#the first marvel family your honor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 23 days ago

Note

Hey! I wanted to request Loki x reader fanfic. Can it be arranged marriage with slow burn au where the reader is a princess of a small kingdom who never thought she'd be marrying into a higher kingdom let alone Asgard. So is surprised when is betrothed to loki. She tried to give him benifit of doubt but we'll he acts like an ass and she decides to give it to him back equally. They both banter and throw sarcastic jibes during the courting period and after the marriage but over time they become friends and then lovers. Maybe She calls odin out on his bullshit and bias towards thor, and all the fun family dynamics with frigga and thor.

Thank you! And wishing you a happy new year!✨🍀

THE ROYAL LOVERS

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k (I dont think I can make it more slow burn than this lol)

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You sit in the grand hall of your father’s castle, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the cold marble floors. The room feels heavier than usual, the weight of your father’s words pressing down on your chest. Betrothed. You turn the word over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out how this has become your reality.

“To one of Asgard’s princes?” you repeat, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

Your father nods, his expression grave yet tinged with pride. “Yes, daughter. This alliance is a great honor for our kingdom. A union with Asgard strengthens our position, ensures our prosperity, and secures peace for generations to come.”

Peace. Prosperity. You’ve heard these words countless times before, always in speeches or during court gatherings when foreign diplomats visit. Now they’re being used as the justification for altering the course of your entire life.

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

A pause stretches between you, long enough for your heart to skip several anxious beats. Your father finally answers, his voice calm, though his eyes betray some unease. “Prince Loki.”

The name settles over you like a shadow. You’ve heard stories of Asgard, of its golden spires and indomitable warriors. Tales of its princes, too—Thor, the golden-haired god of thunder, beloved by all, and Loki, the sharp-tongued trickster whose reputation is far more ambiguous.

You straighten in your chair, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the storm building inside you. “I see. And when am I to meet this... prince?”

“Soon,” your father says. “King Odin and Queen Frigga have agreed to host a meeting at their palace. You will accompany me to Asgard in three days' time.”

Three days. That’s all the time you have to prepare yourself for the encounter that will determine your future. You nod stiffly and rise from your seat, excusing yourself from the conversation.

Once you’re alone in your chambers, the weight of it all crashes down on you. You pace the room, the rich fabrics of your dress swishing around your legs, your mind racing. Betrothed to a prince of Asgard. It sounds like something out of a storybook, but you’re no naïve dreamer. You know enough to understand the realities of political alliances.

Still, you can’t help but wonder: why would Asgard—a kingdom so vast and powerful it dwarfs your own—be interested in such a union?

Three days later, you stand before the shimmering Bifrost Bridge, its prismatic light almost blinding. The sight of it steals your breath, though you quickly compose yourself as the Asgardian guards usher you and your father toward the grand palace that looms in the distance.

The palace is even more magnificent than the stories described, its golden towers piercing the sky, its halls adorned with treasures from realms beyond your imagination.

You feel small here, insignificant. But you refuse to let it show.

In the throne room, King Odin sits atop his gilded seat, his presence commanding, even intimidating. Beside him stands Queen Frigga, her beauty and poise as striking as the rumors claimed. The sight of her eases your nerves slightly; she seems kind, her gentle smile a stark contrast to the stern expressions of her husband and the guards flanking the room.

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

He stands a step behind his parents, dressed in sleek black and green, the golden accents of his attire catching the light. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his pale features sharp and angular. There’s an air of arrogance about him, a cool detachment that only adds to his enigmatic aura.

Your father bows, and you quickly follow suit, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Your Majesties,” your father begins, his voice steady. “It is an honor to stand before you. I thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Odin nods curtly, his single eye fixed on your father. “We are pleased to have you here. This alliance is of great importance to both our realms.”

Frigga steps forward, her smile warm. “And you must be the princess,” she says, addressing you directly.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is a privilege to be here.”

Frigga’s smile widens, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But the feeling is short-lived as you catch Loki’s gaze. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Loki,” Odin says, gesturing toward you. “This is the princess, your betrothed.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Loki’s lips curl into a faint, almost dismissive smirk. He inclines his head slightly but says nothing.

You suppress the urge to bristle. Fine, you think. If he’s going to be curt, so be it.

Frigga notices the tension and steps in, her voice soothing. “Why don’t the two of you take a moment to speak privately? Get to know one another.”

Your father nods in agreement. “An excellent idea.”

Before you can protest, you’re being led to a nearby chamber, Loki following behind you at a leisurely pace. Once the door closes, you turn to face him, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick, uncomfortable.

“So,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound calm. “It seems we are to be married.”

Loki leans against the nearest wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I find the arrangement rather curious.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Curious? In what way?”

He shrugs, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Our kingdoms are not exactly equals. One might wonder what my father hopes to gain from such a union.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you smile sweetly, matching his tone. “Perhaps he hopes I’ll teach you some manners.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regains his composure. “Manners? How quaint. I wasn’t aware my betrothed was a tutor.”

You take a step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I wasn’t aware mine was a child.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, you think you’ve won. But then he chuckles, low and amused. “You have spirit, I’ll give you that. It’s almost endearing.”

“Almost?” you echo, tilting your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I doubt you intended it as one.”

Loki studies you for a moment, his green eyes piercing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And neither are you,” you reply, refusing to look away.

The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging between you. Finally, Loki straightens, his expression unreadable once more.

“This should be interesting,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying an edge.

You don’t respond, watching as he strides toward the door and leaves without another word.

When you return to the throne room, Frigga gives you a knowing look, as if she can sense the clash of wills that just occurred.

“I trust you had a productive conversation,” she says gently.

You offer her a polite smile. “It was... enlightening.”

Loki says nothing, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

As the meeting concludes and you prepare to return to your chambers at Asgard for now, you can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of a battle of wits and wills. And for the first time since hearing of the betrothal, you find yourself almost looking forward to the challenge.

The news spreads faster than you’d expect. Within days of the announcement, the realms are abuzz with the most unlikely engagement of the century: Loki, the so-called “trickster prince” of Asgard, and you, the princess of a modest but proud kingdom.

You learn of the reactions secondhand—your father shares reports from neighboring realms, some of which range from incredulous laughter to outright disbelief. Even within Asgard, whispers fill the air. Servants, courtiers, even the warriors of the great halls exchange furtive glances as you pass, clearly wondering how and why such a union has come to be.

You, however, have no answers for them.

Forced to stay in Asgard for the duration of your courtship, you find yourself in a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated meetings, formal dinners, and—most excruciating of all—dates.

The first one is planned with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Frigga herself announces it over breakfast, her tone pleasant but brooking no argument.

“The two of you will take a walk through the gardens this afternoon,” she says, her serene expression giving no indication that this is a royal decree rather than a suggestion. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m sure you’ll find the fresh air invigorating.”

Loki, seated across from you at the lavish dining table, barely looks up from his plate. “Invigorating,” he echoes dryly, his tone implying that being dragged into the sunlight is the last thing he finds appealing.

You sip your tea, determined not to let him ruin your mood. “It sounds delightful,” you say, forcing a bright smile.

When the time comes, the “walk” is as awkward as you anticipated. The gardens of Asgard are, of course, stunning, with vibrant flowers and towering trees that look as though they were sculpted by the gods themselves. But the beauty of your surroundings does little to ease the tension between you and your betrothed.

“You seem thrilled to be here,” you remark as you stroll along a cobblestone path, glancing at Loki. He walks a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression neutral.

“I’m beside myself with joy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. “If you hate this so much, why not just tell your parents you’re not interested? I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Loki stops, turning to face you with an arched brow. “You think I haven’t tried? My father, as you may have noticed, is not particularly accommodating when it comes to matters of ‘duty.’”

You shrug. “Neither is mine. But at least I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re positively brimming with enthusiasm. Tell me, is sarcasm a custom in your kingdom, or is it just your natural talent?”

“It’s a survival skill,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Particularly useful when dealing with insufferable princes.”

Loki laughs—a genuine laugh, though he quickly masks it with a cough. “Touché.”

The rest of the walk is less tense, though the banter continues. By the time you return to the palace, you’re both mildly annoyed but also—if you’re honest with yourself—mildly entertained.

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

One afternoon, you’re coerced into accompanying Loki to the library, which he claims is his “sanctuary.” You quickly learn that by “sanctuary,” he means a place where he can hide from people and indulge in his penchant for mocking their intellectual inadequacies.

“You know,” you say, trailing your fingers along the spines of ancient tomes as Loki lounges in a nearby chair, “if you put half as much effort into being pleasant as you do into being smug, you might actually be tolerable.”

“Why would I aim for tolerable when I can achieve perfection?” he counters, not looking up from his book.

You grab the nearest volume and plop it unceremoniously onto the table in front of him. “Here. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

Loki picks up the book, glances at the title, and smirks. “A Beginner’s Guide to Asgardian History? How quaint.”

You grin, leaning on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with anything too advanced.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and you swear you see a flicker of amusement there. Then he closes the book with a theatrical sigh. “Very well. Sit, and I’ll educate you—though I can’t promise you’ll retain anything.”

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve learned more about Asgardian history than you ever thought you’d care to know. And, despite his constant teasing, Loki is an excellent teacher.

Another date—a “ride” across the Bifrost on enchanted steeds—proves to be even more chaotic.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Loki asks as you mount your steed, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Of course,” you reply confidently, though your grip on the reins betrays your nerves.

As the horses take off, galloping across the shimmering bridge, you quickly realize that Asgardian steeds are not like those of your kingdom. They’re faster, stronger, and seemingly unbothered by the laws of gravity.

You let out an involuntary squeal as your horse leaps into the air, soaring above the bridge for a heart-stopping moment before landing gracefully.

Behind you, Loki laughs—an infuriating, delighted sound. “Having fun, princess?”

“Shut up!” you shout, gripping the reins tighter.

By the time the ride is over, your hair is a mess, your heart is pounding, and you’re thoroughly mortified. Loki, of course, looks as composed as ever.

“Well,” he says as you dismount, his smirk firmly in place, “that was exhilarating. Shall we go again?”

You glare at him, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Don’t push your luck.”

Despite the constant banter, you find yourself… not hating his company as much as you expected. Loki, for all his arrogance, is undeniably clever, and his sharp wit keeps you on your toes. He’s also surprisingly observant, occasionally making remarks that reveal a deeper understanding of you than you’re comfortable admitting.

For his part, Loki seems to enjoy sparring with you, though he never lets on too much. There are moments when his smirk softens, when his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary. But just as quickly, he retreats behind his usual façade of indifference.

The days pass, and the courtship continues, much to the amusement of the palace staff and the frustration of your parents.

“They’re impossible,” Odin mutters one evening after dinner, watching as you and Loki exchange yet another round of playful insults.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Frigga replies with a smile, her gaze warm as she watches the two of you.

Perfect. You wouldn’t go that far. But as you lie awake in your chambers that night, replaying the day’s events in your mind, you can’t deny that something about Loki intrigues you.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re starting to think that this arrangement might not be so terrible after all.

The day of your wedding looms ever closer, and Asgard hums with preparations. The golden halls are adorned with garlands of flowers, banners bearing the crests of your kingdom and Asgard hang side by side, and the palace is abuzz with activity. Servants scurry to and fro, courtiers gossip behind jeweled fans, and Frigga oversees every detail with her characteristic grace.

You, meanwhile, feel like a tightly coiled spring, caught between nervous anticipation and the persistent irritation that comes from dealing with Loki.

If the prince’s attitude was difficult before, it’s positively maddening now. You’re not sure what changed, but he’s been colder, more distant, his biting remarks sharper than usual.

One day, as you’re walking through the palace gardens, you decide to confront him.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” you demand, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

Loki arches a brow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to corner him. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have so many.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been acting like an even bigger ass than usual lately, and I want to know why.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“I’m serious, Loki.” Your voice softens, though your gaze remains firm. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me.”

For a moment, his expression falters, and you think he might actually answer you. But then his smirk returns, colder than before.

“Perhaps I’m simply preparing you for the reality of being married to me,” he says, his tone light but laced with something darker.

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “Fine,” you snap. “Be an ass. See if I care.”

You storm off, leaving him standing in the garden, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The tension between you only worsens with the arrival of Thor.

The golden-haired prince returns from a long mission, his presence immediately commanding attention wherever he goes. Thor is everything Loki is not—open, friendly, and effortlessly charming. He greets you with a beaming smile, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“You must be the princess,” he says, clasping your hand in his large, calloused one. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, returning his smile.

“Of course!” Thor’s laughter booms through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “I can see now why my brother is so reluctant to share his time with you. He must be afraid I’ll steal you away!”

You laugh politely, though the comment catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Loki appears at Thor’s side, his expression carefully neutral.

“Thor,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “How delightful of you to join us. I see you’ve already met my betrothed.”

“Indeed, I have!” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “She’s delightful. You’re a lucky man, brother.”

Loki’s smile tightens, and you swear you see his jaw clench. “Yes,” he says, his voice a touch colder. “Lucky indeed.”

From that moment on, Loki’s demeanor shifts even further. He grows colder, more distant, and his once playful banter becomes outright cutting.

During a dinner with Thor and the royal family, you find yourself on the receiving end of one of his more caustic remarks.

“Tell me, princess,” Loki drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Have you been enjoying your time here in Asgard? Or is it too overwhelming for someone from such... modest origins?”

The table falls silent, all eyes turning to you. Thor frowns, clearly disapproving of his brother’s behavior, while Frigga gives Loki a sharp look.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s been lovely,” you reply sweetly. “Though I must admit, the company has been a bit... mixed.”

Thor bursts out laughing, while Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well played, princess,” he says, his voice low and icy.

The tension between you only seems to escalate as the days pass, culminating in a heated argument the night before the wedding.

“You know,” you say, standing in the middle of the grand hall where the ceremony will take place, “if you’re so miserable about this marriage, why don’t you just call it off?”

“And bring shame to both our kingdoms?” Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think not.”

“Shame?” You scoff. “Oh, please. Everyone knows you don’t want this any more than I do.”

“And yet here we are,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.

The argument spirals, both of you hurling insults and accusations until you’re both breathing heavily, standing far too close to each other.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air crackles with tension, and you half-expect Loki to say something cruel, something to end the conversation once and for all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, princess,” he says quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

You’re left standing alone in the empty hall, your chest tight and your mind racing.

The day of the wedding arrives, and you wake with a mixture of dread and resignation. You’re dressed in an elaborate gown, the finest your kingdom has ever produced, and escorted to the ceremony by your father and a contingent of Asgardian guards.

The hall is packed with dignitaries and guests from across the realms, their eyes fixed on you as you make your way down the aisle. At the end of it stands Loki, dressed in black and gold, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

As you approach, you search his face for any sign of emotion, any hint of the man you’ve gotten to know over the past weeks. But he gives nothing away.

The ceremony proceeds smoothly, the vows exchanged without incident. But as you stand before the gathered crowd, your hand resting in Loki’s, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

When the officiant finally declares you husband and wife, Loki leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “The games begin, princess.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Bring it on, prince.”

