had to learn it to deal with all the loss he had to live through over the years.

A lot of people think that Anakin fell because he had attachments, which is not true. He fell because of how his attachments played out and/or ended. The most obvious example being Palpatine, who used Anakin’s trust and friendship to groom him for over a decade and actively undermine Anakin’s trust towards anyone else, especially the order. (more on that here). Obi-Wan refused to take on the role of a father figure that Anakin tried to shove him into, so he turned to someone who did accept it. It’s not Anakin’s fault that it turned out to be the worst person alive, nor can we expect him to notice when he’s known Palpatine since he was a child. Another failure of jedi non-attachment, because a loving parent or guardian would not let their child be used as a bargaining chip when the most powerful politician in the galaxy blackmailed the order into allowing him to meet Anakin regularly, but a distant teacher and detached knight thinking of the greater good might. The other attachments Anakin had were taken from him (Shmi and Ahsoka, the last orchestrated by Palpatine who was fully ready to give her the death penalty to make Anakin more unstable), or he was forced to lie and hide them, compromising his vows as a Jedi (Padme) or refused to choose Anakin over the order/their principles (Obi-Wan, and again Ahsoka, and to some extent Padme, but he’d already fallen then). All these people had every right to make the choices they made, but it wasn’t the act of loving them that made Anakin turn to the dark side, it was how those attachments played out.

I think everyone agrees that Yoda is as detached as a Jedi should, if not can, be, and that didn’t prevent Dooku from falling. We see that explored in more detail with Barriss and Luminara. Luminara is detached and distant, she’s fond of Barriss, but their relationship is not familial in the slightest, and she repeatedly shows her willingness to put the greater good and the mission before Barriss’ safety and even life. And yet Barriss still falls. A complex combination of events and choices caused each of those characters to fall, not the simple presence or absence of attachment.

And lastly, just as attachment can make you unstable if your relationship with that person is unstable, it can also make you stronger. There is a reason Anakin and Obi-Wan were the face of the army. Not only did their obvious attachment (the strongest between two jedi we are shown) make them more relatable to the public, but they, when working as a team, are shown repeatedly to be more or less undefeatable. They spend half of aotc flinging themselves off great heights because they know the other will be there to catch them. They know from years of experience that they have backup and they know each other well enough (or force bond communicate) that they can trust the other will be where he needs to be to help/save them. Contrast that to how Windu and Palpatine fight in rots once the window breaks- very carefully, clearly holding back to keep themselves safe. Neither of them has backup until Anakin arrives, but until the last second they can't be sure which one he will choose. Anakin and Obi-Wan fight the same way on Mustafar, especially when balancing on that thin bridge. No acrobatics, swinging arms to keep balance, keeping their distance, being almost uncharacteristically careful compared to how they treated heights in aotc, in tcw, and on the invisible hand in rots, because they both know the other won't catch them if they fall this time.

#star wars meta #attachment #star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #yoda #jedi order #mine

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside (Wes/Fem!Reader)

Summary: Reader and Wes bond over mistletoe and spend a wintry night together. A/N: This is technically a holiday fic, but only Mistletoe and Baby, It’s Cold Outside are referenced, so everyone can enjoy! Couple: Wes/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Marking, biting, bruising, fingering, oral (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex Word Count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST

Traditions are interesting things. From barely held-together ornaments hanging on carefully curated fir trees to curling up with a cup of hot chocolate to watch the same old movies despite knowing all the words by heart, the holidays were the perfect time to exercise the bounds of age-old traditions. Some were more interesting than others. This season I was particularly fixated on the Saturnalian tradition pertaining to suspended shrubbery.

Mistletoe, the twig and berries meant to represent love, peace, and… well, some other, more lewd things. It’s questionable backstory aside, I decided to focus on the first of the things: love.

Because traditions aren’t unique to the holidays, and you needn’t look further than our company break room to see what I mean. Every single morning, without fail, one resident veterinarian would stumble in with only half-brushed bedhead and make a beeline for the coffee machine.

This time, though, he would find an extra obstacle in his way before he could make it to his beloved beverage. Hung just above the pot, dangling rather obviously from the cabinet, was a small bundle of berries. And next to those berries was me, idling around the kitchenette and waiting for opportunity to strike.

Of course, when Wes walked in, his response was about what I expected. While he did almost make it all the way to the pot, he’d stopped just before he could be considered under the mistletoe, turning to look at me with a mischievous little glint that was just begging for me to join him.

So, I did, gliding over and pouring myself another cup like there wasn’t an ulterior motive to my existing in that space with him.

I’d expected the story to end there, with him teasing my blatant attempts at flirting as nothing but harmless fun. But to my genuine surprise, Wes put his hand over mine on the handle of the pot before he took one very purposeful step forward, placing the two of us squarely under the branch together.

It wasn’t the action that made my heart skip a beat, although it certainly didn’t help its already panicked pace, it was the way he looked at me as he stood there. Our chests were pressed against each other and our hands still together as he challenged me with nothing but a smirk and narrowed eyes.

I couldn’t let him get away with it, though. Not after all the work I’d put in so far. Standing just a little bit taller, I leaned ever so slightly forward while I managed to whisper with just a little bit of pride, “Caught you.”

Again, Wes caught me off guard with absolutely no fight to his words. Instead, a soft and still sleepy, “Why, yes you did.”

But then his devilish playfulness kicked in seconds later, and he started to close the gap between us much faster than before.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked through a wicked grin, “Kiss me?”

For a moment, I considered it. I thought about all the different ways this situation could end. I imagined how it would feel to finally feel his lips against mine, and I pictured how sweet it would be to see his eyes half-lidded and filled with a similar desire in my own.

But then I chickened out. It wasn’t entirely my fault, either. It was his fault, really. Since the first day on the job, I was repeatedly and sternly warned that Wes did not tolerate workplace romance. I couldn’t blame him; it was a recipe for disaster. It didn’t make me want him any less, though. And on some days, I would swear he felt that same magnetism. But that day wasn’t one of them. I was too nervous from the intensity and proximity.

“Yeah, right,” I said with a chuckle and a step in the opposite direction, “You’d never let that happen.”

That hand that had covered mine so boldly slid to my wrist, gripping just enough to halt my retreat. The unexpected momentum brought me back to him, our chests flush together in the creeping dawn of a day I’d only dreamed about.

“No?” he dared, “Try me.”

The whole world came to a screeching stop, and I blinked once, twice, three times before I managed to sputter out an incredulous, pathetic, “What?”

“You don’t want bad luck, do you?” he teased, his hand continuing up my arm and cupping my chin in a way that couldn’t be interpreted any other way. All I could think about was how they were so soft it was sinful, and the scorching heat from my flushed skin still felt cold in comparison to him.

“So, kiss me,” he dared, and I really believed that he meant it. Brown eyes burned through all of my defenses and doubts, leaving me nothing but an open book trapped by fingers that I bet were well versed in much more than flipping theoretical pages.

“C-Close your eyes,” I stuttered. He didn’t buy that there was any confidence behind the order for a second, but he followed the direction, nonetheless.

I missed those expressive eyes the second they were closed. I couldn’t dwell on the loss, though, because my thoughts were absolutely racing. There were a million warnings blaring through my ears and forcing my heart forward in my chest.

Kiss me, he’d said. He never said where.

And I was a coward, but a coward that hated to be bested. So, with every ounce of courage I could muster, I closed the gap between us, connecting with the scratchy surface of his cheek. The stubble tickled my lips in a way I knew I’d feel forever.

His fingers under my chin slipped from the surprise, and I heard the smallest little inhale when he’d realized what I’d done. If I’d stayed around longer, I’m pretty sure I would’ve seen him blush, too. But — as we’ve established — I am not a brave person in the slightest.

As soon as I pulled away, my feet carried me out of the room. The stunned silence that I fled from told me that there was a similar confusion about what had just happened over the abandoned coffee.

When I went back in a couple hours later to collect my cup and my shame, I noticed a berry missing from the branch.

My first kiss with Wes was, in a word, unforgettable. Literally. From the second it had happened, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That damn peck on the cheek consumed my thoughts so much that it was hard even being in the same building as him, which made work basically unbearable. I suspected that my reaction was exactly the kind of thing that made him create the rule in the first place.

But still, I didn’t regret it... and I don’t think he did, either. If anything, he seemed even more content as we went about our normal routines together. He said nothing about it, except for one brief tease when he almost tricked me into getting stuck under the berries with a snake and the time he succeeded with a puppy. Although, he did make a rather cheeky comment about how it wasn’t fair the dog got a proper kiss. When I asked him to explain what about his kiss was improper, he just shook his head like I should already know.

Our dynamic was still just normal enough that I could have pretended the mistletoe mishap never happened, if not for one thing: the annual company holiday retreat. A weekend in which I would be trapped in a beautiful ski lodge resort with one of the most wonderful men I’d ever met, knowing full well what it felt like to kiss him.

Well, sort of. But that only made it worse, really. Knowing that I only barely knew; knowing it would probably be better when he could return the gesture with his own fervor.

I couldn’t think about it. Not while everyone we worked with sat beside us in arguably one of the most romantic atmospheres known to man. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The softwood crackled and spit from its place within the brick, causing the smell of Christmas to drift through the room filled with laughter and copious amounts of alcohol.

I blamed the cursed liquid for the way my thoughts found their way back to the man sharing a loveseat with me. Surely, I thought, he knew what he was doing when he put himself next to the only girl in the room that he’d ever let kiss him. He must have known that his arm that rested over the back of the seat and hovered over my shoulder would drive my heart wild. My suspicions were confirmed when the limb would dip as he readjusted, inching almost imperceptibly closer to me while his fingers brushed over my shoulder.

When I finally moved to grab a blanket, I returned to find him close enough that he stole the other end of the fabric without even needing to ask. I swore I could feel his body heat but convinced myself it was just the glow of the wine I’d been downing in the hope it would grant me some courage to just talk to him.

Wes didn’t look at me, but he didn’t need to. I could tell by the way he smiled each time I looked up at him with wonder, wishing he’d do something more, that he knew the effect he had on me. I hated it. Because if I truly believed that he knew what he was doing, I had to ask myself another question...

Why the fuck wasn’t he doing anything about it?

The question plagued my thoughts for the entire four hours we spent together, only made worse by the way people left one by one until there were only three of us. That last person was the quickest to make their departure, and I tried not to feel guilty about how excited I was when they did leave the two of us alone.

But once it actually happened, I was struck by that same pesky, paralyzing fear. The two of us sat together, looking at each other and only barely escaping the other’s touch, and we were silent. The only sounds in the room were a crackling fire, the howling winds outside, and my frantic heartbeat trying to escape my chest.

“I guess I should get going, too,” I muttered, unable to think of anything else to say.

Wes’s eyes fell to my lips as the words made their way out, but that was only half as exhilarating as the way his hand that had been dangling over my shoulder dropped to fix my sleeve. That contact, no matter how slight, was enough to cause my eyes to flutter shut and a smile to grace my lips before he even so much as answered my threat to leave.

“You could stay a bit longer if you want,” he whispered in a voice much too inviting, “Have another glass of wine with me.”

“I could,” I hummed contently just before I took the last sip of my bittersweet drink. “But are you just suggesting, or are you asking me to?”

He chuckled, a gentle yet low sound that made goosebumps ripple down my arm in a path he soon after followed. Almost like he could see them underneath my clothing.

“I’m asking you to stay.”

I didn’t expect the words to make me as flushed as they did. The blood in my veins seemed almost uncontrollable, much like the fire still burning away in the background. But the sparks between our bodies were much more interesting.

The longer we stayed, the closer we became. After another hour of the two of us enjoying the atmosphere and company of no one but each other, we were tangled together so tightly under the blanket that I wondered how we’d manage to separate again. Despite already having been essentially sitting on his lap, Wes watched me cautiously as I set my wine glass down. That hand was the only part of me left that wasn’t wrapped around him, and I very much wanted to change that. Judging by the way he pulled me closer, I think he agreed that the move was necessary.

Still, he couldn’t let the desperation slide. Dragging a hand over the sliver of exposed skin of my thigh between the slit in my dress, Wes playfully mumbled, “By all means, make yourself comfortable.”

“I will, thanks,” I returned quickly.

Continuing with the theme of rather rude callouts, Wes tightened his grip on my thigh as he drawled, “You seem very… touch starved.”

I didn’t reply because my throat closed the second his hand had started its ascent. He didn’t need any other response than the way my breath hitched and my nails dug into his shoulders.

“I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“Mmm. Is that your medical opinion?” I asked between nervous but happy giggles.

“It’s wishful thinking,” he answered before tacking on the most genuine plea I’d ever heard, “And me, hoping that you’ll stay with me.”

The advance was so blatant that I almost thought I’d imagined it. But the longer I let the silence sit, the stronger his eyes and hands pulled me in. He was only a couple inches from my face by the time I managed to croak out a response.

“I thought you had a rule about not dating coworkers.”

“That’s a stupid rule,” he said so quickly that I had to accept he’d been waiting for me to mention it, “Let’s break it.”

Still stuck in a disbelieving daze, I narrowed my eyes like that would let me see into his soul easier. As if it wasn’t already displayed so openly before me. “You’re very easily persuaded,” I muttered.

“I can play hard to get if you want me to,” he responded without pause.

But we both knew I didn’t want that. I wanted nothing more than I wanted this- than I wanted him. My body was practically begging for his touch, my muscles already starting to tremble from anticipation. The signs became more obvious the closer our faces became. When our noses bumped into one another, I almost closed my eyes. But I didn’t want to just yet. We were stuck in the most torturous game of chicken I’d ever experienced, scrutinizing each particle of air that dared stay suspended between us and stopped us from giving into everything we wanted.

I didn’t kiss him. Not even on the cheek this time. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, it was because I knew once our lips connected, there would be no letting go of him. I turned away at the last second, but Wes stayed, his lips brushing over my cheek before he dragged his cheek against mine in a way that was arguably even more intimate than any kiss we might have shared.

“Hmm. There’s no mistletoe here,” I whispered into his ear.

Wes chuckled, and I felt it more than heard it as the hot breath burst over my ear. “I think there might be some in the bedroom,” he suggested with a hunger burning through the words.

“Really?” I asked with a sarcastic little gasp that was made worse by the kisses he started peppering over my jaw. “Will you show me?”

There was no time left to waste. With those four words I’d given him everything he needed to understand just how easily he could have me. We scrambled up from the couch with a teenager-like level of excitement, stumbling through the communal areas making way too much noise and not caring who heard.

He held my hand the whole way out into the snow and through the wintry mix to the cabin he was staying in. Even once we were safe from the storm outside, he didn’t let me go. His hands just moved, spinning me around and grabbing hold of the zipper on the back of my dress with absolutely no hesitation. In any other situation, I would have chastised him for rushing it, but in that moment I was grateful that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. Even with quick hands working the fabric off my shoulders, I couldn’t get in his bed fast enough.

And he didn’t let me, either. His hand was heavy on my shoulder, and when he needed to move it, he simply wound it through my hair. With that grip, he tilted my head to the side to bare my neck to him. The reason why became obvious within seconds, as his mouth connected with the skin with feverish kisses that nearly brought me to my knees.