The crowd erupts in applause, oblivious to the battle of wills raging between the two of you.

And as Loki leads you down the aisle, his hand resting lightly on yours, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this strange, tempestuous union. One thing is certain: life with Loki will never be dull.

The wedding feast is a blur of golden light, laughter, and endless toasts. Your smile is painted on, your cheeks aching as guests from every realm offer their congratulations. Loki plays his part impeccably, charming the crowd with his wit and occasional glances in your direction that are just shy of affectionate.

Inside, you feel like a tightly coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing moment. You know what comes after the feast. The thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The hour grows late, and when the last of the guests have finally departed, you’re escorted to the chambers that have been prepared for you and Loki. The halls seem longer than usual, the distance to your destination stretching endlessly as your nerves build.

When you reach the door, the servants offer you both polite bows before disappearing down the corridor, leaving you and Loki alone.

He opens the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His expression is unreadable, though his usual smirk is noticeably absent.

The chambers are stunning, of course—richly furnished and illuminated by soft, flickering candlelight. But all you can focus on is the massive bed at the center of the room, its silken sheets and embroidered pillows looking more like a throne than a place to rest.

Loki closes the door behind you, and you hear the faint click of the lock.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as you stare at the bed.

“Well,” Loki says after a moment, his voice breaking the tense silence. “I suppose this is the part where we consummate the marriage.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to turn and look at him. “I... I know,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki studies you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he sighs and moves to the nearest chair, sinking into it with an almost theatrical air of exasperation.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” he says, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. “I have no intention of forcing you—or myself, for that matter—into anything tonight.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he replies, his tone dry, “that we don’t actually have to do anything. All anyone needs to know is that we sayit happened. As long as we both stick to the story, no one will be the wiser.”

Relief floods through you, so sudden and intense that your knees nearly buckle. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I find the idea of spending the night in awkward silence far more appealing than the alternative.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding quickly. “Alright. I... I agree.”

“Good.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room, unfastening his cloak and draping it over a chair. “We’ll sleep in the same bed—appearances and all that—but I promise to stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bed again. “Alright,” you say softly, your voice steadier now.

Loki changes into a loose tunic and trousers while you slip behind a screen to remove your elaborate gown and don a simple nightdress. When you emerge, he’s already lying on one side of the bed, his back to you.

You climb in cautiously, keeping to the very edge of your side. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and you can feel the faint warmth of Loki’s presence, though you’re careful not to look at him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, princess,” Loki says after a while, his voice quiet but laced with his usual sarcasm.

“Goodnight, Loki,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

The next morning, you’re awoken by a knock at the door. Loki groans softly, rolling onto his back but making no move to get up.

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

The door opens, and a group of servants enters, carrying trays of breakfast and fresh clothing. They’re followed by Frigga, who takes one look at the rumpled bed and your mussed hair and smiles knowingly.

“I trust you both slept well,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Loki sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and flashing her a lazy grin. “Like babes in a cradle, Mother.”

You flush, quickly busying yourself with the tea that one of the servants has placed on the bedside table.

Frigga’s gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment longer before she nods, clearly satisfied. “Good. The court will be eager to hear that the union has been properly sealed.”

You nearly choke on your tea, but Loki remains perfectly composed, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “They needn’t worry about that.”

Frigga gives him a pointed look, then turns to leave, her skirts sweeping gracefully behind her.

When the door closes, you let out a shaky breath, your cheeks still burning.

“Well,” Loki says, leaning back against the headboard with a smirk. “That was convincing enough, wouldn’t you say?”

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat in it. “You could have warned me she’d ask.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you flustered?” He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of public appearances and well-wishes from guests and courtiers. You and Loki play your roles to perfection, standing side by side and accepting congratulations with polite smiles.

But every so often, you catch Loki’s eye, and there’s a flicker of something there—something you can’t quite define.

As the sun sets and the festivities wind down, you find yourself wondering if this strange, tentative partnership might become something more.

The passing weeks blur in a mix of royal duties, public appearances, and private moments that seem far too fleeting. You and Loki settle into an unexpected, but not unwelcome, routine. It’s not one born out of affection, nor of any deep romantic feeling—at least not on your part—but something else entirely.

It’s friendship, of sorts, though it has an edge of guardedness on both sides.

Loki is still as sarcastic as ever, his barbed words often making you want to throw a pillow at him, but there’s a subtle shift in his attitude. He doesn’t try to make you uncomfortable, nor does he push you into situations that force your discomfort. Instead, he lets the two of you share moments of quiet companionship, moments that pass without him demanding anything more than just… being together.

At times, you even catch him offering a rare, genuine smile when the two of you exchange witty banter, the edge of coldness in his eyes softening for just a moment before it’s hidden away again.

It’s those moments—small, fleeting—that make you begin to wonder if there’s more to Loki than meets the eye.

But then, every time Thor is around, Loki retreats into himself. His demeanor hardens, his eyes become colder, and the playful teasing he once directed at you disappears, replaced by something almost resembling disdain.

It’s frustrating. You had grown used to Loki’s sharp wit and dry humor, but around Thor, he becomes a stranger. It’s as though he’s a different person entirely.

It’s in those moments that you realize just how much Thor’s presence affects Loki. The way his brother’s easy charm and warmth seem to have earned him the favor of everyone around them, especially their father, Odin.

The stark contrast between the two brothers becomes painfully obvious during family dinners.

On this particular evening, you’re seated at the grand table in the palace hall, flanked by Frigga on one side and Thor on the other. Loki sits at the far end, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on his plate. The tension between the two brothers is palpable, though it’s subtle, buried beneath layers of carefully crafted politeness.

Frigga chats lightly with Thor about his latest battle, her soft voice carrying through the room. You listen attentively, though a part of you can’t help but glance over at Loki.

You can feel the weight of his silence, the way he seems to withdraw into himself whenever Thor speaks. Loki only offers the occasional half-hearted comment, his tone distant, as if he’s not really a part of the conversation.

Frigga, ever perceptive, seems to notice as well. She glances between Loki and Thor, her expression one of quiet concern.

“Loki,” she says gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding, “is there something you wish to add?”

Loki straightens slightly but doesn’t look up from his plate. “No, Mother. I’m simply… observing.”

You can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches, his gaze still fixed on his food as though he’s avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Thor, ever the optimist, tries to break the tension. “Come now, brother. Surely you have a better tale to tell than mine. You’ve always been the more… creative one when it comes to storytelling.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, but the look he gives his brother is colder than you’ve ever seen it. There’s something there, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between them.

“I have no tales to tell,” Loki replies coolly, his voice flat. “Not tonight.”

The silence that follows is thick, awkward. You shift in your seat, unsure of what to say, and Frigga clears her throat, clearly attempting to shift the atmosphere.

“I’m sure Loki has many stories to share when he’s in the mood, Thor,” she says, giving her son a kind smile. “But for now, perhaps we should allow him the peace to enjoy his meal in silence.”

Thor seems to take the hint, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he nods. “Of course, Mother.”

But you notice the way he glances at Loki one last time before he turns his attention to you. He smiles, his usual warmth returning.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Thor says, his voice easy and kind. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

You smile back, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, thank you, Thor. Asgard has been… more than welcoming.”

Loki stays silent, his fork moving absently as he pushes food around on his plate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on him, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he seems to withdraw further with each passing moment.

Later, after the dinner has ended and the courtiers have dispersed, you find yourself walking the halls of the palace, your thoughts a tangled mess.

Loki’s behavior continues to trouble you. It’s clear that there’s something between him and Thor, something deep and unresolved. You can sense it in the way Loki acts when his brother is near, the way he retreats inward, shutting everyone else out.

And then there’s Odin. You’ve seen it too—the way the Allfather seems to favor Thor in ways that Loki could never seem to earn. The way Odin’s praise comes effortlessly to Thor, while Loki is left in the shadows, forced to fight for every scrap of recognition.

You’ve begun to notice the small things—the way Loki’s expression shifts when Odin speaks to Thor, or how he watches them both with an almost painful intensity when they stand together.

It’s hard to ignore the dynamic between them. Loki’s desire to prove himself to his father, to gain his approval in a way that seems perpetually out of reach, is something you can’t help but empathize with.

But you don’t know how to talk about it, how to approach him without making things worse.

That night, after the dinner, you retreat to your chambers, the silence of the room settling around you like a weight. Loki is already there, seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he stares out the window.

The flickering light from the torch on the wall casts shadows across his face, making his expression seem distant and closed off.

You hesitate in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But the longer you stand there, the more the words seem to push their way out.

“Loki,” you begin, your voice tentative, “I know things have been… difficult lately.”

Loki doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. “Difficult? You mean the constant parade of Thor’s victories and Father’s adoration?” His words are sharp, laced with bitterness.

You step further into the room, your heart aching at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quietly. “But I can see it, Loki. I can see how much it hurts you.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Loki sighs deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a headache.

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

You take a careful step closer, your voice soft. “I’m not pitying you, Loki. I’m just… I just don’t want you to feel alone in this.”

He laughs bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he turns to face you. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be cast aside, to never be good enough no matter how hard you try?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you look at him. “I don’t know what that’s like,” you admit, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly trying to prove yourself to someone who doesn’t even notice.”

Loki’s gaze flickers briefly to yours, and for a moment, there’s a crack in his armor. But it’s gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he repeats, though there’s less conviction in his voice.

“I’m not offering you sympathy,” you reply firmly. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here, Loki.”

He stares at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. And then, with a quiet sigh, he nods once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, princess. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You nod, though your heart aches at the weight of his words.

“I’ll be here when you are,” you say softly.

Loki doesn’t answer, but the silence that falls between you is… less heavy somehow. Less lonely.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but in that moment, you both find a small measure of peace.

And for now, that’s enough.

The days following your conversation with Loki are a strange blend of light and shadow. The weight of your words lingers in the air between you two, but there’s an undeniable shift. It’s subtle, at first—a slight softening in the way he looks at you, a rare but meaningful smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his lips.

But it’s clear, too, that there are walls around him, walls that are not easily torn down. You don’t press him further, content to let him open up in his own time, if at all.

Then, one evening, when the palace is quiet and the rest of the court is engaged in a distant gathering, Loki surprises you.

You’re walking down one of the many hallways, heading back to your chambers after a rather dull meeting with various nobles, when you hear his voice.

“Princess,” he calls softly, his voice carrying through the silence of the corridor.

You turn to find him standing a little ways down the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. There’s something different in his stance—less guarded, more… open, though he still holds that impenetrable air around him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Loki? What’s the matter?”

He shifts, a subtle but noticeable tension in his posture as if he's deliberating whether or not to speak. Finally, after a beat of silence, he steps toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.

“I… I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You give him a careful look. “What about it?”

Loki glances down, avoiding your eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “About my father.” His voice tightens slightly, but it’s not the usual bitterness. It’s something more raw. “You were right. I… I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a long time.”

You wait, not wanting to interrupt, giving him space to speak.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but…” Loki exhales slowly, his breath shaking as if he's letting something go for the first time. “I’ve never felt like I was enough for Odin. For my father. Not in the way Thor is. Not in the way that he needs me to be.”

You step closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice. “Loki…”

He shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I’ve always tried to do everything he wanted. Prove myself, be the son he wanted. But it’s never been enough. Every time I think I’m close to earning his favor, Thor does something. It doesn’t even matter what. Odin just… adores him.” Loki’s words come out with a sharpness, like they’ve been pent up for years, and yet there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

You want to reach out, to comfort him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“Thor…” Loki scoffs, though it’s not with malice—more a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “He doesn’t try. He just is. And Odin… he praises him for every little thing. Meanwhile, I’m left to pick up the pieces, to try to carve out a place for myself. But nothing ever works.”

A knot forms in your chest as you listen to him. It’s impossible to ignore how deeply Loki’s words cut, how much he craves the recognition and love he feels he’ll never receive.

“I know it’s not Thor’s fault,” Loki adds, almost as an afterthought, as if the words pain him. “But sometimes, I just… I can’t help but resent him.”

There’s an ache in his voice that hits you like a physical blow, and without thinking, you step forward and place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Loki,” you say quietly. “I can see how much this hurts you.”

His eyes soften for just a moment, a flicker of something—something like gratitude—before the walls go back up. But it’s a start.

“I know you understand,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “It’s just… hard to admit, even to myself.”

The silence between you two stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like a shared understanding, an unspoken bond that has formed between you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say softly, stepping back a little but keeping your eyes on him.

Loki looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gives you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

It’s more than he’s ever said to you in any of your interactions, and it makes your heart flutter, though you don’t show it.

“Anytime, Loki,” you reply, your voice steady, though your hands are trembling ever so slightly.

The next day, Odin makes his usual rounds through the court, his presence like a weight hanging over everyone. He speaks with courtiers, listens to reports from the generals, and gives out orders. But as usual, his praise for Thor is effusive, his voice rich with admiration.

It’s when you’re walking through the hall toward the council room that you catch the conversation between Odin and Thor. They’re speaking loudly enough for you to overhear, and you can’t help but wince as Odin lauds Thor’s latest achievement.

“Thor,” Odin says, his voice full of pride, “you’ve done the kingdom proud. Truly, your battle strategies are unmatched. I’m so glad to see you take your place as the leader Asgard needs.”

Thor laughs, clearly pleased, though there’s no sign of arrogance in him. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of my allies.”

Odin waves off the sentiment with a chuckle, his voice warm. “Your humility is one of your finest qualities, my son.”

And that’s when it hits you—how blatant the favoritism is. How obvious it is that Odin is always quick to praise Thor, but Loki, despite his brilliance, is always left in the shadows.

Your chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. You’ve heard whispers before—how Odin has always placed Thor on a pedestal, how his approval has always been out of reach for Loki.

You’ve seen it yourself, in the way Odin looks at his sons. Thor, with his easy smiles and loud boisterousness, is clearly the favored one. Loki’s quieter, more calculating nature doesn’t seem to earn him that same adoration.

And something inside you snaps.

You’ve had enough of watching Loki suffer in silence. Enough of the obvious bias that Odin so openly displays.

With a deep breath, you step forward, deliberately interrupting the conversation between father and son.

“Lord Odin,” you say, your voice steady and louder than you expect. Both Odin and Thor turn toward you, surprised by your sudden interruption.

Odin’s eyes flicker over you, but his expression remains neutral. “Princess,” he greets, his tone polite but distant. “What is it you need?”

You take a step closer, finding the courage you’ve never had before to speak your mind. “I think it’s time someone pointed out something that’s been bothering me for some time,” you say, meeting Odin’s eyes with unwavering resolve.

Thor looks at you, clearly surprised, but Odin’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve noticed,” you continue, “that you never seem to acknowledge your sons equally. You give Thor praise, constantly sing his virtues, while Loki…” You glance over at him, who stands with his arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than usual. “Loki deserves the same recognition, and it’s time someone said it.”

Thor’s eyes widen at your words, and Odin’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Princess, this is a matter between my sons and I,” Odin says, his tone calm but with an edge that warns you to back down.