While I did manage to stay upright, I certainly wasn’t silent. I couldn’t have stopped the moan that spilled from my lips even if I’d wanted to. It filled the room alongside the sloppy sounds as he continued to suck and nip at the sensitive skin until I almost delirious with a lack of oxygen from singing his praises.

“Interesting…” he mumbled, clearly mocking my unescapable responses from his efforts.

“Shut up,” I whined, tilting my neck to grant him better access despite my feeble protest.

I should have known better than to think him being quiet would prevent him from torturing me. He had the same idea, nipping at my earlobe before breathily replying, “If it means I get to hear more of those noises, I will gladly find other things to do with my mouth.”

Deciding that his snark, while fun, was best reserved for another time, I fought against his grip in my hair just enough to spin back around to face him. His eyes were quick to appreciate the newly exposed skin, blocked only by thin lace that revealed just how much I’d wished this would happen. While he took his time memorizing what he saw, I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

It wasn’t until I got to his pants that he snapped back to the present, grabbing my wrist and positioning my hand over the obvious bulge underneath the fabric I’d wanted to free him from. That little action alone brought a smile to my face, and I looked up at him to see the desire painted over his features just like I’d imagined so many times. His other hand grabbed hold of my face with enough pressure to ignite a spark deep inside of me.

“Can you feel what you do to me?” he asked lowly. I wasn’t given a chance to respond with words, not with him kissing me seconds later, but I granted him an answer in the form of my fingers stroking him through his pants until his own moan broke through our still joined mouths.

“Fuck... I want you so bad,” he groaned just before he shoved me back away from him. I let the momentum carry me onto the bed, spreading out among the sheets and enjoying how much better they felt knowing he would join me there shortly.

“I’ve been waiting forever for a chance to get you alone,” he admitted with an undeniable honesty. I felt it in the way he practically tore his pants off and crawled on top of me within seconds.

“What’re you going to do now that you have me?” I purred. As if the answer wasn’t already obvious.

“Make sure you never want to leave,” he explained as he dragged fingertips over the curve of the fabric that remained in his way. Before I could tell him that he’d already succeeded, he demonstrated just how unfinished his answer was. His fingers worked underneath me and popped my bra open with a skill that even surprised me.

Lowering his mouth and tugging the material away at the same time, he chuckled as my skin perked at the feel of his hot breath brushing over it.

“And I’m going to make sure…” he started before he fondled me with an almost bruising grip, “that everyone knows who you belong to.”

Just like that, he took the pebbled peak into his mouth. The gentle suckling was nothing compared to the way his tongue expertly explored the impressive area he managed to cover. I had a similar reaction to when he’d let that dastardly mouth leave marks all over my neck, and I could feel the smirk on his face as he continued through all of my dramatic cries.

My hands tugging on his hair did nothing to stop him. He continued with his persistent marking across my chest, teasing me every few movements by taking in the sensitive center of my breasts for just a few seconds before he shifted to another spot.

I didn’t look down, simply because I was already on the brink of insanity just from feeling alone, but I knew that I would find a number of angry marks in his wake. It was by design, too. He made it clear with each not-so-gentle love bite over my shoulder and neck as he worked his way back up to my lips. Even then, he took my bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on the supple skin already bruised from being worried between my own teeth.

“I love how fucking sweet you are,” he growled, and I couldn’t tell if he’d meant it literally or was merely referencing my demeanor, but I decided it simply didn’t fucking matter. All that mattered was being able to feel him more. Wes must have agreed, because no sooner had the thought hit me than his fingers hooked under the elastic of my underwear and began a torturously slow descent. Even then, he took the time to leave teeth marks and bruises along my thighs.

I knew once he’d started coming back up that he would take yet another detour, but we both decided that it was one worth taking. Sure enough, once he lined back up at my hips, he stopped. His breath against me felt cold compared to the heat I felt inside, and a chill shot through my body and elicited yet another pitiful whine.

“You want to feel it here, too, don’t you?” he cooed, mocking the way my hips bucked against him, seeking out the kisses he was so willing to give.

“Please,” I squeaked. I hoped it would be enough to earn his mercy. Thankfully, it was.

His mouth was every bit as talented there as it was everywhere else. I tried to keep my sounds muffled, but it was the most fruitless effort I’d ever given. I was already practically sobbing from the way I could still feel him in every spot he’d left evidence of his praise, and he didn’t relent in the slightest. He was just as persistent and powerful in his worship, dragging his tongue through the slick folds and trying to feel me as deeply as he could. When his tongue couldn’t reach far enough for him, his fingers took its place.

The feeling of any part of him inside of me drove me mad with lust. My body was moving outside of my control, and I honestly didn’t know how he managed to breathe once my legs wrapped around his shoulders. My hands were rooted firmly in his hair, trying to hold on to reality for just a few seconds longer before I let it all go.

I almost expected to see him staring back at me with that daring, flirtatious stare, but when I looked down, his eyes were closed. I wasn’t upset by it, because I quickly realized that it meant I could watch him without scrutiny or judgment.

And I did. I watched each muscle on his face twitch and tense as he continued his ministrations even when it should have been impossible. I could see the sweat on his brow and the red tinge to his cheeks as he chose me instead of air. And when he did take a breath, I felt that, too.

“Wes,” I finally let myself cry out, “Wes, please. I’m so close.”

Brown eyes opened to reveal a smile hiding behind them. His mouth was too busy to try, but I could practically hear the smug chuckle that was hidden as a content humming against my skin. Luckily for him, I was not at all in the right mind to call him out. Not when he was so busy destroying any semblance of dignity or self-preservation I had left.

So, when Wes left his eyes open and straining to look up at me, I met them for as long as I could. But the sounds of sex and his smothered moans forced me over the edge. The orgasm I’d been battling to prolong hit me so quickly that I didn’t even have time to call his name one more time.

He didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even particularly seem to notice. He was simply too busy continuing the quick, rough thrusting of his fingers and the harsh suckling at my crest to do anything else.

But when the white light and euphoria faded into a manageable haze, his eyes were still locked on mine. He waited until I could hold that gaze for a few uninterrupted seconds before he finally withdrew, leaving me a soaked, twitching mess beneath him. I wondered if it looked as pathetic as it felt, but I also didn’t care. Because even as my muscles rioted against any conscious movement, I still wanted more.

Wes agreed, or at least I hoped that was why he had returned to kissing up my abdomen and chest. Once his lips found mine again, still covered with me, I must have looked absolutely out of my mind. Still, he didn’t look at me like a disaster. Just a little bit helpless.

“It’s okay if you need to stop,” he offered with grace and only a little bit of mockery, “I’ve put you through a lot tonight.”

“No, roll over,” was my almost incoherent response. If he didn’t understand it, the context of me struggling an incredible and embarrassing amount, surely helped. Unfortunately for my pride, it also made him laugh.

“Oh, you are just too cute. Look at you.”

I glanced down at his instruction, spotting what he was referring to immediately. My legs shook with every attempted movement, making them all as clumsy and uncoordinated as ever. But that wasn’t enough to stop me, and Wes didn’t seem to care as much as he acted, because as soon as I knocked into him, he fell back among the pillows with ease.

“I can do it,” I whined through his laughter, “I want to do it, please.”

For all of my begging, I was rendered speechless seconds later at the sight before me. Wes’s hair was wild among the pillows, and his half-lidded, lust-filled eyes looked just as beautiful as I thought they would. The pillows propped him up just enough to put us on almost equal playing ground, and he ensured that I wouldn’t get a swelled head with his arm around my waist pulling me down to him.

“You tell me when you can’t handle it anymore, alright?” he whispered, and I felt the genuineness behind the tone. That soft, compassionate demeanor that I saw him utilize every day at work. I never expected him to look at me like something to be cared for, but now that I’d had it, I wanted nothing more than to see it every day for the rest of my life.

That look didn’t fade even when I reached between us and guided him to my entrance. It only got stronger the deeper he pressed into me. With every inch, I felt closer to him in a sense past the physical. The subtle changes in his expression revealed sides of him I’d never seen, and I loved each of them more than I thought was possible.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hands finding my hips and trying to hold them steady to prevent his bucking hips from forcing me past my limit. His body’s hypocritical actions spurred me forward, though, and with both of my hands over his, I finally forced myself down to be fully seated on him with a broken cry that only barely resembled his name.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” the man underneath me answered just before he buried his mouth on my neck once more. That didn’t stop him from talking, though. He’d taken the time to read exactly what kind of woman I was, and so he knew what I needed to drive me even wilder than he already had. “Keep going, baby,” he sighed, “You’re doing so well.”

And as much as I appreciated the praise, which was a lot, I also couldn’t help but think about the consequences of his actions that I’d let slide thus far. When he latched onto a very visible spot on my neck, I managed to whimper between the moans, “Wes, I’m gonna have to wear a turtleneck for a fucking month.”

It managed to distract him from his current ministrations just long enough that his spiteful little laughter filled the room. Pulling back to draw my attention back to those cruelly beautiful eyes, he smugly answered, “You fucking love it.”

He was right. I did love it, but I also knew that it was a dangerous game to say the least. My pace slowed to a gentle rocking in his lap. It was partially out of fear that the encounter was coming to an inevitable conclusion, but also because I wanted to see him clearer. I was fascinated and entranced by the way the pleasure showed on his face.

“I thought you wanted to keep romance out of the office.”

To my surprise, he didn’t debate the romance aspect of the tryst, instead focusing on the latter half as he answered with a shrug, “We aren’t in the office.”

As if to prove his point, Wes held my hips down before thrusting up roughly. I cried out with nails digging into his shoulders. After all, if he got to leave marks, then I should be able to, too! He took the time to tilt his head to the side and lay a gentle kiss onto my forearm, but then continued with his previous demeanor.

He’d abandoned the plan to mark every inch of my skin with his mouth in favor of kissing me. His hands took over for him, pressing angry crescent marks and bruises in the shape of his fingers over my hips that he brought down on him at a brutal pace.

But as much as I loved kissing him, I couldn’t fight the urge for revenge stirring in my chest. He’d teased me so much so far, it was only fair that I got a chance to return his sarcastic quips with my own. And considering how much he loathed the idea of interwork relationships, I knew exactly how to get back at the resident veterinarian who insisted on not bringing sex into work.

I’d bring the work, instead.

Throwing my head back and forcing his lips to meet my neck once more, I let out one last whorish moan before I cried, “Oh, Doc, you feel so good!”

The affectionate nickname earned another dark laugh from the man whose force only grew as he realized what I was doing. His teeth sunk into already bruised skin, and he dragged them over the swollen skin before he growled, “Fucking brat.”

He could feel the laughter in my throat, but silenced it with a hand gripping me by the scruff so tightly that I actually lost my breath.

“Keep running that mouth and see where it gets you.”

“You can hurt me, Doctor,” I purred, earning another merciless thrust, “And you can fix me up after, too.”

“What makes you think I’d want to fix you after?” he whispered, letting his fingers brush over his marks and apply pressure to each of them just to watch me squirm in response. The more that I moved, the quicker his motions became. Soon enough, his hand had made it all the way down to the space between our thighs, and he locked eyes with me once more.

“Maybe I like you better when you’re broken.”

The pure force, the undeniable truth behind those words did exactly what he wanted. They broke me. All of the tension in my body shattered. I fell forward onto him, and Wes caught me without any hesitation. His hips never once faltered, and his lips alternated between gentle kisses against my temple and soft sounds made directly into my ear.

It was not the broken I was expecting to be, but one that was far more devastating. I felt so overwhelmed, so lost in the sensations he created within me, that when I became cognizant again, I didn’t even want to move from the blatantly intimate embrace. I just clung to him, burying myself in his arms and trusting that he would keep me safe from everything else.

“Not so talkative anymore, are you?”

I didn’t even have the strength to answer, but I knew he already knew what I would have said. There was no denying it. He took my defeat without any sympathy, continuing with his playful ridicule even as he used my body for whatever he needed.

“Are you tired? Have you had your fill?”

The noise I returned was more akin to a whimper than a moan, and he took it as my last attempt at defying his tongue-in-cheek attempts at authority. At that, his touch grew more possessive. His hips worked harder, and his hands slammed me down onto him hard enough that my whole body shook from the impact.

“That’s too bad if you’re tired, because I’m not finished marking you yet,” he chuckled darkly in my ear. I could still hear him over the sounds of rushing blood, but I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see anything as I let the feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure consume me one final time.

“Mine,” Wes cried, sinking his teeth into my shoulder before he growled, “You’re fucking mine.”

I felt what he meant in every sense of the word. I was his, to hold and bruise and break. I was his because he laid claim to every part of me that he pleased, with his teeth and fingers imprinted in my skin surrounded by mottled marks. He wrote his name with petechiae that he wrapped around my neck so I would never forget how easily he could have taken me. How easily I would have let him.

It seemed inconsequential in comparison, to feel the way his release filled me in a way I’d never let any man do before. I hadn’t even really thought about it, because I’d already given myself to him. And when I lolled my head over to look at him, I found a bliss in his expression that I would give anything to see repeated every time I closed my eyes.

It felt like home, tangled in the cabin with damp skin and tired eyes. We stayed exactly like that, still connected in more ways than one, for as long as we could. We let the residual heat from our fast beating hearts and frantic breath keep us content until the mountain air still creeping through the cabin became too much to bear.

Leaving him was hard, but necessary. I stared at my body in the mirror and found myself admiring all of the new additions he’d left behind. The evidence that it hadn’t been some wild, wine-induced dream. He’d touched me and held me and had me to his heart’s content.

I wasn’t sure what would happen when I returned to his bed. I knew I would either find myself heartbroken or happy, and just wanted to let it happen. Of course, Wes had to continue on his trend of being unpredictable. He welcomed me back under the covers with his arm extended. It wrapped around me in seconds, dragging me closer to him again.

I’d suspected it was just to keep warm, but then he pulled his other hand from under the covers to reveal what he’d been hiding. Dangling from his finger was a delicate piece of lace that we’d so carelessly thrown on the floor before.

We both laughed as I snatched the underwear from him. The longer it took me to put them back on, the more hilarious Wes found my struggle. But soon enough we were tied up together again, with my head resting against his chest where I could hear his heart’s gentle rhythm.

“You know, I really shouldn’t stay here,” I mumbled, drawing patterns over his arm.

Wes put an end to the action and the idea, grabbing hold of my hand and bringing it to his lips for yet another round of what seemed like endless kisses.

“It is quite a risk, isn’t it?” he said in the most unconvincing voice I’d ever heard.

“There’s bound to be talk tomorrow,” I murmured back.

A smile crept over cheeks still pink from our escapades, and Wes just shook his head at the familiar old excuse. Playing along with the hopeless romantic he pulled closer, he drawled back, “But baby, it’s cold outside.”

Despite my giggles, I broke character of the timid, modest woman that we both knew I wasn’t and said through a pout, “It such a long, cold walk back to my room, though.”

“You should probably stay here, then, huh?” he returned. Our faces drifted closer, his arm around my waist urging me forward and supporting our terrible decisions.