But you don’t. “It’s a matter of fairness,” you say, your voice unshaken. “Loki is just as capable, just as brilliant, and he deserves the same respect as Thor.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, a heavy, thick silence that seems to hang in the air. Odin’s eyes study you carefully, as if deciding whether or not to chastise you.

But then, to your surprise, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps you are right,” he says, his voice thoughtful, though still carrying the weight of authority. “I will consider your words, Princess.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to leave. You know you’ve probably made a powerful enemy, but for once, it feels worth it.

As you walk away, you can’t help but glance back at Loki, who is now watching you with a look of surprise—and something else, something softer.

Later that night, you’re in your chambers, lost in your thoughts when a quiet knock at the door pulls you from your reverie.

You open it to find Loki standing there, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there’s something different in his expression.

“Loki,” you say, surprised to see him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You didn’t have to do that. But you did.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t make it any less… meaningful.” He hesitates, then takes a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve… you’ve done more for me today than anyone has in a long time.”

The words settle between you, and for a moment, everything is quiet.

You don’t know what to say. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. The air between you is charged, but calm, like a storm that’s waiting to break.

And then, without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you.

Loki’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand brushes yours, tentative but warm, and that’s when you both understand.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment, the words unsaid but understood, and then you kiss—softly, tenderly, as if this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need but never quite expected.

It’s gentle, quiet, and everything in between, and for the first time in a long time, you feel as though the walls between you are starting to fall.

The day after you stood up to Odin, something subtle but undeniable changes between you and Loki. The lingering tension that had once surrounded him, the cold barrier he had erected between himself and everyone, especially you, seems to soften just slightly. He still wears that aloof mask he’s perfected over years of deflecting people’s attention, but there are moments when he looks at you differently—like he sees you, really sees you, as something more than just the princess he was supposed to marry.

But of course, Loki is Loki, and despite the small shifts, he’s still a master of maintaining distance. He keeps his emotions locked away as tightly as his wit, but you’ve begun to notice the cracks. Maybe it’s in the way he lingers a little longer when you’re together, or how he catches your gaze in passing, holding it just a little longer than necessary.

Despite the changes between you two, the world around you continues to spin, and your role as the Princess of Asgard, as Loki’s wife, only grows more public.

The next day, after an awkward breakfast with Frigga, where she kept giving you knowing looks and you were pretty sure you heard her suppressing a sigh, you find yourself walking through the gardens, trying to escape the subtle whispers of court life.

As you stroll among the flowers, you hear footsteps behind you. A familiar, booming voice calls your name.

“Princess Y/N,” Thor’s deep voice rings out, and you stop, turning to face him.

Thor looks even more like the golden child of Asgard today, his wide smile blinding and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, for what you did yesterday. Defending Loki like that.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I never saw it, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “The way Father favors me and how much it’s hurt Loki. I’ve always thought he was… I don’t know, distant, difficult. I didn’t realize I was a part of the problem.”

You blink, a little surprised by his sincerity. You’ve never seen Thor look so humble, so… vulnerable. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous warrior he usually presents to the world. “You didn’t know?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “No, not really. And I’m ashamed to admit it. But I never thought about how he might feel when all the praise I get… it takes away from what he deserves. Loki’s clever, more than anyone gives him credit for. I see it now. I see how I’ve made him feel… less.”

Your heart aches a little. There’s so much more to Thor than the world gives him credit for, and perhaps there’s more to Loki’s pain than you even realized.

“Thor,” you start, your voice a little unsure but kind. “I think you need to tell him that. He needs to hear it from you.”

Thor gives a tight nod, the look in his eyes both heavy and sincere. “I will. But… I wanted to talk to you first, because I didn’t want you to think that I… I didn’t care.” He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I know you’re in a difficult position, Y/N, especially with Loki…”

You shrug lightly. “It’s not difficult. He’s my husband, Thor. I have a duty to him, yes, but I also want to see him happy. I don’t want him to feel this way anymore, either.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a soft smile. “And I promise you, I’ll try to make things right between me and Loki. But thank you. Truly.”

He offers a warm, brotherly smile and pats you on the shoulder, making you smile back, a little touched by the earnestness in his voice. It’s rare to see Thor so serious, but in moments like this, you realize just how much he cares about his family—even if it’s a little too late.

As the conversation dies down, Thor bids you farewell, walking off in the opposite direction to presumably find his brother. You remain in the gardens for a few more minutes, deep in thought. There’s a strange, almost bittersweet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding of the dynamic between the brothers.

The next day, you find yourself walking the palace halls when you catch sight of Loki. He’s talking to a group of Asgardian nobles, but the moment he notices you, his demeanor shifts instantly. His sharp, emerald eyes cut toward you, his mouth forming a thin line. He says something to the nobles, and they scatter quickly, leaving him alone in the corridor.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. But before you can decide, Loki walks toward you, his footsteps purposeful. You can feel the chill of his presence before he even speaks.

“What was that, then?” Loki’s voice is cool, his usual aloofness cloaking his words.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow. “You and Thor,” he sneers slightly, as though saying his brother’s name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “You two spent an awfully long time together yesterday, didn’t you? Talking about me, no doubt. What was it this time? His concern for my well-being?”

You bite your lip, taking in the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but you stand your ground. “We talked about you, yes. But it wasn’t to criticize you, Loki. It was about… understanding.”

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and his gaze shifts toward the floor. “I see. Understanding.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Not me. Not him.”

Loki’s head jerks up, and his eyes flash with something unreadable. “I push people away because I know how this ends, Y/N. Thor always takes what he wants. He took Father’s love, and now he wants to take you, too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice twisting something deep inside you. You take a step toward him, but he recoils slightly, his posture rigid.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s certainty in it. “Thor won’t take me from you. I won’t let him.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward you, the flickering of something darker in his gaze before he presses his lips together in frustration. “How can you be so sure?” His voice cracks slightly, and you don’t know how to respond, except to step even closer to him.

His face softens for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see how fragile he really is, how deeply the idea of losing you, losing anything, is etched in him. You place a hand gently on his arm, your voice even softer now.

“I know because we talked. Thor and I. He knows the way you feel, Loki. He’s going to make things right between you two. You don’t have to push him away.”

Loki’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle within him, the struggle to trust his brother again. But then, something shifts in him, and his gaze softens, if only for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Loki admits in a low voice, the words barely audible, as though he’s afraid of speaking them too loud, afraid of what they might mean.

You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and he leans into your touch. “You won’t lose me, Loki. I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice is steady, and you see his breath hitch slightly as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

He looks away quickly, his throat tightening, but the tremor in his shoulders betrays him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, barely holding it together.

“Don’t say that,” you reply firmly. “You’re not perfect. None of us are. But you deserve all the love and respect in the world. And I’m here, Loki. Always.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening with that familiar vulnerability you’ve seen fleetingly in the past few days, but it’s stronger now, more present than ever before. Without thinking, you pull him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his body stiff in your arms, but then he exhales slowly, his breath shaky, and finally, he holds you back.

The weight of everything between you two finally lifts, and the walls crumble a little more. The steady rhythm of his breathing in your arms is all you need to know that he feels safe.

Later that night, when you retire to your chambers, Loki follows you, a quiet presence in the doorway.

You look at him, feeling something deep inside you—a need for closeness, for reassurance that everything will be okay. “Stay with me?” you ask softly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see something like relief wash over his face.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” he says quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion, vulnerability.

You reach for him, and without another word, Loki walks into your arms, settling beside you on the bed. You pull the blankets up around both of you, and without a word, you curl up against him.

His arm drapes around you naturally, and you breathe in the warmth of his presence, the security of knowing that, no matter what happens, you

’ve found something real between you two.

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs softly, as if you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, even when you haven’t fully realized it yourself.

You smile, tracing circles on his chest with your fingers, whispering back, “No need for thanks. Just stay here, with me.”

The night deepens, and the world outside your chambers is cloaked in quiet, but inside, there’s an unmistakable warmth that envelopes both of you. Loki’s arm around you feels like the most natural thing in the world. As the minutes pass, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. There’s a comfort in the silence, in just being close to him. You feel safe here, as if this moment is yours and yours alone, something you both can keep in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Loki doesn’t speak, but the occasional brush of his lips against your temple is all the words you need. Each kiss is a small promise, gentle and soft, as though he’s trying to tell you everything his voice cannot. The warmth of his lips against your skin lingers long after he pulls back, and the weight of the past few months—the distance, the uncertainty, the doubts—slowly begins to dissolve. You realize now that it was never about the marriage contract, nor the obligations that bound you together; it was about this—this connection between the two of you that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.

You kiss him back, tentatively at first, but as you feel him pull you closer, your kisses deepen. They’re slow and deliberate, as though you both want to savor this, to make sure it isn’t just a fleeting moment but a beginning. His lips are warm and soft, and every time they meet yours, there’s a spark—a connection that has been years in the making, one that now feels as though it’s blooming into something beautiful, fragile, and new.

The kisses grow longer, more meaningful, as if both of you are learning how to express the things you’ve kept hidden for so long. Loki’s hand gently cradles your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. He deepens the kiss slightly, and you meet him with equal fervor, the world outside fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared tenderness.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you moves, just breathing in the same air. Loki’s forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, still heavy with emotion.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite put into words. It’s a question, but more than that, it’s a plea—a quiet request for this peace to last.

“I will,” you reply softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. And you mean it, more than anything. You know that, in this moment, everything between you has changed.

The night goes on quietly, both of you finding comfort in each other’s presence, the soft and tender kisses gradually fading into the warmth of shared silence. It’s a perfect peace, a moment of vulnerability and connection that neither of you had ever expected but now can’t imagine living without.

As the days pass, the dynamic between you and Loki shifts. What once seemed like a forced relationship, something borne out of duty and circumstance, is now something more. The distance that once existed between you two has shrunk, replaced by an ease that only comes when two people begin to trust each other in ways neither expected. Your interactions are now filled with light touches, shared glances, and quiet smiles. There’s a softness in Loki’s demeanor that wasn’t there before—a gentleness that’s slowly replacing the walls he’s built around himself.

You see it in the way he looks at you, the way he seeks out your presence even when there’s no need for it. There’s an undeniable shift in his behavior, one that others notice, too.

Frigga, ever observant, notices the change in the air the moment she steps into the palace halls. She smiles knowingly when she sees the way Loki watches you during breakfast, his eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the first time she’s seen him like this in a long while—less guarded, more present. She watches you both from across the room, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. For all the missteps and misunderstandings, she’s always known that the two of you could find something real.

Thor, too, sees the change, though he’s not as subtle in his observations. He slaps Loki on the back one afternoon, his booming laugh echoing through the palace halls. “Well, well! Looks like someone’s finally figured it out,” he teases, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Loki stiffens at first, but then the corner of his lips quirks up, a smirk that’s less mocking and more content than it’s ever been. “What do you mean?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play coy,” Thor says, his tone playful. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s about time, brother.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary, Thor.”

But even as he says this, there’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, a fleeting moment of embarrassment that makes you chuckle softly. Loki’s pride may be as sharp as ever, but there’s a vulnerability there too, one that he tries to hide behind his biting sarcasm and quick wit.

As the days go by, your connection to Loki only deepens. The two of you spend more time together, finding moments of quiet solace amid the chaos of palace life. You talk—about everything and nothing at all. You learn more about each other in those quiet, unspoken moments than you ever did in the months before. It’s in the way he brushes your hair out of your face when it falls in your eyes or how he looks at you when you laugh at something absurd he says. It’s in the way he remembers small details about you, like the way you take your tea or how you always tie your shoes in the same knot.

The change doesn’t go unnoticed by the people around you. The courtiers whisper about it, the nobles gossip behind their fans. They notice the way Loki looks at you when you enter the room, how his eyes soften when you speak. They notice how the two of you sit together at dinner, heads close, sharing small private jokes no one else seems to understand. The shift in the way he treats you is almost palpable, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the palace to catch on.

But the real surprise comes from the children.

It starts innocently enough. One evening, as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, you hear giggling in the distance. When you look around, you see a group of young children playing near the fountain. They stop as soon as they notice you, eyes widening before they run over to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Princess Y/N!” one of them exclaims, a little girl with bright red hair. “Is it true that you and Prince Loki are really married now?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the question, but before you can answer, another child chimes in.

“Yes! I heard you two are so in love!” The child’s voice is full of awe, as though this is the most magical thing they’ve ever heard.

Loki scoffs, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I assure you, we’re simply fulfilling our duties. Nothing more.”

But the children aren’t convinced. They gather around you, bombarding you with questions. “When will you have babies?” one of them asks innocently.

You blush deeply, not quite sure how to handle the question. Loki looks absolutely mortified, but there’s an amused edge to his expression.

“Well,” you start, unsure of what to say, “we haven’t really discussed that yet. But we’re very happy.”

“Oh, I bet you are!” another child giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. “You two are always together now. You must be so in love!”

Loki looks at you in mild horror. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I think we’ve just become a fairytale, Loki.”

The children’s excitement doesn’t end there. The next day, they’re playing again, this time reenacting your supposed “love story” with elaborate costumes. They insist on calling you and Loki the “Royal Lovers of Asgard,” and you can’t help but smile at their innocent enthusiasm. It’s impossible not to see the joy they find in the idea of your relationship, an idea that, in their eyes, is full of magic and wonder. The way they view you both—so wrapped up in this imagined romance—is innocent and sweet, and it makes you realize how far you and Loki have come.

As the days go by, the children’s stories spread throughout the palace. The courtiers begin whispering more frequently about the Royal Lovers, and soon enough, even the servants are in on the tale. You and Loki have become the subject of countless stories, both real and imagined. The court’s expectations of your relationship have shifted, but for the first time, it feels like you’re not just playing a part anymore. You’re both actively shaping this life, together.

And for all the teasing from Thor and the gossips from the children, there’s a part of you that feels proud of what you’ve built. It may have started as a duty, a contract forged by fate, but now it feels like something more. You and Loki are no longer bound by obligation alone. There’s affection, there’s trust, and there’s something deeper—something far more real.

It’s not the fairytale the kingdom expected, but it’s yours. And somehow, that feels perfect.

part 2 with royal kids? ;)

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myswans0ng · 22 days ago

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As Grief Consumes

synopsis: An overconfident prodigy, a chain-smoking-alcohol-chugging brunette, a self-righteous hypocrite, a stoic unimpressed blonde, an overly enthusiastic boy and then there's you... A suicidal maniac.

contents/warning: MDNI, graphic depictions of violence/mature themes, ANGST, mutual pining, eventual smut/smut, slow burn, multiple love interests, character death/s, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, humor, established age of characters is 18yo, jjk x oc, curse user!/jujutsu sorcerer!reader, fem!reader

status: ongoing

also on ao3: here

index: [masterlist] prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2

⋅───⊱ .prologue ⊰───⋅

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Kisaragi,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. It is with great respect for your family’s renowned lineage and reputation, that I extend this formal invitation for your daughter, Ms. Kisaragi to enroll at Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical School.