Once our lips touched again, tenderly and tired, I reminded myself of the mistletoe and how right I was that it was so much better when he could kiss me back. Even when I tried to pull away, he followed me, stealing one more kiss before I happily concluded, “Baby, it’s cold outside.”

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

#wes dollface #wes x reader #wes x you #wes fic #dollface fanfic #dollface fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg fanfiction #mgg fanfic #matthew gray gubler fanfic #mgg smut #smut #holiday fic #dollface #imaginingafterdark #dollface wes

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literaila · 3 years ago

Text

always, kitchen floor

loki x gn! reader

summary/request: reader is tony’s sibing, they’ve had a fight with him. loki just happens to be there... and again, a while later.

content warning: alcohol, fighting, sibling things, murder.

so you weren’t expecting the crash.

so you weren’t exactly the picture of grace on the floor.

so you weren’t supposed to be in here.

it’s not like he knew that. but what he did know was that as soon as he bashed into the room, you were falling towards the floor.

the small chuckle you could hear from behind the cabinet did not soothe any anger you were feeling. it was just digging itself a deeper hole in your chest, just making itself a home while whoever had scared you laughed along. it might’ve made you angrier.

“it’s alright,” an unrecognizable voice said, low and sour. someone was moving around. you didn’t even attempt to get up off the floor. you didn't care.

“i’ve been told i have that effect,”

an audible sigh from you made the movement stop.

you closed your eyes, rapped your head against the floor softly. this was only one of the many things you couldn't deal with right now. a human interaction, a conversation. an effort. maybe you’d drunk a bit too much, maybe this was a dream.

you really didn’t want to get up. you were hoping for a hallucination. anything non-real.

“do i know you?” you croak out instead of crying. at least, if you’re going to die, you’ll get to know who killed you. at least, if you have to do this now, you can call the bastard by their name.

“probably,” the voice sings out. perfect.

probably.

you stop your head, squeeze your eyes until they sting. you’re not sure why you’re not supposed to be in here again, but maybe it has something to do with this.

meeting perfect strangers you probably know.

“do you have a name?” you croak— again —your patience gone from every trace of your body. your effort extinguished from the fire that is building in your chest. the fire that's been there a while.

“the god of mischief.”

you sit up. only a little. just enough to lean your head towards the voice.

it’s not like you were expecting that response.

“excuse me?” you say in your half-deflated, half surprised voice. your neck is straining from the glance you’re trying to get at the voice, but you keep attempting to lift your head

the footsteps start again, and it’s only a moment before the person comes into view.

before you see them, you hear the bells ringing in your head. this isn’t your house, this isn’t their house. you don’t know this person, and you’re acting completely sane.

it’s honestly not that bad of a situation.

it only takes one more pinch of your ligaments for your eyes to meet their face.

for your brain to touch them with all the memories you have.

probably.

yeah, well, probably was right.

maybe you’re starstruck for a moment, maybe your eyes widen, and maybe you’re staring at this giant person in front of you for way too long.

it doesn’t matter, because in what seems like a second to you, you lay back down. close your eyes.

“i’ve seen you on the news,” you say, a nonchalant mention, a passing sentence.

you were wrong, then. an alien interaction.

the god of mischief— actually, if the news anchor from earlier had anything to say about it —is standing right next to you. right next to your practically dead body, and you don’t move an inch.

you’re sure you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t check. who cares, anyway? hes going to kill you soon.

“have you?” he asks, an annoying disruption to your wallowing.

you grunt, don’t say anything else.

it’d be nice not to die in your own home. at least then no one will have to clean up any blood. they can sell the apartment again. it’d be nice to watch your brother's face as a ghost when he realizes. it’d be nice to get your revenge in the form of a bloodstain on the hardwood. it's a terrible thought that almost fills you with glee.

loki, who moves past you, opening cabinets and carrying around a ridiculous scepter (?) does not turn to look at you when he asks

“you’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

your snort is nothing more than a yes. is it really that obvious? i mean, yes, you look pretty bad, but that shouldn’t indicate to him that you’re in the wrong place.

he shouldn’t know that already.

“what makes you say that?”

loki puts down the bottle he’d been messing with, some expensive thing your brother would kill him for touching. not that you’re going to tell him that, you don't really mind. he turns and bangs his scepter against the ground, not completely on accident. “this countertop is engraved ‘tony stark’”

you roll your eyes, but he doesn’t notice.

“and, from what i’ve seen on the news” he teases the unfamiliar word around his lips “you aren’t him”

“ha,” you say, voice void of any emotion. it must really be that obvious, even to a god who has only been on earth for a few days and has never met you before. even to you, who’s been trying to catch up to tony for so long. “you’ve got me,”

you grab the bottle you have next to you, the bottle you’ve been cradling all night in your hands like its some childhood blanket you dont want to let go of, and take a sip. its hard on the floor, and that fact is maybe the only thing that could actually convince you to sit up at this moment.

so you do, and you look loki straight in the eyes while taking another sip.

theres still half a bottle left, you dont really need to slow down.

loki looks amused, looks so much less threatening than you would’ve thought after watching him get a group of well over a hundred people to kneel before him. so much less threatening without his words to back him up. or maybe, thats what makes him a villain.

he looks kind of cute.

“can i help you?” you say then, looking him in the eyes, bottle in hand. its your best impression of a salesperson, but he doesn't know that. hes just a god, after all, hes just a murder, definitely.

“actually yes,” he moves towards you, scepter banging, his voice a slow river. “i was looking for someone-”

“if its tony, you’re fresh out of luck, mr. mischief,” you sigh and stand up, pretending not to notice the substantial difference in heights between the two of you. “it would seem i’ve run him off,” you pause, take a sip, hold your finger up in a gesture for him to wait. “must’ve been my ceaseless charm.”

loki doesnt say anything, just watches you with irritating eyes and waits for you to take another drink. you do, but not because of him. you’re thirsty, obviously.

you hate that hes already predicting your movements, you hate that he looks so calm. you hate that if you werent still in your right mind you would probably tackle him without a moments notice.

still, you watch him anyway. this isnt scary. nothing is scary right now, not even the prospect of death and the murderer in the room. not when you’ve just been left alone in this stupid building while tony runs off to do something else.

not when your voice still hurts from screaming at him.

“when will he be back?” loki asks, interrupting your thoughts and looking you up and down. any other day, you might’ve taken it as a compliment, might’ve smiled at him.

“never, if i had anything to say about it.”

loki doesnt hesitate. “you seem awfully angry for such an angelic-looking person,”

you snort, turn around to go searching through the cupboards again. “and you seem awfully murdery for a god,”

“you’d be surprised,” he moves forward, leans his scepter against a chair, and continues to watch you. something about this, something about him is easing that feeling in your chest. the annoyance is almost gone, you know, if it werent for the fact that hes still certainly going to kill you.

you know that he’d brainwashed other people, maybe thats what was happening now.

you grunt instead of answer and grab a glass. its strange, this need you feel to keep him from murdering you. loki watches with curious eyes as you poor some of your bottle in the glass, then offer it to him.

in fact, his eyes almost bludge out of his head as soon as you lift it towards him.

“you’re giving this to me?”

you smirk instead of scoffing, as a peace offering. “is it really that obvious?”

he doesnt acknowledge the snide but takes the glass with careful hands. maybe he thinks humans have murderous cups. maybe hes just very untrusting. it doesnt matter, it makes you smile anyway.

you grab the bottle, now more than half gone, and take a sip as loki thinks deeply about this drink you’ve given him. at least he isnt asking you why you’re angry anymore.

“is it good?” he asks while staring at the contents of the glass.

“you could just try it, you know.”

he quirks a brow. sets the glass down on the counter. takes a step back. “how do i know you havent poisoned it?”

you set your bottle down, lean your hands on the counter, and lean closer to him in a challenge. “you, quite literally, just watched me pour it.”

loki considers this, tilts his head, and then steps forward and takes the glass. you laugh when he sniffs at it, but watch with hopeful eyes as he finally takes a sip.

then promptly gags.

“humans are disgusting creatures,” he says while gagging, moving far away from the glass.

“and thats why you’ve come to conquer us, right?” you’re still smirking, still sipping, and still wondering what the hell this god is doing here.

“think of it as a favor,” hes wincing, opening his mouth in what looks like an effort to get the taste out of his mouth. but still, he doesnt threaten you, doesnt curse you out, doesnt accuse you of poisoning him again. but then, he looks up. “in return, you might tell me where stark is?”

there. thats it. no threatening, no murdering, no accusation. but still, he just wants something. your brother, of course.

whats different from usual?

“i dont know,” you answer, smile gone, moving away. you make sure to take the bottle with you, wherever you turn to go. wherever you want to run away to.

you dont know, you’re not sure. this place is so big, and all of it is a prison you’ll never actually leave. the curse of blood relations.

loki though, stops you before you can even attempt to leave, before you can make your escape before you start sobbing to this god who isnt even here for you.

really, you should be thankful, really, you shouldnt care this much. really, you should’ve left ten minutes ago. you’re not even supposed to be here.

the thought fills you with dread. effort, effort and pain.

“you dont know?” he asks, doubtful. as if he knows you, as if he can already tell you’re lying. you scoff, then scoff again. damn the god of mischief, and damn your brother. arrogance does not look good on anyone.

you try to push past him, shaking your head with hurt eyes that arent really for him. you try to move forward, but hes so much bigger than you, and hes got the upper hand. he knows you wont try to murder him, no matter what he wants to do to everyone on earth.

“you are related to him, are you not?” another question, another shot of fuel to the fire that you thought had burned out. to the flame inside of you that doesnt seem to leave.

“i dont like that you know that,” you say it softly, much softer than you mean to, and without noticing take a step back. put up the walls, so to say. get away from this alien that knows more about you than you do him. guard yourself before you actually get hurt.

dont give him yet another reason to yell at you.

“its not hard to guess. you have...erm” he pauses, looking small, looking more nervous, looking anything but godly. “the same mannerisms. and you talk a bit like each other.”

you frown. dammit.

“also, the way you talk of him reminds me of my brother.”

you look up then, look up and see this god, this alien, this murderer that you dont even know. is he drunk now? you wouldnt have thought him to be such a light-weight.

“okay...” maybe you’re weirded out, or maybe you’re tired, but you try to move away from him anyway. this is effort, and you dont need it.

“you really dont know?” loki says, before moving out of your way. he sighs, looks defeated now. you’re not lying, but something in you kind of wants you to be. just so he’ll leave you alone, of course. just for some peace.

just so he stops frowning at the floor. god, you dont even know him.

and you, you just dont understand. hes the villain, hes evil, so why is he looking so innocent? why arent you scared of him? why havent you run in terror yet?

maybe you’re about to ask something, but loki moves first. he steps back, or forward, and grabs the glass you gave him, again. takes another sip. he doesnt gag this time, doesnt change his expression at all.

“i thought you hated it?” you ask, shocked by this small thing, hurt still, by his words. maybe by his defeated look.

loki sighs, smirks, does something with his face you cant comprehend. “its better with disappointment.”

now its your turn to sigh. you cant leave this alien alone in tony’s kitchen. that’d be rude, plus, curiosity is human.

its not his fault, really, that he needs to murder your brother.

you go back, back to the counter, back to the floor, back to loki with his sad eyes and your bottle. you just go back, sitting down on the floor, where you were when he came in, and waiting for him to join you.

it doesn’t take long, you can feel his cool from the five feet of distance between the two of you.

its a moment before you ask. “do you really need my brother? i can probably call him.” an olive branch, so to say.

loki laughs, chortles, something. maybe you’re feeling the effects of the alcohol now. he doesnt speak for a moment, just looks around, observing the room once again. you look with him, wait for his answer, hope its “no”.

“no, not really.” he pauses, sighs. “well, yes. but, you seem very opposed to seeing him, so i’m guessing talking isnt on the table?”

“you’d be right,” you take another sip, give him a smile you dont really mean.

you’re not even sure why you’re here now. this is surreal. this is stupid of you. its in the name.

“is he really as bad as he seems?” loki asks, tracing something on the floor. maybe gods are similar to humans, because you think you’ve seen this somewhere else.

you laugh, though, anyway, and forget everything. “not really. hes sort of a good person, he just.. doesnt come off well.” to say the least.

never has. never liked you much in the first place, but you have memories of him gifting you toys when you were kids. you have laughs, smiles. you had a family, once upon a time.

you dont tell loki that though, you have enough sense not to.

“i wonder if my brother would say the same thing about me?”

and something about the way he says it, something about his face, about his words on the news, all of it. all of it reminds you of where you are, reminds you of who you are, and who you’re trying so hard not to be.

emotionally compromised, you’re sure. this is a stupid thing to be doing.

“well, you were going to murder me.” its a joke, but its better than what you wanted to say. its better than the truth you want to tell to this stranger you’ve just met. this god who feels peaceful somehow, behind all the terror.

loki scoffs, so you know its okay, so you know you havent said the wrong thing yet. you know you havent gone insane, not yet, not now.

“i would never murder someone so beautiful,”

and maybe its the alcohol, maybe its your fight with your brother, maybe its loki’s kind words, maybe its everything. maybe you really are insane. maybe you’re angry enough for this to seem okay. maybe you’re stronger than you think, than tony thinks, to be here. maybe it’ll turn out okay.

it doesnt matter, because the next thing you say, changes lots of things.

“i guess you’re not so bad.”

“i’m old enough-”

“you’re a child.”

“tony, you dont get to decide whats best for me! in case you forgot, you’re only my brother. not my dad, he already died-”

“in case you forgot, i’m in charge. you’re the most irresponsible, reckless person, and you’re not leaving here until i say so.”

“you dont just get to decide-”

“you will stay here. try not to mess anything else up.”

2 years later.

the hallway is cold while you speed through it.

you’re not actually moving that fast, but everyone else insists on keeping the air conditioning on at all times, so even the slightest of movements invites the goosebumps to attack your arms.

maybe you’ll complain some more about it today. its a trivial thing you care about. it matters.

what else matters? well, theres a meeting-- one you’re late to, who cares? theres a meeting and you were supposed to be there over a half an hour ago.

but, to be fair, you were sleeping, everyone knows you were sleeping-- what else do you do during the days when they dont invite you anywhere? so why, honestly, would they schedule a meeting for now? why would they expect you to be awake?

why are you so goddamn late.

these are the irritating thoughts that get you moving faster to the conference room. these are the things you can think about while you prepare your excuse out loud, and hope that no one is listening.

and these are the thoughts that you’re thinking as you crash through the door.

literally.

“oops,” you mutter before looking up. this is normal for you, but, you could’ve picked a better time to fall on the floor, or any other time rather. you’re already in enough trouble as is, you dont need the shame on top of that.

it takes a moment, but your eyes glance forward, cautious. they scan the windows, the chairs you can barely see, and hesitantly, they look at the people sitting in them.

tony, of course, is the first one you see. head of the table as usual. arrogant and staring at you like only a brother can.

and then, with one more tilt of your head, you see someone else. you see him, sitting next to thor, next to all of these people who are staring at you-- most of them with amusement, all of them with amusement. you see him.

hes here.

but, you... you thought? you cant even get up-- now. because now you’re on the floor, and now those memories are flooding back and now, oh god, your brother is coming over to you and you’re still on the floor.

this is ridiculous, this is impossible, and this is so so embarrassing.