Having had the privilege of witnessing Ms. Kisaragi’s exceptional talents firsthand during her recent fieldwork, I can confidently attest to her remarkable skill and potential as a jujutsu sorcerer.

At Jujutsu High, we aim to provide guidance, and an environment that fosters the development of sorcerers through rigorous training, academic excellence and hands-on experience. With our expertise, we can help Ms. Kisaragi to further refine her abilities and uphold the principles of sorcery.

We deeply value the Kisaragi family's long-standing commitment to jujutsu sorcery, and it would be an honor to welcome your child as a student.

Should you have any questions or wish to discuss her enrollment further, please do not hesitate to contact me directly.

With highest regards,

Masamichi Yaga Principal Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical School

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

One.

Just one.

You load the bullet into the chamber. You give it a few long spins, playing with it like a spinning wheel. You count the seconds in your head, mumbling to yourself. The gears inside its mechanism, turning and turning.

6 seconds.

It took six seconds before the revolver stopped spinning on its own. You let out a sigh, exasperated. That took longer than usual.

What does fate have in store for you today?

Is your luck finally running out?

Will it cooperate this time?

How exciting.

You chuckled softly at fate– at yourself, really. The metal— as you brushed your finger on the barrel, felt cool to the touch. A stark contrast on the warm leather grip as you held it so casually like a toy.

You point the end of the barrel at the side of your head, its nozzle pressed against your temple. You have indulged yourself in another self imposed game of Russian roulette. The pressure of its weight almost feels comforting to you now.

You groaned, your tone riddling with annoyance. “If this thing doesn’t go off, I’m gonna have a bad day.”

Then you pressed its hammer. All you have to do now is pull the trigger, like you always do.

You laughed again, a little maniacally this time as you felt your heart rate spike ever so slightly. If you keep doing this, it might get boring at some point. You thought to yourself.

You recall the first time you picked up this unusual game of yours. You were eleven years old, stationed in the outskirts of some country you can’t even remember where exactly anymore. But what you do remember is your parents sending you on a mission in the middle of a warzone. Such a scared little twerp, you were.

You weren’t supposed to be crouched behind the crumbling walls of a war-torn city, tending to soldiers whose bodies were mangled beyond recognition, your small— fragile, bloody, little hands trembling as you poured every bit of your cursed energy into wounds that sometimes were too stubborn to heal or maybe you were just weak. You were a child after all.

A child gifted to wield the curse of the Kisaragi lineage. Oh what a marvelous specimen you are, they say.

You could heal practically anything if you will it hard enough! Your curse was a gift.

It’s a gift!

It’s a wonderful, magnificent gift!

You still remember the first soldier you tried to heal, a man whose face you never saw, the dirt had stuck to his skin. You remembered the blood that pooled beneath him, his groans of agony still sung so distinctly in your ears. You remember your hands pressing against his torso. Tears stained your eyes, but it was nothing compared to the gruesome sight before you. You felt your cursed energy course through him with whatever willpower your little body had.

Then you felt it like an orchestra playing the bridge of a symphony. You felt his pain— every jagged breath, every sharp searing ache of his wounded flesh, the metallic tang in your mouth, the mind-numbing throb in his chest like it was hit by a fucking freight train. You absorbed all of this soldier’s torture in an attempt to heal him.

And he died anyway.

Idiot.

You told yourself it wasn’t your fault, that some wounds were beyond saving. Poor naive you, crying because you failed at the one thing you’re supposed to be good at.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You say to yourself as you tap the barrel on your head on each emphasis.

The gun felt colder now, as if it had sensed the shift in your otherwise manic mood. The weight of your memories pressing harder than the steel.

It was a long night, alone, scared and unable to sleep. Anyone or anything that you knew was far away. You saw these soldiers sitting around a comfortable and warm fire, their conversation, their laughter as hollow as yours is now as they played this silly little game of life & death. Passing around a similar gun. You would hear a click but no bang, then they would laugh, and continue their chatter as if it was nothing. Like a daring game to be played amongst your closest and craziest friends.

A normal kid— person would find this terrifying if they had witnessed such recklessness. But you were no normal kid.

No, no. A normal kid would run and tell an adult about what those dumb soldiers were doing.

But instead, this angered you. You confronted them.

Selfish!

You called them selfish.

Here you were using every ounce of your cursed energy, absorbing the torment of their pain and suffering just so they could live another day and see the faces of their loved ones once more and yet they were toying with their own lives. How incredibly… selfish.

At that time, you expected that these grown-ups– these soldiers would hear the sincerity of your words and the fire in your heart. To realize that what they’re doing is wrong in every way but no.

They laughed at you as if you had said the most ridiculous thing ever.

“A’piece of advice kid, you’ve alr’dy seen da’ shit they do t’us out there,” he narrowed his eyes at you, leaning a little closer. You could still remember the smell of tobacco on his breath. The same one your grandfather smokes. “If ya’ think ‘ya can find a candle of hope that we’ll survive this hell’ole, ‘ya might as’well look for f’kin’ Santa Claus,” he cackled. His friends, clamoring along with him like sheep.

“‘Ya might as well kick off b’fore they beat ‘ya to it!”

Demented.

Laughing.

Sheep.

Now, here you are. No longer that frightened child. Walking on a tightrope, just like they did. You’ve gone off to countless missions, stationed in every possible conflict zone imaginable, and tasked with high-risk operations that demanded every bit of your abilities.

You’ve felt— experienced almost every possible sensation of pain there is, from the sharp sting of a shallow cut to the jarring impact of losing a limb, and even… gunshots. Those still lingered in your veins, in your skin– in your senses, even after all this time. A blow to the head is nothing.

You exhaled sharply. Your finger hovered over the trigger. Your thoughts are as blank as the expression on your face. Your life at your fingertips. So poetic.

So… beautiful.

Click!

Nothing.

“What a bother!” You huffed, rolling your eyes. Just when you thought it was going to be a little interesting today, fate said otherwise.

Well, that’s that. You said to yourself as you swivelled your chair around, tossing the revolver back into your junk drawer.

Disappointing. You sighed.

“Well that was… interesting,” you hear a voice say.

You look up, seeing two figures standing before you, just by the door of your study. One was a slender guy, his spiky hair as white as baby powder and a pair of sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose, giving you a glimpse of his bright— almost blinding blue eyes along with his baby powder lashes.

Next to him, was another slim man but slightly more muscular, his eyes seemingly disinterested or bored. His long dark hair tied into a bun, a few untamed strands straying on the side of his forehead, almost as if it was intentional. His shoulders slumped, making the other appear taller. Next to each other, they looked like the two opposing sides of a yin yang… or the alternating stripes on a zebra.

“Usually people knock before they enter someone’s room,” you said. “Are all Jujutsu High sorcerers this rude?”

The baby powder haired man chuckled. His tone, light and carefree. It was almost annoying. As if he hadn’t just witnessed you playing this dangerous game of yours.

“Well apologies Miss,” he snickered. “But in our defense, the door was already open and we’re on a bit of a schedule here.”

You eyed them both warily, your thoughts elsewhere and you honestly couldn’t care less on what they were here for. You rest your cheek on the palm of your hand, your fingers tapping on the wooden surface of your desk. Baby powder was waiting for you to say something as he kept a friendly eager grin on his face.

His dark-haired companion rolled his eyes and nudged at his friend. “Satoru,” he muttered, his tone tinged with mild annoyance. He turns to you, he gives a small, apologetic nod. “Suguru Geto. It’s nice to meet you. We’re here on Yaga sensei’s request to bring you to Tokyo.”

Ah right. The letter. You should be honored, like your mother said. Master Yaga saw… potential in you.

But you’re a skeptic at heart. Was it really potential?

Or a means to an end? Not that it would be any different with how you’ve been treated your whole life.

“Right…” You draw out. The adrenaline that briefly occupied your chest during your little game was now fading. “Sensei… I guess I have to call him that now too.”

“So you’re Gojo,” You point at the man with white hair then at the other one. “And you’re Geto.”

You’ve heard of them. Hell, who hasn’t?

Their names were passed around here and there by your parents in such high regard, though never directly to praise you, but as measuring sticks, impossible benchmarks for you to reach as if it wasn’t you who was keeping this family afloat.

“Funny,” you continued on. “You’re far from what I had imagined in my head.” You said flatly, standing up from your seat as you looked over the two of them once more. But you can’t say for certain how you expected the one gifted with six eyes would look like.

And his friend, well you can’t really say much other than your small knowledge of his cursed technique.

Gojo chuckled, his confidence unwavering. “It’s nice to meet you too Ms. Kisaragi!” He said, almost jokingly.

“Yaga sensei spoke highly of you, I mean the Kisaragi clan had contributed a lot to sorcerers and the military,” Geto continued, his tone steady and polite. “Sensei regrets that he hadn’t approached your family sooner.”

“Does he now?” You said, your tone neutral. You start to gather your things from your desk, and stuffed them inside your purse, preparing to leave the comfort of your home.

The Kisaragi name carried weight, sure. But you always questioned whether it was respect or fear that kept it in such high regard. Being admirable is one of things they’d call your family but anything your family did or their ‘contributions’ weren’t simply acts of altruism— or out of the kindness of their hearts, they were purposeful, calculated and designed to cement their influence on the people who could afford it.

And you? You were just another piece in this carefully constructed game.

Suguru’s expression remained composed, despite your disinterest in his attempt at flattery. Gojo leaned against the doorframe, his head tilted as a smirk started to form on his lips.

“I’m not gonna lie, Yaga sensei gave us the impression that the Kisaragi were a friendly bunch and your mother seemed very nice when she welcomed us to your lovely home, but…” Gojo’s grin widened as he gestured towards you, sliding down his sunglasses just enough to reveal a glint of amusement in his bright blue eyes, teasingly. “...you? Not so much.”

You let out a long sigh, your hand on your hip as you shook your head, clicking your tongue mockingly as if you were disappointed in yourself. “You’re right! I should be nicer! Wouldn’t want to drag my family’s name through the mud— how’s this?”

You straightened up immediately, your demeanor shifting so seamlessly like you flipped a switch. Your posture becomes more poised and polished. You clasped your hands together lightly, plastering on a cheerful, almost unnatural smile.

“Oh Mr. Gojo and Mr. Geto,” you began. Your voice so sickeningly sweet and polite. “It’s such an honor to meet the two of you. I hear nothing but good things about you both, and I must say, you truly exceeded my expectations. Thank you so much for gracing me with your presence today!”

Suguru’s brows lifted slightly, taken aback by the sudden change in your behavior, unsure how to react. Gojo blinked for a second before breaking into fits of laughter, clearly amused.

It seems that it doesn’t take much for the baby powder sorcerer to get entertained. His friend, on the other hand, was utterly confused.

“Was that better?” you said, your tone laced with sarcasm. “Now if you don’t mind, can we leave?”

Before they could answer, you walked towards the door. Eager to leave the room that you would’ve left with your brain splattered on the walls. Then you hear Geto speak, stopping you in your tracks.

“So what’s your name?”

“Huh, that’s right. Yaga sensei forgot to mention it,” Gojo chimed in. “Care to tell us your name? I mean, we’ll be around each other a lot so might as well right?” He grinned.

You paused, your hand hovering over the door frame. For a brief moment, you felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Your name. They wanted to know your name. It was a simple question.

You had two names. The one that belonged to you.

And the one that carried your honor, your family’s expectations, their legacy— your curse.

It was at the tip of your tongue. It was the name that was drilled into you to answer with, the one that represented everything you’re supposed to be.

Yuna Kisaragi. The bearer of the Kisaragi curse.

The Kisaragi’s wealth wasn’t measured in money or their business ventures. It was you. A culmination of generations upon generations of meticulous planning and selective breeding. They didn’t need vaults of gold or prized possessions, when they had you.

You aren’t just one person, you are a legacy to behold of countless Yunas before you. The source of all their fortune.

Eleven Yunas, to be exact. Eleven women reduced to a role they had to play, a placeholder for their ambitions.

Your name was a beautifully crafted lie to protect you, so they say. It was easier that way, they said. A single false name meant fewer questions, fewer loose ends, and fewer ways for anyone to connect you to your true identity to the Kisaragi fortune.

Most days you forget you had a real name. Not that it mattered anyway. No one knew what it was except you.

You turned slightly, looking over your shoulder. A small, practiced smile curved on your lips, one you had perfected over years of appeasing those who have raised you and those around you.

“Yuna,” you said smoothly. The name slips from your tongue with an almost mechanical ease.

“Are we good now?” You asked, as you turned towards the door again.

Geto tilted his head, his sharp eyes observing you, you could almost feel it burning on your back. “You’re taking that gun with you?”

So he noticed.

“I’m not one to know much about women’s accessories and things they keep in their purse, it’s none of my business, really but that’s a pretty bold accessory to carry around, don’cha think?”

Gojo remained silent, as if to let his friend address the elephant in the room. I mean, they did walk in on you about to off yourself, it’s stupid to think that they’ve forgotten about it or let alone not notice that you had shoved it in your purse- not that you were being sneaky about it either.

You glanced back at them, trying to read if they were serious. Their gazes were nothing but solemn and even a little curious.

“Caught me,” You shrugged mockingly. “Here, I’ll put it in this little drawer.” You slid open the small end table next to the door and dropped it inside before closing it shut, waving it off with a smile.

“Were you really going to off yourself?” Geto asked bluntly, he watched you with a humorless expression, his sternness palpable.

His— concern almost made you laugh. Instead your lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Lucky for you guys, it didn’t go off,” you said. “Would’ve been so rude of me if it did and you came all this way for nothing tsk tsk,” you clicked your tongue, shaking your head in ridicule.

“I mean what would my mother say?” You continue to mock. Then you turn on your heel, scoffing softly.

Sure enough, as you walked out the door of your study, Gojo and Geto exchanged a knowing look.

Gojo shrugged, chuckling at the absurdity of it all, and Geto can’t help but feel a migraine coming on, unsure if it was due to the 4 hour drive to get to your estate or you were right about the mere possibility that they would have gotten an earful from Yaga if they found you dead.

But one thing is for certain, you were going to be a handful.

[ comment if you want to be added in the taglist for future updates ]

a/n: i came up with the title and story while i was listening to 'As Grief Consumes' by Peter Gundry, i highly recommend it...

also on ao3: here

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briarscreek · 22 days ago

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Mediaeval Prisoner!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley had a proposition

your arrival at the celebratory ball was nothing short of extravagant. everyone was finally excited to put their talents to use again, from elaborate cakes and dresses down to new embroidered napkins. seems like everyone agreed to let the past few years go and enjoy life again.

the announcement of your arrival snapped you out of your thoughts, squaring your shoulders and wearing a polite smile as you entered.

everyone marveled at you. no longer was the bumbling, nervous maid but a strong leader who commanded the room without words. it was king price who spoke first.

“welcome back to the capital, countess.”

“it is my honor, your majesty.”

“please let the celebration begin.”

as you wound yourself through the open ballroom, one person wasn’t here. his presence was always glaring, though absent or not. it just set off your anger even more. the coward couldn’t even be here to face you. typical.

a hand caught your arm as you were lightly conversing with a foreign princess.