“loki,” tony starts as he reaches a hand out to you, throwing you a glance that is completely rude and not necessary. “this is y/n, our clumsiest avenger.” you’re sure you can hear him mutter something after that, and judging by the snickers across the room, you’re guessing it wasnt good. none of this is good.

as soon as you’re standing next to him, you elbow him. small enough no one could see. he deserves it, and honestly, you need it. at least, you can get this shock, these pricks of pain on your heart, out somehow.

“sorry,” you say, maybe to everyone, maybe to yourself. but you’re still looking at him, and hes still looking at you. you cant stop staring, cant stop, wont stop.

you wonder if hes thinking the same thing you are. if he remembers like you do.

loki stands then, presence of a god, smile of a bastard, lips that you’re sure you recognize. is this the same person? the same god of mischief? is this him? really?

“hi, loki, lovely to meet you.”

and, hes definitely got to be kidding you. hes definetly got to be joking, right now.

you dont reach out to grab his hand, you dont move away from tony, and you dont even try to hide the glare from your eyes. you dont even attempt to make an effort.

really? i mean, really? hes going to just..

okay, fine. fine. breathe, smile, breathe, yell.

theres nothing you want more than to scream at him, in so many ways, for so many reasons.

“yes, sorry, i dont shake hands. just bodies.”

theres a chorus of clearing throats across the room. you pretend not to notice. instead, you smile at loki, pretend to also not to notice the threatening eyes tony is trying to throw you. pretend, again and again, that you dont know who this is.

loki’s hand slowly falls, and he glances toward his brother worriedly, but even that couldnt annoy you more than his face does at this moment.

“i’ll let you decide how, my prince.” you snide, smile, hate.

and then, you walk to your sit and promtly sit down. you dont bother to look up from where your glance has landed on the floor.

and you remain like that for the rest of the meeting. its fine, you’ve already missed half of it anyway.

who cares?

“no, but really, where’d you get that?”

“its asgardian,” loki leans forward, teasing you with his raised eyebrows.

“i want it. how much?” you lean forward as well, completely serious. alcohol be damned, his scepter will be yours. you’re not one to kid.

“you cant bargain with me, tiny human. you have nothing i want.”

“im sure i could think of a few things... you dont even know how to be a proper villain!” you exclaim with a smirk of your own “you’re gonna want money when you’re thrown in jail.”

“ill just take it off of you when i’ve decided im bored and offed you. plus, i’m a prince. and a god. i dont need money for anything.”

“ha! like i could ever bore you. you seem awfully interested in me, prince loki.”

you’re both closer, faces inches apart. really, its just the alcohol talking, but still.

you’re smiling pretty big.

you’re not sure how you got here again. how you ended up on this floor, in this kitchen, with this bottle, with these thoughts. not sure, but still. you cant really bring yourself to care too much.

at least your throat doesnt hurt this time. at least you’re older, smarter, and most definitely not drunk. at least its not exactly the same.

it takes more than that, now. it takes more than anything to make you angry, now. it takes a lot more to push you over the edge. you’ve grown, at least, in that aspect.

but, you’ve been thinking of this for two years, you’ve been watching and waiting with hopeful eyes and this... this just isnt it. this isnt the dream, this isnt anything like what you’ve wanted.

you’re still brainwashed and you’re still angry. you’ve been on the edge of the cliff for years now.

it doesnt take much to fall off.

you dont even know why, why you’re here, why this is happening, and its making it worse.

you havent even seen him in two years, so why do you care so much if he wants to pretend that you’ve never met? you havent so much as spoken of him in two years, so why does it matter now that hes here? why is it so significant that he doesnt seem to care?

you’re a fool. immature, idiotic. you’ve known this, you know this. you could’ve mentioned it every time you sat with hopeful eyes when an alien showed up, when a certain god of a certain storm appeared and you thought that maybe this time, he might’ve taken someone with him.

you could’ve told yourself this every time you thought of him, every day you’ve thought of that night. you’re ridiculous, hopeless, and drunk.

you’re drunk now, and you were drunk then. so why does it matter this much?

you’re drunk.

and really, this time you really arent expecting it when he walks in.

its different from last time, different because you were already on the floor. different because now you’re mad at him, and because now for some reason you cant even explain, you know that its him. you can feel him from across the room.

and this time, you’ve drunk a lot more. you’ve downed more than half a bottle, and you’re angrier. you’re happier, but so mad.

still, his quiet “hello” into the kitchen leaves your flame sparking. the lights are on, so he knows someone is in here. he knows you’re in here.

you’re not going to answer though, why would you?

he doesnt repeat it, but his footsteps are clear, not accompanied with the banging of a gold scepter this time, no horns in sight. this is different, but you know exactly whats happening. you know exactly how he looks, now.

these two years have felt like nothing, these two years of making up with your brother, of dreams of a certain god’s lips, of hoping that one day he might appear again, all of it means nothing now. there are too many memories, and you have known you’re insane for years.

the footsteps stop again, and you know this time, hes waititng for you to answer.

you’re drunk. that explains this feeling. you’re drunk now, you were drunk then. loki should leave because you really dont have the energy for fake pleasantries.

“can i help you?” you ask, and try and breathe while you wait. you’re different now.

“actually yes,” he says and its quiet.

it leaves your stomach aching.

“i’m looking for someone,”

“no! never, i will never ever-”

“technically, you just did,”

“i hate you.”

loki laughs, throws his head back in a motion that is unnecessarily attractive to you. “you dont even know me, darling.”

“i can hear your thoughts, actually.”

you’ve been leaning on him for maybe the past five minutes. you’ve been sharing this second bottle for the last half an hour. somehow, it tastes better when he’s put his lips on it.

“is this a human trait i’m unaware of?” he sounds so serious you giggle.

“no, just me. you picked the wrong person to drink with,”

“and what am i thinking about now, then, since you can hear it?”

you turn to him, you turn and theres something different in your eyes.

“exactly what i’m thinking,” you whisper, staring down, staring at him in the same way hes staring at you.

what are you thinking of? well, thats simple.

“fresh out of luck, prince. theres no one here.”

your voice is quiet, your head is pounding, but you cant have a hangover already. you cant be sick now, in this moment.

its not pounding because of that, and you cant even pretend.

its dark outstide, which you know, considering that its the middle of the night and you shouldnt even be awake. you shouldnt even be in here, considering tony banned you from stealing from his cabinets. considering, you’ve been here before. considering, all of it.

arent you only supposed to make the same mistake once?

“really?” he asks in an amused voice you recognize. hes closer now, you can feel it. you can hear it, the goosebumps are all over you. the buzzing started minutes ago.

you lay down, on the floor, breathing in and out, feeling your stomach clench with every step he takes. this is ridiculous, you should be asleep, he should be on a different planet.

“its late. go to bed, loki.” your voice is still quiet, but theres a warning in it.

“i have a vague inkling that you arent strict with bedtime,”

his voice is stupid, you’re stupid. why are you just sitting on the floor?

“no, but i am strict about lying. in that, i hate it. go away.”

maybe he wasnt expecting the sharpness in your voice, or for you to be laying on the floor. but his eyes when he stands over you, his eyes are almost how you remember them.

“did you brainwash me?”

you’re breathless. you cant breathe. and you cant be drunk now, because you never want to forget this, you never want him to move away.

he tastes alien, he tastes different than anything you’ve ever tasted before, and you just cant stop.

you lean in again, let your mouth be filled with the sweet cold of his. hes cooling you down in only the best kind of way.