“apologies your highness, i must borrow the countess for a quick word”

“of course! let me know when you’re free again countess. i’d love to chat with you over tea sometime.”

“i shall be waiting for your call, your highness.”

as doctor laswell pulled you along, you couldn’t help but look back as king price had approached the princess. he had taken her hand into his for a kiss upon her knuckles, which caused a blush to spread across her cheeks. perhaps you should ask about that later.

the wine you consumed throughout the evening had dulled your sense just a hair but not enough for you to miss the scenery changing.

“wait laswell, where are we going?”

“somewhere you are going to hate me for. but not for long.”

familiar steps up into the one place you hadn’t been in almost a year and a half. the tower. a pit formed in your stomach.

“kate—“

“please just trust me and give him a chance”

“w-wha-“

she had promptly thrown you into the top of the tower without another word. your banging on the door and yelling of her name didn’t sway her either.

“i’ve tried that before”

a voice— no. his voice echoed in the room.

you turned to see him, standing there in his traditional knights uniform. complete with a black chest plate, a red sash with medals adorning it, and a stark white painted helmet.

“you look goregous, love”

“that is countess to you.” you spit out angrily.

his shoulders deflated and admittedly, you hated it. you hated how much your words affected him and how much you cared.

“i suppose this is your doing?”

“mainly laswell’s but i did agree with it, countess.”

“if you have something to say then let’s get this over with”

you leveled him with a neutral glare, mostly uninterested in what he had to say.

“there was a lullaby my mum used to sing to me. it was about a sailor, who had lost his way because he couldn’t see his love anymore. but his lover found a way to lead him back to shore with a light. taught me that sometimes if your lost, someone will always care enough to look for you.”

you remember this lullaby, it became popular when you were just a few years old. especially when you had befriended a child on your street with roughed up knuckles and knees, a voice whispering promises of protection, a blonde haired kid who—

you can’t picture his face anymore, daydreams long since buried when his family’s house burned down with all of them still inside.

“what’s your point lord riley?”

“it was the first song you sang in the stairwell.”

he—he remembered? he was listening back then?

his eyes met yours, holding it with an emotion you had never seen before.

“thought it was my mum calling me to join her with my dad and little brother. but it was you.”

your mouth ran dry. you couldn’t figure out where he was going with this.

“you are the only other person who my mum taught the lyrics to.”

your stomach dropped. no, there’s no way life had turned out like this.

“we have a deeper connection than you remember, countess. i promised i’d always protect you, but i couldn’t protect you from myself. a selfish bastard i was. wanting everything about you. to see your smile again. to hear your laugh.”

he had kneeled before you somewhere during his explanation, but you were in a trance with his words. involuntary tears started to stream down your face while your words mumbles out of your mouth.

“w-wait. we’d both been working in the castle for years, run into each other numerous times. did you know the entire time?”

“no. i always had an unexplainable need to keep you safe but i didn’t know why until you sang. when i came to my senses and wasn’t dying, i knew it was you. and i was going to use the rest of my life to stay by your side. even if i’m nothing more than a doormat for you to wipe the dirt off your shoes; so that you would still need me. because i love you. i always have.”

that last sentence is when you started sobbing. you couldn’t keep it in anymore. the confusion, the relief, the joy, the need to figure this out. you started to pace in front of him trying to gather your thoughts until you heard movement.

and there he was. lord simon riley without his trademark helmet. nothing but the clean skin he showed with blonde hair atop his head, deep brown eyes, and scars littering his skin.

“oh my god si, it really is you.”

“i’m here my love.”

you pulled his head down to your height and kissed him with all the fervor you could muster. with all the years of desperation you had stored within you. one last question lingered in your mind as you pulled back.

“ but wait, what of your fellow knights writing about calling you the count?”

a giggle escaped his lips as a grin bloom on his face.

“all bastards the lot of ‘em. teasing me for all they could. in truth, on our wedding day, i never would have become a count. would never take that lead title away from you, lovie.”

that lifted your spirits tenfold.

“oh, our wedding day? i haven’t the faintest clue i was getting married.” you said as a teasing smile was portrayed on your lips.

he slithered his hands possessively around your body and pulled you flush against his armor.

“would fight in a tournament just for your hand in marriage lovie. no one else gets you but me.”

“and don’t you forget it.”

lord simon riley was many things to you. a friend in childhood, a knight who saved you, a stranger you became familiar with, and now the most exciting change of all.

a husband you would love unconditionally.

and even a future father who would do anything for his children.

<<PREVIOUS

THE END

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #briarscreek #mediaeval prisoner!simon riley #prisoner simon riley #mediaeval simon riley

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chanranghaeys · 6 months ago

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🥛 just like a tattoo

Waking up was always something you looked forward to, especially if the first sight in the morning is Vernon and his hidden little secrets, and maybe his cute chocolate milk carton.

pairing: idol!tattooed!vernon x afab!reader word count: 1.3k tags: slice of life, fluff first thing in the morning, vernon has multiple tattoos (in my head) listed in detail warnings: slight sexual overtones, pg-13 at most 😇

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The light burns through your eyes, waking you from a dreamless slumber. Looking around, you find the source of the almost blinding glare: the patch of sun bleeding through the curtains of the already-lightened room. You glance at the clock hanging from the wall across you. It was 8 am on a Sunday—a perfect reason to sleep in.

You slowly move around the bed and find that you are already wearing a slightly loose shirt and panties. Memories of last night flood your mind and you close your eyes again almost as if in bliss. It’s been a good two weeks since you two spent the night together, and while you both maybe kinda slightly expected it, both of you were still surprised at how deep the need was for one another, as evidenced by the slight ache in your thighs and back while you moved. Nothing you couldn’t manage, but definitely more reason to just stay in bed.

When you turn again, you see his slim figure leaning against the door frame and you wonder how long he’d been watching you toss and turn. He had no shirt on because you realized that you had his shirt on your back, and his boxers were slung dangerously low as if haphazardly thrown on. And while you’ve marveled at this sight too many times than you can count, you still can’t help but look at his body in awe.

People could say he had a sleeper bod, and you agreed, but it wasn’t something he cared for. If he was healthy and able to move about, he was content with that. But with all the activity his job demanded, his body followed suit. He wasn’t all muscle or all skin, but he was built sturdily and toned in the places that got the most use—that is to say, his arms, thighs, and core. His naturally light skin tone almost looked sallow in the places that didn’t get much sun, but it only enhanced what he permitted only your, and very few other, eyes to see.

Strokes of black both thick and thin were scattered across his torso in a most curated manner. They weren’t a lot, but you knew that his tattoos were his most well-kept secret from the K-pop industry, and you knew it was the deepest privilege to be able to even have a glimpse of one, much less all that can be hidden behind a shirt. You’ve memorized all of them at this point.

On his right chest near his lower rib was a simple line of text in all caps inspired by a line from “The Matrix”: SEE IT FOR YOURSELF. Another text tattoo lined the left side of his torso, this time a vertical stack of letters spelling out MELODY—once a temporary tattoo for a concert, now permanent to forever honor his mother.

There was one tattoo that he knew people were aware of and didn’t mind much, and that was the small star tattoo at the back of his right ear’s helix, but little did people know that it was only one of a series, with the rest of the small stardust sparkles smattering his back near his right shoulder blade. Specifically, there were five of them, one representing each member of his tight-knit family, including Jazzy and Leo Chwe.

Amidst the minimalist tattoos was one that stood out as more realistic than others—a medium-sized sunflower head on his left hip, its petals you could see right now peeking from the top band of his boxers. People knew of his sister Sofia’s own sunflower tattoo down her left thigh, but fewer people knew that when she was 17 and he was 23, they both talked about how they’d get matching sibling tattoos and their discussion landed on sunflowers. While Vernon wished he could place it in a more prominent spot, he knew better than to do such a thing.

“Did you sleep well, baby?” His deep morning voice broke your reverie as you finally settled on his eyes, his gaze forever the most piercing one you never could break. You gave him a lazy, mischief-laden smile.

“The best sleep I’ve had in weeks. I guess I have someone to thank for making sure I was knocked out last night.”

He let out a light-hearted scoff and drank from his chocolate milk carton. “You know that I was just following your lead, right? I asked you what you wanted, I just gave it to you.”

“I know.” You rolled your eyes, recalling how you were practically begging him with tears in your eyes—the utter hold he had on you was intoxicating. It was those clear brown eyes, you swore so. “I hate you.”

“I love you, too.” At that, he gave you the softest smile and his gaze eventually followed suit.

“I love you more.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate you.”

He laughed again and shifted his weight off the door frame and moved toward you. You sat up to meet him in an embrace, your head resting on his warm chest as he kissed your head.

“Can we stay in, Nonie? Please? Pleaseeeeeee?” You look up at his raised eyebrow and pursed lips, swearing you will never get tired of his expressions that said exactly what he was thinking. Right now it obviously said, “Are you kidding me right now?”

“What if…” You trailed off mid-sentence as you lowered your hands to the waistband of his boxers, brushing your thumb over the sunflower’s petals suggestively. At that, he drew in a sharp breath and stepped away. He knew what you were capable of, so he had to stop it right there.

“Easy, young lady. You know we won’t get anywhere with that attitude of yours. We’ll be late if you keep that up.” The scene was comical, his serious expression and pointed finger at you in warning just did not suit the fact that his other hand held an unfinished milk carton.

You grab the carton from his hand and take a generous sip, grateful for the cool and sweet liquid down your parched throat. “Fine. But could you at least make me coffee? Or something that will wake me up more than this chocolate milk of yours?”

“It’s in the kitchen. I also made French toast!” His smile as he said this was so bright, it was the gummy smile you so loved from him. But it was what he said that made you stop mid-sip of milk.

“You what?”

“I made French toast. And bacon and eggs because it was the easiest after the French toast, which was not as easy as it looked when I did it with you.”

“And you made coffee?”

He shrugged. “I knew you were gonna wake up late,” finishing with a smirk. “Now come on. And give me back my milk carton before you finish it all.” He took back his drink and did not leave your side until you finally stood your lazy ass up. “There’s my good girl,” he says, followed by him slapping said ass teasingly, then walking out of the room with a final grin.

When he faced his back to you, you saw the most recent tattoo he got: a minimalist rendition of a rock with googly eyes on the small corner of its lower left. You remember watching “Everything, Everywhere, All at Once” in the cinema with him, the last full show of the day, and he would not shut up about it. You got it though, you truly did, and you’d both talk for hours on end about the film. So it was decided: it was the first matching tattoo you got together.

Could love really be this easy? You thought to yourself, as you smiled and got ready for payback.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

a/n: frickin’ vernon and his damn hip tattoo living rent-free in my headcanons. i blame my friends for planting this idea in my head and as a result, this came to be. i shall now leave you all with this mental image so i do not suffer alone HEHE

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leblogreblog · 25 days ago

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I know there's been lots of people choosing Cardinal as a more unique new hero name for Tim (cause let's be honest, him mashing up names of two first people he could think of, both of which are his brothers, AND also a name of a fastfood chain is pretty lame).

But aside from the fact that there's already a marvel hero called Cardinal, people aren't choosing the obvious superior option:

Redstart

Redstarts are part of the same family as robins and are closely related. The painted redstarts however, on which I'm basing my idea, are not (and are classified as "whitestarts" and are only in the same genus, not family, but are still misnamed as redstarts due simillar looks), which would connect him to his origins as robin while still keeping him a separate entity.

It contains part "red" as the RR does and "start", which not only could reference his "new start" but also, considering that the "start" in the name is also archaic word for "tail" could reference him "tailing" behind the clues about Bruce's status during his debute.

The Old World name of the genus, Phoenicurus, could also reference his "rebirth" as a new hero.

Edit: redstarts are also apparently traditionally used as a symbol of change, transformation and new beginnings, which again.

Also, his suit and the painted redstart coloration and its configuration are basically the same

(pictures for comparision so you can see what I mean)

Also, his feather cape looks kinda like the redstarts tail if you replace the red on it with white, which they fan when seeking and "hunting" for bugs to make them come out

your honor, these are the same picture

Edit: so I made a post like this about Jason if you're interested

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itsallyscorner · 2 years ago

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The Sour Tour | Marvel Cast

pairing: marvel cast x teen!reader

warnings: none

summary: the youngest marvel cast member goes on tour💜

a/n: this fic does not correlate with any other fics I’ve made that include the Sour album

face claim: Olivia Rodrigo

Liked by brielarson, robertdowneyjr, and 4,618,387 others

(y/n)(l/n) The Sour Tour has finally begun! Thank you (home state) for kicking it off to an incredible start! Can’t wait to see you all so soon🥹💜

view all 1,247,024 comments

brielarson my sweet angel baby

brielarson love you so much can’t wait to see you!!!!!!!!💖💖

(y/n)fan1 HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOO

(y/n)fan2 THE SET LIST??? CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE SET LIST

(y/n)fan3 HAPPIER THEN TRAITOR BACK TO BACK???

(y/n)fan4 ITS LIKE SHE WANTS TO SEE US CRYYY

(y/n)(l/n) bc I do🧍‍♀️

(y/n)fan5 WHAT THE FUCK

tomholland2013 FINNA BE IN PIT

(y/n)fan6 HE FINNA BE IN PITTTTT🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

zendaya @/tomholland2013 bro shut up

robertdowneyjr Wishing you the best of luck, see you soon bee🐝❤️

paulbettany You’re going to do great!!😃

lifeisaloha Love you fam🫶🏼

(y/n)(l/n) All the love Jacobbbb🫶

(y/n)updates I’m ready.

(y/n)fan7 you’re the harryflorals of (y/n) stans

(y/n)fan8 where’s (y/n)scloset????

(y/n)scloset I’m hereeeee🙋‍♀️

markruffalo Wishing you a FANTASTIC and safe tour❤️

(y/n)(l/n) thank you Mark!!❤️

Liked by chrisevans, imsebastianstan, and 5,293,735 others

(y/n)(l/n) North America tour dump✨🦋💜🎸🔮💿🎀

view all 3,945,824 comments

chrisevans can you just pls sign my poster?

chrisevans please (y/n) I’ve been waiting outside for 30 minutes and teenagers scare the shit out of me

anthonymackie get in line

imsebastianstan I was here first

mcufan1 ya’ll are actual children

evansfan1 @/chrisevans don’t act like we didn’t just see you and Scott going off during Good 4 u👀

elizabetholsen So so so proud!!🤩❤️

mcufan2 Lizzie these are very millennial emojis

(y/n)fan9 MOTHER

(y/n)fan10 MOTHER IS MOTHERING

scarlettjohansson You are the most incredible person I know, what an honor it was to see you live❤️

mcufan3 I SAW YOU AT THE NEW YORK SHOW!!!!!

letitiawright TO EUROPE SHE GOES!!! Can’t wait to see you💜

chrishemsworth can you please do a shoey when you come to Australia?

(y/n)(l/n) no❤️

(y/n)fan11 outta them Doc Martins?💀

(y/n)(l/n) @(y/n)fan11 I swear my feet don’t smell bad

Liked by markruffalo, anthonymackie, and 7,204,834 others

imsebastianstan ALL THE FLOWERS FOR YOU💐

tagged (y/n)(l/n)

view all 1,284,243 comments

elizabetholsen MY BABY❤️

(y/n)fan12 mother sighting

(y/n)fan13 the marvel cast is so cute

mcufan4 They really are her second family🥹

anthonymackie Wtf you went without me?

paulrudd I had a great time Sebastian🫶

paulrudd @(y/n)(l/n) you were phenomenal

anthonymackie YOU WENT WITH PAUL???

mcufan5 LMAOOOOO

mcufan6 NOT SEBASTIAN BEING UNRESPONSIVE

(y/n)(l/n) love you Paul <3

(y/n)(l/n) THANK YOU FOR COMING💜💜💜

vancityreynolds YOU BETRAYED ME.

(y/n)fan14 is his singing a lyric or is he also yelling at Seb?

mcufan7 Ryan what—

mcufan8 Seb what’s your favorite song off the sour album??

imsebastianstan Traitor and Favorite Crime

(y/n)fan15 Bucky coded.

mcufan9 i bet these are on his Bucky playlist

Chris Evans via Instagram Story:

—

Liked by tomholland2013, therussobrothers, and 6,349,934 others

robertdowneyjr You little legend you💜 What an incredible show @(y/n)(l/n) put on tonight at LA! Your talent, charisma, and presence made this such a memorable experience. This show was anything but Sour, the room was full of love and it’s all what (Y/n) deserves. Proud of you always, your Pops❤️

view all 4,248,394 comments

mcufan10 “Proud of you always, your pops”🥹

(y/n)(l/n) It meant so much for you and your family to come out tonight, thank you so much I love you all❤️

(y/n)fan16 I’m crying this is so sweet😭

therussobrothers Can’t wait to document such a legend

mcufan11 excUSE ME?

mcufan12 WHAT—

(y/n)fan17 A TOUR DOCUMENTARY???

(y/n)(l/n) coming soon on Disney+😉

Liked by zendaya, florencepugh, and 7,034,384 others

(y/n)(l/n) Quick pit stop⛽️

View all 3,493,245 comments

zendaya face card never declines

(y/n)scloset bestie where is the sweater in the fourth slide from?

(y/n)scloset unfortunately could not find it :(

(y/n)(l/n) my nana made it <3

(y/n)fan18 we love nana😌

tomholland2013 2 MORE WEEKS TILL IM IN PIT😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

anthonymackie shut up

zendaya you’re embarrassing me🫣

(y/n)fan19 TOM FINNA BE IN PIT YALL🔥🔥🔥

florencepugh you look better in my sunglasses than I do

(y/n)fan20 besties

(y/n)(l/n) I’ll give them back to you when I’m in London😌

haileesteinfeld my baby girlll😍

Liked by florencepugh, tomholland2013, and 8,834,238 others

(y/n)(l/n) UK BABY OI OI🇬🇧👑☕️

View all 3,204,349 comments

(y/n)fan21 OI OIIIIII

(y/n)fan22 she’s such a One Direction fan I love it

florencepugh you mystical, voice of an angel, fairy baby I love youuuu🧚‍♀️❤️

(y/n)fan23 FLO WAS AT NIGHT 1

(y/n)fan24 I CANT BELIEVE I WAS IN THE SAME ROOM AS FLORENCE AND (Y/N)

flofan1 The fact that Flo was backstage and not at the guest section🥹😭

mcufan11 WHERE IS TOM????

brielarson my cutie pie🥰

mcufan12 (Y/N) (L/N) WORLD DOMINATION

Liked by robertdowneyjr, zendaya, and 8,474,924 others

tomholland2013 told you guys I was finna be in pit😎🔥

view all 8,345,833 comments

imsebastianstan unbelievable

mcufan13 how was Tom even allowed in pit with all the fans???😭😭

chrisevans wtf bro

paulrudd OH so this is pit

mcufan14 not paul not knowing what pit is😭😭

anthonymackie she only let you into pit to make you shut up😒

mcufan15 Tom riling everyone up is hilarious😭😭

(y/n)fan25 I’m just as salty ac Mackie tbh..

tomholland2013 don’t be so jealous, there’s always next tour🤪

(y/n)fan26 was right next to Tom the entire concert and I swear I love the man, but he kept screaming in my ear💀

zendaya @/tomholland2013 can never take you anywhere man

(y/n)fan27 Tom’s just a fellow girly pop✨

#marvel #mcu #avengers #marvel cast imagines #marvel cast x teen!reader #marvel cast x singer!reader #mcu imagine #mcu cast x reader #mcu cast x teen!reader #avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #Chris Evans x reader #Sebastian stand x reader #Tom Holland x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel cast fanfiction #elizabeth olsen x reader #robert downey jr x reader #scarlett johansson x teen!reader

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the20thangel · 5 months ago

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The Comforts in the Flames

Cregan Stark x Velayron! Reader

Summary: As the realm grieves for Prince Jacaerys, Cregan Stark arrives with his men to support the queen and bid farewell to the prince. There, he meets you, a Velayron Couisn, who is also deeply mourning a sweet boy you knew.

Tags: This is my first time writing for Cregan; please be gentle in your feedback, and I hope you enjoy it. Stay tuned for more fanfics

Word Count: 1.5K

Masterlist

Dragonstone was a chaotic mess; the servants and noble houses were running around, saddened by their grief as they tried to prepare for the funeral of Prince Jacaerys. Many houses, especially those who met the prince, came to show their condolences to the Queen over losing her heir and son, but most importantly, to show their honor in keeping their oath to the late prince. They honored their promises to House Targaryen, Queen Rhaenyra, and Prince Jacaerys. One of the great houses was House Stark, led by Cregan Stark, who was stricken with sadness over the boy he saw as a brother.

Cregan felt out of place here; the island was grey and gloomy, almost like it knew of the tragedy, with dragons crying in the distance, crying for their fallen sea dragon prince—nothing like Winterfell, with the white sheen from the snow and howls of direwolves in the distance. He tried to stay distant from the funeral preparations, another aspect in which he felt inadequate. In the North and Winterfell, they place their dead in the crypts while House Targaryen makes pyres. He respected his Queen and her house customs, but it did not stop him from feeling like an intruder.

As He walked to the clearing where the funeral would take place, he saw someone wearing teal blue clothing and white curly hair standing infront of the ever-growing pyre. He recognized you as someone from House Velayron, Prince Jacaerys second family. House Velayron had arrived a fortnight earlier, and Alyn and Corlys Velayron expressed regrets to the Queen for not being able to bring back the prince’s body for the Targaryen funeral. It was a tense time for both houses, having lost three prominent figures in such a short amount of time. Ever curious, Cregan allowed himself to walk closer to you, seeing how meticulously you wrapped the banners of Houses Velayron and Targaryen, representing both sides of the prince. Deciding to make his presence known to you without frightening you, Cregan cleared his throat, defeating his purpose as it made you jump slightly from hearing such a deep and foreign voice.

Cregan huffed, trying to mask his slight laugh as a cough, “My apologies, milady, I did not mean to frighten you.”

You placed a soothing hand on your chest to calm your slight nerves as you turned to the deep northern voice. You replied, “Oh, hello, Lord Stark. There is no need to apologize. I should be more aware of my surroundings. What kind of sailor can I be if I am not always aware of my surroundings?”

Cregan smiled at the lady, “I still apologize. May I ask your name? I figured from your clothes and previous comment that you are from House Velayron.”

Turning to face the Wolf Lord, you took in his handsome features. However, you were used to seeing Valyrian features from Houses Targaryen and Celtigar prominently being so close to your own; you could not help but marvel at the handsomeness of the Blood of the First Men shown in this man before you.

“I am (name) Velayron. Lord Corlys is my Lord Uncle.” you introduced yourself to the Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan tried not to frown. He did not want to offend, but the only brother he knew of Corlys Velayron was that of Vaemond, and he never spoke kindly to his Queen or her sons. You noticed the winter wolf’s face change and quickly commented further.

“Oh! I am the daughter of the youngest brother of my uncle. Vaemond …was my uncle, and we tolerated him at best.” You laughed nervously, not wanting to speak badly about your late uncle, but it was true. Besides his immediate family, Vaemond made it extremely difficult to care for him.

Cregan flushed in embarrassment that you hurried to defend yourself due to his facial reaction.

“I again apologize, Milady. It… it's just that he was not seen in a positive light…” Seeing his ever-growing nervousness show through his red face as he tried to defend himself, you thought how cute it was.

You gave him a wide grin and decided to ease his misery: " There's no need to keep apologizing, my lord. I knew my uncle, and he was rather unkind to everyone. He was vulgar to my cousins, Prince Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys, and Prince Joffrey.”

You grew sorrowful again at the mention to both Jace and Luke. Both were taken so young from this world. Feeling tears prickle at your eyes, you turned slightly back to the pyre, trying to finish the last details before the funeral. You wanted everyone to see that House Velayron, the true Velayron, recognized Jace as a Velayron and wanted to honor him. Seeing your sorrow, Cregan also turned to the sea, frowning that it had swallowed two princes, and instead of a body, they would be burning clothes.

Not wanting to take more of your time, Cregan announced he was going to the castle for a while but would see you during the funeral, which promoted a nod in agreement for you, wishing him a restful break before the funeral.

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

As what seemed the whole island made its way to the cliff where the pyre was located, House Velayron stood somberly but proudly behind their queen. You were standing by the Queen’s side, holding objects from Prince Jacaerys that would burn in place of his body. The queen called for her dragon to come forward and asked her beloved Golden Lady to light the pyre as the She-dragon was too mourning another son, Vermax. After Syrax crawled back from lighting the pyre, you handed the Queen the first piece of clothing. Even in her moments of grief, Rhaenyra gave you a small smile, always remembering how your Velayron side always defended her boys, and she even considered once a marriage between you and her boys. But that was all in the past, and now she can only be grateful you were here to support her in her grief. Once the funeral officially ended, the queen left with the crowd following her back to the castle. On the other hand, you stayed behind, watching the last embers burn; as you let tears flow, you began humming a Valyrian Lullaby, hoping the prince would hear it in his journey to Balerion’s realm.

Cregan once again stood next to you, silently listening to the tune. He held something in his hand. As you finished humming the song, you turned to him. Seeing his uncertainty, you decided to be brave and ask him what was bothering him.

Cregan turned his grey eyes to your purple eyes; you gulped at his intense stare.

“ I… I was hoping to burn a few things, Jace- I mean, Prince Jacaerys left me during his trip to the north,” whispered Cregan.

You gave a watery smile and touched that the Winter Lord wanted to honor the prince.

“Of course, I will help you throw them into the pyre. May I ask what they are?” you pondered, hoping you didn’t cross the boundary with him.

Cregan opened his hand with a wolfish grin, revealing a letter and a small sea dragon brooch. You smiled, recognizing the brooch.

“This was the last letter he sent me, and he gave me this brooch to signify our brotherhood; he said it was special to him.” croaked Cregan as he remembered the brave prince.

“Yes, I’m glad he loved that brooch…” you started saying while staring at the stark lord; seeing his confused state, you continued.

“I gave him that brooch. After his father Laenor passed, he was worried about the future, and I gave him the brooch to remind him that he was a Velayron prince as much as Targaryen. It was also my symbol declaring my loyalty to him and Queen Rhaenyra. I’m glad he cared about you and trusted you so much that you could hold onto it.”

Cregan gaped. He felt guilty for throwing it into a fire and stated he should instead return it to you. You quickly grasped his hand, closing it tightly around the brooch.

“No, my lord, he gave it to you. It should stay with you or return with Jace as he enters Balerion’s realm. Either way, I know the brooch will be with someone who rightfully should have it. So choose, my lord, it stays with you or goes with Jace.”

For a moment, Cregan stared at you in awe of your kindness. Both of you gazed into each other's eyes, hands intertwined. After another beat, Cregan raised your hands, pressing a light kiss to yours as he asked you to throw the brooch into the dying fire. Blushing, you took the letter and brooch, telling Cregan to follow you closer as you both stood infront of the pyre. You said a quick prayer as you threw the items into the fire. Staring as the flames change colors due to the minerals and jewels of the brooch. You both mourn the loss of a prince who was deeply loved and cared about by many, including you both. Your hands lightly graze each other, finding peaceful comfort and solace in each other.

#house of the dragon #fanfic #hotd #hotd fanfic #cregan stark #cregan x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys targaryen

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magnetfamily · 2 months ago

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Magnet Family Week

March 24 - 30 the @magnetfamily blog will be hosting a Marvel Fandom Event featuring The Magnet Family! Please join us as we celebrate the best family in Marvel Comics! Art by Xoce on twitter!

Prompts

Day 1 - Legacy | Past & Future

Day 2 - Celebration | Culture

Day 3 - Devotion | Abandoned

Day 4 - Memory | Powers

Day 5 - Alternate Universe | What If…?

Day 6 - Regrets | Reconciliation

Day 7 - Creator’s Choice

Alternative Prompts

Your Favorite:

Team

Moment

Outfit

Relationship

Event Rules:

This event is about The Magnet Family so all submissions must be centered around one or all members; Magneto, The Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Polaris, Wiccan, Speed & Luna Maximoff

To participate all you have to do is use the #magnetfamilyweek tag and @ this blog. Don't forget to use it in the first five tags.

What can you create for this event? Anything you want! Fanart, fanfiction, edits, videos, metas, cosplay, etc.

Shipping and Platonic content are more than welcome.

This event is meant to honor comic versions of the characters, but content of their cartoon and videogame versions are also accepted.

MC.U/XMC.U content won't be accepted, this blog doesn't support the whitewashing in any of the live action adaptations, this includes WandaVision, and Agatha All Along.

(Polaris from The Gifted series is an exception to this rule)

We also won't be reblogging anything that includes racist or offensive depictions of the characters, underage shipping or incest shipping.

N S F W and dark content (excluding the one mentioned previously) will be accepted but we ask you to be mindful with the necessary tags and warnings.

Anything created with AI is banned.

If you have any questions go ahead and send us an ask! We'll be glad to help.

If you wish, you can add your fanfiction to our Magnet Family Ao3 Collection when it opens in March!

#magnet family #magnetfamilyweek #magneto #quicksilver #scarlet witch #polaris #speed #wiccan #luna maximoff #tommy shepherd #billy kaplan #lorna dane #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #erik lehnsherr #event

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closetsof-backlogged-dreams · 10 months ago

Note

okay so I’ve seen and loved a bunch of these posts already but everything u say is immediately correct and amazing and sending u asks is the best

opinions on why zukka works and makes sense as a ship and if you think it could work in canon (outside of fanon)?