“not yet,” he says, he says and lets his hands roam across your hips, across your skin in a completely tantalizing way. you cant be drunk now, because you’d never feel like this if you were.

you’re both breathless. you both cant breathe.

“are you going to?”

another kiss, another moment, another taste. you want to smile, but that would require you to move away from him, and you just cant do that.

“i dont need to,” he says, he promises. he smiles, and its evil. evil in how much it stops your heart. this cant be happening. “you’ve been dreaming of this.”

you’re sure, he knows something you dont. hes done something to you, but you cant complain.

you really can’t stop.

“are you upset?” he asks. its nothing he would’ve said before, its not a question that would’ve crossed his mind two years ago. this isnt him.

you dont know how you know that, but you do. you know. you’ve met him before, and you’ve known him since then. in case he forgot.

you laugh at the thought, laugh and laugh. you’re drunk. “is that sympathy i detect in the god of mischief’s voice?” you ask, and laugh.

maybe he’ll leave just because you’re laughing so much. wouldnt that be nice? wouldnt that break your heart again, off you for good, finally?

“well, you’re definitely intoxicated.” its sarcastic, its serious, and it makes your blood boil. who is he to judge you? who is he to say anything to you? to be here now, and expect you to answer questions?

you sit up, stare at him for too long, and then your face is a scowl hotter than the sun. you hope hes terrified, but you feel so small. you hope hes terrified, but you know hes not. how could he be, when you’re sure you look like a mess, worse than last time?

“you would know a lot about that, wouldnt you loki? considering you were so drunk that you’ve forgotten all about me?” its rhetorical, its cruel, and it makes his eyes falter the tiniest bit.

this. this is what you dont need. this is an emotion you never want to feel again, because you’re tired of the anger. you’ve been living it all your life, and you’e tired of it. but maybe thats what drew loki to you, maybe thats what he likes best. maybe thats why hes still standing in front of you.

maybe thats what makes him a bad guy.

he doesnt answer, and so you continue. you continue and you should just stop speaking. “excuse me, your highness, but i really just want to be alone right now. so, if you wouldnt mind, i’ve already claimed the kitchen floor.” you laugh, gesture somewhere you dont know. “tony has plenty of other spaces for you to infiltrate.”

you think maybe its enough. you think hes going to leave, you think you’ll get to be alone for the rest of the night, maybe drink enough to forget that you ever met him, but then hes still standing there. he doesnt move an inch.

you dont know what hes still doing here. you can see the light reflecting on his face, you can see his blank eyes, you cant see anything in him that you want anymore. of course, except everything.

“loki,” you groan and stand up. you set the bottle on the counter next to you, and cross your arms. waiting. for anything, for everything.

“i didnt forget you, and i wasn’t drunk.”

oh, really? you scoff, scoff and take another sip before answering.

“well, thats lovely for you, but-”

“i was trying to be considerate, in case you didnt want your brother to know we’d already met.”

some part of you, one you left behind two years ago when you woke up all alone, some part of you thinks thats sweet. some part of you wants to smile just because he said it. some part of you.

the other part, just wants to scream.

“well, thanks loki, but ‘considerate’ would’ve been, maybe, not leaving me to wake up alone in the morning.”

really, its time for bed now, so, promptly, you try to past him, you try and try and.

you’re back in the past again. goddamn, him.

“we shouldnt be-” you gasp before you can finish. you gasp and loki laughs against your skin. “this is a kitchen-”

“there are worse places,” he promises in an awfully smooth voice, a voice you think you’ve maybe been dreaming of for years, a voice you want to drink. you’re intoxicated, and its not the alcohol.

“loki, i’m drunk, you’re drunk.”

“i am not drunk,”

“okay, mr. god, but this is still a kitchen.”

he smiles up at you, kisses your skn again.

“shh,” he says.

you gasp again.

“..i had to leave. i didnt think it would...” he stops, stares at you for a moment before looking down. hes standng in front of you, not letting you move, not letting you think. “i didnt think it would worry you. i’m terribly sorry,”

it sounds sincere, but then again, so did his promises before.

“okay, loki.” you relent, you sigh, you take a step back and smile at him. none of it is real. “cool, thats nice. i’ll be going to bed now-”

“i’ve wanted to see you for two years,”

your mouth drops open. your eyes buldge, and you almost want to smack him. this, this is really all grand.

this is so unfair. this is a cruel reminder you never wanted. this is a nightmare, come true.

“i’m drunk. i’m leaving,”

but again, he stops you, he stops you and you dont know why. why he wont just let you go, why he sought you out tonight, why this matters, why you care.

why you got so goddamn attached to him that night, why you’d felt like a new person when you woke up the next morning and he was gone.

you take a breath in. you smile again, you push down the flames burning at your throat. “we can both forget it, if you’d prefer. i promise i wont tell anyone, and we can just move on.”

the words, the words you’re trying to offer him as a method of peace, those words, they send loki away from you. they make his face shift, they make him move back.

he looks angry now. he looks how you feel.

“you want to forget it?” he asks, even though you just said it, even though you’ve already answered that question. even though, he knows what you meant.

you arent slurring your words.

“i just want to...” you cant finish that sentence though, and instead you nod. its enough, it doesnt take effort and its nothing special. it’s the truth, so, he’ll have to accept it.

you’ll go to bed now, you’ll forget that you’ve wanted to talk to him, that you still want to kiss him now. you’ll forget, and so will he.

it will be easy. nothing more than a piece of cake.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers later, later when you cant remember your name, when you’ve remembered that you still havent even told him.

“for what?”

he kisses your neck instead of answering.

‘you’re beautiful,” he says, you cant breathe, and hes still speaking. “i didn’t tell you before,” he breathes in and you can feel it in your stomach, can feel that sweet swirling deep inside. “i’m sorry”

“don’t worry about it..”

its late now, too late. you dont want to go to sleep. you never want to fall asleep again, not when you’ve just..

not with him.

the kitchen floor is awfully comfortable. your eyes are falling, faster than you want them to.

“just want to what?” hes not hearing the words, and no matter what you might’ve said, you cant read his mind.

“loki,” its another warning, because hes moving closer, because you can feel him again, because you still remember how he tastes. because that buzzing, the buzzing you’ve felt for so long, its digging itself deeper into your skin.

“i dont want to forget,” he saiys, and no matter how much you want to believe it, it just sounds like another empty promise. sounds like something you’ve already heard.

its not enough, but its just want you want. what you want is just there..

“i was drunk that night, i was sick. i was...”

angry is the word you’re thinking of, but his lips are the ones you can feel. but his smile is the one you want, but his eyes, but his face, but his skin.

his lips, his face, his skin, his touch. its been in your mind since then. its been glued to your thoughts. its stuck, and you want to peel it off.

you arent supposed to be here, you arent supposed to be in this room, you arent supposed to be drinking this liquor, and you arent supposed to kiss him.

you’ve gone insane for sure now. you aren’t supposed to do this.

and so, you do.

you’re on the floor when you wake up. your head is pounding, your eyes are glued shut, but somehow they’re open.

you dont remember where you are, you dont remember why you’re here.

but you do remember... loki. loki, murderer, god, thief. he was here, you’re in the kitchen.

his eyes, his lips, his peace, his lips, his skin, oh god.

he was here.

you look, you look around, you feel the pain in your body, you feel the anger piling up, you feel the ache in your neck, you feel it all and you look around.

hes gone. he is.

your head is pounding and hes gone. you cant remember why.

masterlist here.

#loki imagine #loki spoilers #loki x you #loki #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x gn!reader #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader #loki layfeyson x reader #loki layfeyson x you #loki layfeyson imagine #loki laufeyson #marvel fanfic #loki (marvel)

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