I CANT BELIEVE YOU JUST MADE MY ENTIRE LIFE COMPLETE AND FULL BY ASKING ME THIS QUESTIONNNN (strap in folks hold on to your hats keep a good hold on your bladders bc this is 10+ years worth of BUSINESS)

Why "Zukka" works and makes sense as a ship

something i've discussed THROUGHLY with my notes app and a school slides presentation is that Zuko and Sokka are both direct parallels AND contrasts to one another, at the same time. i'll list them out here:

Their fathers' roles in their lives

Both Hakoda and Ozai were the leaders of their respective nations, with Sokka and Zuko as the heirs. Then, they both become absent in their sons' lives and leave them to fend for themselves.

This is a parallel, but this is also where they contrast. Sokka's father left to go fight in the war, a noble and honest pursuit, and left Sokka to protect his sister and the village.

Ozai, on the other hand, cast Zuko out of the nation and forced him to protect and defend himself, while effectively turning all their people and his own sister against him.

Their sisters' roles in their lives

Despite both of them being the oldest sibling and brother, they both have severe inferiority complexes due to their younger, powerful bending sisters.

With Katara, she was the only waterbender in the entire tribe, a marvel. She could learn to protect the tribe in a way that Sokka had been trying all his life, and she eventually does. Despite all this, Katara is still a grounding and valued person in his life, and he would be completely lost without her (something he openly admits to in canon!!)

With Azula, she was a prodigy firebender, while also being a special kind of keen and cunning. She was adored by their father and grandfather and Zuko could never quite measure up. Because of this, Azula is the main villain in Zuko's childhood. She does everything she can to break him down, and that continues when she returns as a character in his life in season two. All throughout the show, instead of being a source of comfort and familial love, she is his main obstacle he must overcome.

The loss of their mothers

Both Sokka and Zuko lost their mothers at very young ages to the Fire Nation, but they had vastly different impacts on their families (and further developed their sisters' roles in their lives!!)

When Sokka's mother died, she was killed by a Fire Nation general. Katara quickly took over the motherly role in his life, cementing her place as a grounding and comforting force. Her death also did not break their family. It deeply hurt all of them, but Katara, Sokka, and Hakoda still loved one another just as much as before.

When Zuko's mother died (obviously not really, but this is what he believes for many years), she was "killed" in order for his father to ascend to the throne and become Fire Lord. This left Zuko without anyone to protect him from Azula's tormenting and cemented her place as a destructive, villainous person in his life. Ursa's death also did destroy their family. Whatever way she had managed to keep them all together was eradicated, and Zuko was left with a sister and father that resented him and a sister fighting for his place in the line of succession.

Their obessesions

Both Sokka and Zuko had two bone-deep obsessions that were very defining parts of their characters in the first season, that slowly wavered and faded away as the story progressed and they developed as people. They were both given these obsessions by their fathers immediately before they became absent in their lives (whether leaving themself or sending their son away) and proceeded to dedicate their entire life to these goals in the name of honor.

With Sokka, his father asked him to protect his sister and his village. Sokka then dedicates all his time and energy to becoming a brave soldier and training the children of the village in order to protect his people. This is seen further in season one even after they leave, when he is overly protective of Katara and constantly worried for her safety (something this fandom doesn't talk about enough!!)

With Zuko, his father sent him on a wild goose-chase to find the hundred-years-lost Avatar, and when he actually does, all he can do is chase after Aang so he can go back home. As we see in season three, letting go of capturing the Avatar was essentially letting go of his former self.

Unlearning their flawed cultures (the big one!!!!)

Both of their cultures had many flaws that became ingrained in their belief systems and characters; their whole development is dedicated to unlearning these flawed teachings and reorienting their perception of the world.

It is very obvious throughout the shows that the Water Tribe had strict gender roles that were both implicitly and explicitly taught from birth. The men go off to fight in the war, the women take care of the children, Sokka has to protect his "defenseless" little sister, etc. Suki helped start him on the journey of unlearning his deeply-rooted misogyny, and by the end of the series he's really drinking the Respect Women Juice™️ (unlearning the flaws of his culture also brought him much closer to his sister and strengthened their bond and respect for one another)

The Fire Nation is a lot more complicated with a lot more cultural nuances and implicit and explicit teachings, but we'll focus on one central cultural theme: the constant prioritization of ambition over absolutely everything else, including (if not especially) love. (I actually talk about this extensively in another analysis post about Azula, if you want to check that out<3) We see Zuko battle with this teaching all throughout the series, and it is the main conflict he faces, at its heart.

We watch him commit his entire life to capturing the Avatar in season one. We watch him betray his uncle in season two. We watch him, time and time again, put his own health and safety on the line trying to capture Aang, especially in season one. Constantly, over and over again, he puts his ambition first because that was what he was taught.

And though this is a trait him and Azula share, it is also what pits them against each other. Azula's entire character is built on putting ambition first, and that leads her to chasing the throne that is Zuko's birthright. Zuko just wants to go home, but that would reestablish him as the heir to the throne. Time and time again, we watch them fight and betray each other, constantly battling for this crown for a broken nation. In the end, it is Azula's undoing, but that's another post.

All in all, unlearning the flaws of their culture is central to their development as characters and a place where they parallel... but it is also a place where they directly (and perfectly) contrast.

Despite the cruelty of the Fire Nation, they are the only military that includes women. They seem to not really struggle with the same gender roles the rest of the world does. They may be colonizers, but they're not misogynists. Zuko never looked down on his sister because she was a woman, nor did her father. It was always her propensity for cruelty that undid her. (They even send a team of highly skilled women to capture the Avatar!!)

This is a direct contrast to the teachings of the Water Tribe, which are entrenched in misogyny and gender roles. The men go off to war, the women stay behind. The men are strong, the women are weak. Can you imagine how much Zuko could have assisted Sokka in his development here? (blah blah directly paralleling Suki's role in Sokka's life blah blah blah)

In the Water Tribe, love and family comes before everything. We see that time and time again. Sokka's main priority, every time, is his sister and his tribe. They stick together. They love one another. They are united, with one person leading them as a group but not standing over them like a tyrant. "Ambition" seems like a mostly unheard of concept in their nation. The only ambition we ever really see from Sokka is when he's trying to protect his tribe (season one finale)!!

Can you imagine how much Sokka could have helped Zuko unlearn his constant prioritization of ambition?? Like, come on. All the things Zuko was left to stew with and angst over all on his own Sokka could have gently taken into his own hands and shown him the way. Like, it actually makes me go feral just thinking about it. Sokka could have helped Zuko so much!! (pushing the Ba Sing Se Zukka AU rn)

Consensus

Okay, let's recap. It looks like Zuko and Sokka are both direct parallels and contrasts, paralleling in the ways that allow them to understand each other but contrasting in the ways that help them heal one another. Like, it's actually insane. I really don't know if it was intentional or not but it's really just so perfect. They slot together perfectly as characters. I hope this all made sense😭😭

Could "Zukka" work in canon?

Now, this is tricky. Believe it or not I'm actually really glad they didn't make Zukka canon. ATLA had a huge problem with writing good romance, and in the canon we saw in the show, neither Sokka or Zuko were in a place to get together.

I've enjoyed my fair share of Zukka AUs where they get together before the end of the war, but you and I both know that would have been a hot mess. (Both of them just weren't ready, they were both in relationships, and sorry but they were kinda busy—Katara was right about the whole "there are other things to worry about.") If they were ever to get together in canon, it would have to be years after the war ended.

Let's address a few things that needed to happen before they could ever have gotten together:

Finally admitting that Maiko was just an extreme example of comphet

Zuko did not give a single shit about that girl. Like. He didn't even personally go get her out of prison WHEN SHE WAS LITERALLY ARRESTED FOR PROTECTING HIM😭😭 And then they try to play off their story as some big epic romance?? uhhhh no

(really, Mai was in long-time unrequited love with Ty Lee that was finally requited after Boiling Rock but idk if society is ready for that yet)

Not to mention, Azula literally forced both of them into that relationship, but if I get started with that I'll never stop so. Moving on.

Figuring out Sokka and Suki

Okay, so while there is a good chance that Sokka and Suki could have made it work in canon, there is also a good chance they would have broken up. They both had very different priorities: while they both did care about overall world peace, it was obvious from Suki's first introduction that her Kyoshi Warriors were her top priority every time, and Sokka's was his tribe, his found family (Aang, Katara, Toph, Zuko, yk yk), and world peace at large. You're telling me those don't conflict? Especially because they really seem like a Piper/Jason situation, where they found comfort and love in each other during wartime but wouldn't have known how to keep up the relationship without the constant threat of death.

Overall, in order for Zukka to work, Sokka and Suki would have had to break up, which would not have been difficult to arrange.

Sokka needed to go home and begin rebuilding the Water Tribe

No matter how much I adore fics where Sokka stays behind in the Fire Nation and helps Zuko rebuild, it just wouldn't work. Sokka's obvious priority had always been his tribe. The second the war was over (ignoring the comics bc that's a can of complicated worms i don't want to get into), he would've gone back with Katara to work on rebuilding their destroyed tribe. Only once the Southern Tribe could stand steadily on its own two legs could he have even considered leaving.

Anyways, that's really it. In order for Zukka to work, three plot points would have to be resolved: Maiko, Sukka, and the reparation of the Southern Water Tribe. Extremely doable, imo.

Personality-wise and just as characters, would it have worked?

I really think it would have! Like I said before, Sokka and Zuko are two characters that perfectly parallel and contrast at all the exactly right points to make them slot together flawlessly as a pair. (Whether that's romantic or not—doesn't matter.) Really, I genuinely think they are a real missed opportunity. I have genuinely never seen two characters that seem so different that actually work that well together, or even just characters that work that well together at all.

Like, I really mean it, they are perfect matches. It's genuinely scary. Like it or not, no one will ever be able to replicate the perfection of what Zukka could have been.

Anyone that says that it's "random" or "doesn't work" obviously hasn't been watching the same show or simply just hasn't been paying attention. People might ship it just because it's opposites attract or red and blue or even just the most accessible MLM ship in the fandom, but they really are perfect for each other.

alright, I think that's it! sorry for this monster of a post😭😭 genuinely did NOT expect that to happen. PLS SEND ME ANY ASKS YOU CAN THINK OF ABOUT THESE TWO!! i have spent a concerning amount of time thinking about them and these show has analysis potential for days, so. (and who knows, maybe i'll finally post the like three unfinished fics i have for them💀💀 god knows i should)

thanks for the ask, and have a great day <3

#atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #zukka #atla meta #atla ana #atla analysis #zukka nation #atla zukka #sokka x zuko #zuko #sokka #atla sokka #atla zuko

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aylacavebear · 28 days ago

Text

Bloodlines & Fate Prologue

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 647

Warning: None that I can think of.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Prologue

The Winter bloodline was different from most other bloodlines. Every member, dating back just over five hundred years, had always found their soulmate—only a few bloodlines tracked their lineage back that far. Bloodlines meant something different to each pack, but for the Winters, they carried a profound legacy.

This legacy included producing what was known as the Touched, a rare genetic mutation that had occurred nearly a dozen times throughout their history. It only affected omegas, and its emergence came with unique traits and limitations. Parents of a Touched pup could only conceive one child, always a girl, whose dominant feline genes suppressed her inner wolf. This genetic anomaly gifted her with feline-like attributes, such as retractable claws, while preventing her from shifting during the full moon. Touched omegas also wouldn’t experience a heat cycle until claimed by their soulmate.

In the Winter pack, finding one’s soulmate held profound importance. When a soulmate was found, they joined the pack, even if they were an alpha. The Winter pack was unique in many ways, particularly in how they taught newcomers to harmonize with their inner wolf—a skill few other packs possessed.

When you were three years old, your neighbors, who were also distant relatives within the Winter bloodline, had their first pup, a little girl named Jessica. From the moment you met her, you felt an unexplainable connection. Jess, as you called her, became the little sister you’d always wanted, and the two of you were inseparable..

Unbeknownst to you, your parents had struggled to conceive another pup after you. When you were five, they began noticing peculiar traits in you, traits that were not quite wolf-like. Concerned yet hopeful, they had your blood tested. The results brought them immense joy: you were Touched. The news sparked a massive celebration within the pack, one you didn’t entirely understand at the time but thoroughly enjoyed. The attention and affection showered upon you made the day unforgettable.

Your parents contacted the local papers to announce the news, knowing it would eventually attract families with eligible alphas. Being Touched meant you couldn’t scent others with emotional clarity, making controlled introductions crucial to finding your soulmate safely.

From a young age, you were a rough-and-tumbled child, more alpha-like than omega in demeanor. You climbed trees, explored every nook and cranny, and always managed to find your way home. This boldness extended to school, where you refused to tolerate any nonsense from your peers. By the time you were eight, your parents decided to homeschool you due to constant conflicts and social struggles. Private tutoring proved to be a revelation; your tutor marveled at your intelligence and maturity, often struggling to keep up with your rapid progress. Half the time, you needed challenging material, and the other half, you were just like any other child.

The worst part of being a Touched—yes, there is a worst part—was your scent. To anyone but your soulmate, it was unpleasant, almost repelling. When you presented early at fourteen, your parents put you on mild scent suppressants. They hoped that your soulmate, likely an alpha, had already presented by then, as was typical for Touched omegas within the Winter bloodline.

Your presentation occurred on the first night of the full moon. You longed to join your pack as they ran under the moonlight, but your parents insisted you stay in one of the cabins on the pack’s land. Obediently, you sat by the window in the cabin’s living room, gazing up at the full moon. The songs of your pack filled the night air as they ran, their voices a chorus of freedom and unity. As you watched the moonlight spill across the land, your thoughts drifted to the future, to the alphas who would soon come, hoping to see if they were your soulmate. It was a bittersweet night, one filled with longing and anticipation.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 1

A/B/O Master List Main Master List Series Master List

Forever Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Tag List: @nancymcl @lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303

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tinydeskwriter · 11 months ago

Text

LOVE HOLD|⟮little miss maverick⟯

lando norris x wolff reader| wolff reader x f1 grid platonic (mostly)

a/n: there is no face claim, I just can't resist te perfection that is Anya Taylor-Joy(I wanted to save her for a Häkkinen!reader, but couldn't stop myself when I started the dior montage). those are little snippets from her life between the GQ video and Bahrain 23', to give some context. I gave names to y/n mother, sister, stepfather and etc, because I find mad confusing to put a bunch of y/mn, y/s/n, y/bff/n, it gets tiring and confusing especially if it comes one after the other in a social media tag or paragraph, thats the only reason I gave them names. there is a few tennis players in this story, not too crazy, but as it is a character a little bit inspired by break point some of those guys will show up and the netflix show will be mentioned. comment and give it a like if you like, I love to read what you guys have to say and your thoughts. I also gave a name to the series, it is very cliche but I couldn't think of nothing better.

«previous part | next part»

liked by lilymhe, lewishamilton and 865,678 others

(tagged: patrickmouratoglou; matsbahr; susie_wolff; lucy.abrams; british_airways; adidas; redbull; yonex_tennis; hbsc; hiltonhotels; hermes; charles_leclerc; carlossainz55; pierregasly; landonorris; benshelton; mariasherapova; the_kokk1; carlitosalcarazz; lewishamilton; georgerussell63; carmenmmundt)

y/name.wolff it wasn't easy but we did it! today my dream came true, in winning my twelfth title today, the fourth in a row this calendar year, I became the sixth grand slam champion in history, the fourth woman to do so and the very first brit. it takes a village and i would not have managed it without the amazing team i have behind me supporting me at every step. shout out to my coaches, my therapist, my sponsors and my family.🤍🏆🏆

thank u all for the flowers. i will be seeing a few of you in monza.

(i believe I tagged everyone, but my hands are shaking so much and is hard to see through my happy tears, so, if i forgot to tag you, consider yourself thanked)

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pierregasly congratulations little wolff, never doubted you

↳y/n.wolff thank u 🍐

redbull #1!!!

↳y/name.wolff red bull gives you wings 😘

user1 mother is mothering😍😍

georgerussel63 #goat 🐐

landonorris 🔥🔥🔥

↳landonorris congratulations on yet another win, always knew you would🥇

↳ y/n.wolff thank you lan🤍

↳user4 the heart😍

↳user5 'lan' , oml

user2 girly is so delulu she forgot serenawilliams has like 30 grand slams

↳user3 serenawilliams has 23 titles from grand slams events, which eventually was a career grand slam, but she never managed all in a calendar year which is a true grand slam, y/n.wolff is the sixth tennis player to do so, and if she wins the WTA final in november she will have the super slam

benshelton #goat status🐐proud to see one of the greatest of our generation achieving something not even our heros did. keep going sis, next step is to make this a super slam 🥇

↳ y/n.wolff thank you little bro, you and those powerful serves next

mariasherapova little miss maverick. congrats kid, keep going marveling the world with your talent and breaking records along the way 🐐

↳ y/n.wolff🤍🤍🤍

11th Sep 2022

y/n.wolff added to her story:

Nov 9th 2022

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc & 933,566 others

(tagged: opheliagatz; p.blanchard; cassandra.blanchard; giambattistavalliparis)

y/n.wolff 09·01·2023· the day is here, it only took you guys 20 years of living in sin, 15 years of engagement and raising two beautiful, charming, talented daughters together to finally put a ring on it. i am grateful every single day that in a world with 9 billion people, living in the same city, sharing common friends, you two manage to met outside a little cafe in milano in the summer of 03'(btw, i had the honor of witness this cosmic encounter, though i claim no recollection of the event). père phillippe, thank you for all the years as my bonus father and all the support you always gave me (there is no backing now).

love you two more than words can describe. thank u for trusting me with the role of maid of honour, hope i did a good job.

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landonorris congrats to mamma O and Phil❤️ beautiful cerimony

↳y/n.wolff 🤍

user1 was lando at the wedding???

Jan 10th 2023

y/n.wolff added to her story:

Jan 14th 2023

liked by pierregasly, dior & 933,566 others

(tagged: dior)

y/n.wolff i am happy to be (finally) able to announce that yours truly is now (officially) a dior muse and the new face of diorissimo🤍🤍🤍

view all 33,669 comments

mariagraziachiuri I am so happy to share this journey with someone I have seen grow into the beautiful woman she is today, such an example of timeless beauty and elegance, our true English Rose and the incarnation of the spirit Diorissimo.

↳y/n.wolff grazie mille Maria, thank you so much for the trust

Feb 27th 2023

y/n.wolff after three tournaments back-to-back and a brief pitstop in paris for fashion week, miss éclair wolff and I are heading to bahrain to watch 19 millionaires playboys going vrom vrom in circles for second place😊

view all 23,567 comments

landonorris uncalled for ☹️

↳y/n.wolff as is your tractor 🙂

↳landonorris ☹️

↳y/n.wolff luv u sugarboo🤍

«previous part | next part»

tag list: @myescapefromthislife | @kapsylia | @biitch-with-wifi

#f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #charles leclerc x reader #lance stroll x reader #carlos sainz x reader #pierre gasly x reader #f1 grid x reader

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dragonsoulage · 4 months ago

Text

His sweet paramedic...

feat. Levi Ackerman

Levi wounded and hurt from the last battle he ever fought. Just moments after Eren was gone. But what remained was you, his sweet paramedic that always patched him up. Even his heart...

In this short story you are Hanges sister and a paramedic of the Corps. I was in the mood for some angsty, sad stuff after a heartbreaking AoT tiktok, we all know the depression about that right? 🥹🥲

Warnings: angst, sad, spoilers

Wordcount:1,2k

It was over. Finally, finally, it was over. Everything ended when Mikasa moved her blade toward Eren. There was an endless, sad, but loving moment between those two. And you... you had suffered as much as the others. Lost countless comrades and friends—your older sister, Hange. The Moment when she stated it as a sacrifice...and in the end, it was you watching her suicide. It had been hard more than that, for everyone. And yet, you were never alone. You were never left without someone...and that someone was Levi.

It had been complicated between you two, he didn't want to admit he had feelings. After a long time...and when he figured out he had those feelings, he tried to distance himself. It was always like this, he was never ready to lose those he loved. And this man has already lost more than you could count. You're that sweet, little paramedic. He didn't want to lose you, either. His heart, already filled with sorrow, wouldn't take it.

No matter how many wounds he had, how many things he sacrificed, he wasn't ready to get too close to the one he adored so much.

But now, the battle was over. He leaned against that rock, and then he saw a small frame crawling towards him through the fog. It was you, you breathed heavily. Barely able to stand. Crawling towards him, the only one that has always remained in your life

"Levi." your voice was weak, he would have moved to you when he could, but His legs were damaged, seriously injured.

"(Y/N)." He called back to you, his gaze averting in your direction. You were on your knees before you tried to slowly stand up, walking over to him. You let out noises of exhaustion and stumbled over to him before you landed again on your knees, right by his side. Your hair is dusty and disheveled, and your pretty face is covered in dirt. Your eyes...oh, your pretty eyes—are filled with trauma, just like his.

"It's over..." you spoke, your voice was so thin. It was over, yeah, but it didn't feel like a win.

His hand stretched out to you, touching your skin on your cheek. Cupping your face with his palm, his remaining fingers marvel at your skin. He saw the big purple bruise that was on the crook of your neck, going to your jaw. You fought like every one of them, although your strength was clearly in first aid. His dark blue eyes are looking at you. The first time, he allowed himself to truly look into your eyes without withdrawing again.

"And you are still standing...remaining." His voice was laced with vurnablity and concern for you. Your own hand instantly went to his, and you laid it on top.

The wind was slightly hollowing through the landscape, some strands of hair were blown back, so he just kept staring into your beautiful, sad face. Even now, among all this chaos, you are that beautiful, constant thing around him. Always there, yearning for his attention. He always tried to hold back.

The mist was getting even more, and then you and him heard a noise. Both of you are looking up. And what you saw.

Your heart couldn't take it, you couldn't even speak. You saw them...your comrades who died, your friends, Erwin and even your sister Hange. Your eyes welled up with tears.

Your heart shattered to pieces for this last farewell.

Levi's hand rested on your face while the other showed them the last honor. A rare sight, the stoic captain shed one single tear with a bitter smile.

The last farewell to his chosen family.

You felt his thumb stroking your cheek, catching the big tears that streamed down your face. It was the last gift from Eren, the last goodbye he could give you all.

And then, after this fleeting moment when you could see your sister's face the last time, she had a smile, nodding towards you and Levi.

Hange never tried to get involved in what was going on between you two when she was alive.

But she was very well aware that you liked the captain, and that even Levi himself liked you more than he allowed himself.

But now, nothing of this matters anymore. Hange no matter how crazy she was, wanted you to be happy, wanted Levi to be happy. This was the sign.

When the mist was getting less, then slowly faded, you turned to Levi, you cried, you cried your very soul out. His forehead leaned against yours.

"Look at me, please look at me." His own voice was strained with the sorrow that was haunting you and him, yet he sounded strong. You looked into his eyes between those raven strands that were like a small curtain in front of his eyes.

"It hurts, and I am not able to heal it." You explained. Yeah, you were a very skilled paramedic, but not even you could patch up a heart that was shattered into so many pieces.

"Then at least we knew it was real. They were there, and a part of us. They made us who we are now." Levi spoke, it was serious, but his voice was rough with emotion for the very first time.

20 Percent of humanity remained on earth, and you...you, his sweet girl, was one of them.

The death was tragic, and the situation was bitter. The loss was immense, but for once he got lucky, fate was now so kind to not take you away.

Levi was ready, ready to get closer, to heal together with you.

"I am nothing without my sister... I barely even breathe." You never saw your own potential at all. Still, some bitter tears dropped from your lashes. Levi pulled your head closer, his nose brushed against yours. His lips are just inches away.

"You don't get it, don't you? You never was nothing, you always was so much more than you gave yourself credit for.

Otherwise..." He stopped, it was time to say it, right now. Right now, when he already felt vurnable.

"Life wasn't the nicest to me, to any of us. But it was so kind to leave you here with me. And I don't want you to say you would be nothing, Hange wouldn't want that either...(Y/N)." Levi continued looking at you, right into your very soul.

"I love you." Levi then let out, his eyes, never leaving yours. Gazing into your orbs. Your pupils widen. Your tears didn't stop, but you then closed this small gap. Your soft, plump lips are pressing in a gentle and sweet way against his.

With that, he poured all of his love into it, just like you did, as you always did.

Even when the grief was big, he was the light on the horizon. Just like you were the missing piece, he finally found.

This sweet kiss sends sparks of hope through yours and his veins. A glimpse of the future that now could be...a glimpse of the love he finally could share with you.

The kiss on the battlefield that sealed wounds that would take a long time to heal, but they'd remain as memories of what had been.

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roseghoul26 · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 8: ...Your Ivy Grows...

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Arthur Is Bad At Emotions, Confessions, First Time Together, Cunnilingus, Missionary, Doggy Style, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this chapter is just smut. hope you all enjoy! also, this chapter marks the over half-way point of the series! thank you so much for the continued support! <3 aslo idk if anyone else has had this issue but when you reach 100 pages on a google doc grammar correct stops working? i literally have to break this story up into two docs lmao Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay @nn-hh192 Chapter List

Even though Arthur pledged to take his time with you, you could tell that he was using every bit of restraint in him to keep from taking you right there. His fingers were tight on your thigh, tight enough to leave marks, yet you found that you couldn’t complain. How could you, when all you could say was his name as soft pants and moans?

His lips were unrelenting in their exploration of your neck and shoulders, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your body by just kissing it. One of your hands carded into his dusty brown hair, and if your mind wasn’t so overwhelmed with just the feeling of him, you would’ve marveled at how soft it still was. Yet all that came to your mind was how wonderful his lips felt, and how wonderful they would feel elsewhere. It made your head fall back again, barely noticing the impact of it against the wall, his hand no longer there to protect it.

No, the hand that had once been so reverently holding you had shifted south, lightly brushing over the side of your body. He just skirted the outline of your breasts through your nightgown, where you wanted, needed him to touch you. You must’ve made some noise of complaint when he continued down, because you felt his smirk again, lips pulling against the delicate skin of your neck. That damn smirk, you could picture it now, and that mischievous glint in his cerulean eyes.

You thought you had gotten your wish when you felt him grab a thin strap of your nightgown with his teeth, slowly dragging it down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupted across the skin when you felt the drag of his beard, the dainty strap tickling your skin where it hung loosely. You expected him to slide the other one off, but when his kisses lingered on the newly exposed skin and his hands remained planted on the lower part of your body, you decided to do it instead, your patience from a few moments prior no longer existing.

With one hand still in his hair, you began to try to bring it down, but you were stopped before it could even budge an inch. Arthur had somehow been able to tell what you were doing, despite being fully enraptured with caressing your body, and had pinned your hand to the wall above you. His hand no longer held your thigh, but you still kept a leg hooked around his body, keeping him as close as you could. A started noise had left you, which turned into a light moan, his actions making you crave more.

But even though he had stopped you, you weren’t going to give up that easily. “Arthur,” you whined out, giving him the best pleading eyes you could, hoping that he would take pity on you. “Undress me,” you uttered, for what you now realized to be the first time in your life; you’d never had the desire to do so before.

Arthur paused for a moment before raising his head enough so that his lips were just hovering over yours. Yet no matter how much you strained, no matter how much you reached, you couldn’t connect them. “I did say I was takin’ my time with ya, did I not?”

Damn him and his unwavering resolve to torture you. “You did, but-”

His lips finally connecting with yours silenced you, your words trailing off into a mumble. He pulled away much too quickly for your liking, and you tried to voice your displeasure, but another short kiss stopped you. “I ain’t goin’ back on my word. I’ve waited so damn long to have you like this; I’m savorin’ ya for as long as I can.”

If only he knew that you felt the exact opposite. He ghosted over your lips before landing at your jaw, right below his ear. His voice was low and husky right in your ear, and it was both the feeling and the words he spoke that left you shuddering. “Trust me when I say this ain’t endin’ without that beautiful body of yours completely uncovered.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment. “You ain’t ever seen my body,” you tried to deflect his words.

“I ain’t gotta see it to know.” He bit at your earlobe. “Now, you gonna be patient?” His fingers gently squeezed the wrist he held above your body.

Wordlessly, you nodded. As much as you would’ve loved to have him keep you restrained, the angle was starting to get uncomfortable. When he let go, you chose to rest it on his shoulder, and you could feel the way his muscles flexed as he moved again. Lips returned to your bare right shoulder, and they began to trail down your arm, all the way down to your fingers. It was a strange feeling, but you were loving it. Never before had someone treated your body so carefully, like you were the most precious thing they’ve ever held.

But here Arthur was, kissing your skin like it was made of gold, like you were a gift sent down from the Gods. As much as you longed to hear those three words from his mouth, you certainly felt like he was showing you that he did indeed love you, just like you requested, and you felt your heart soar.

After reaching your fingers, you felt him caress the kiss-adorned skin with a calloused hand, something like awe across his features. When you grew bashful under his gaze, your head turning away, you saw him look up out of the corner of your eye. “What?” He asked, coming out almost like a breathy laugh. “Look at me, darlin’.”

Swallowing, you forced your gaze back onto him, your face burning when he still had that same awestruck expression. “I won’t be able to if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

Intrigued, he dragged his hand back up your arm, resting against the side of your neck. As much as you wanted to look away, you forced yourself to keep your attention on him. “Like what?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Like you’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen? Like I’m the luckiest bastard, who damn well doesn’t deserve ya, someone as kind and breathtaking and good as you? Like I want to spend every moment with you, holdin’ you, touchin’ you, purely and utterly devoted to you?”

Arthur shook his head, a small laugh leaving him. “Nah, I can’t stop lookin’ at you like that, darlin’. I refuse to stop lookin’ at you like that. So, you,” his hand was now cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing over your lips, “are just gonna have to accept it.”

You had no response to his words, drawing up a blank in your mind, and his touches certainly weren’t helping. God, you fucking loved him so much.

When his mouth crashed into yours, you realized that you had said that out loud, but you didn’t care. Relief coursed through your body when you felt him finally tug the other strap down, a little more forceful than necessary. It was subtle, but the strings of his restraint had begun to fray.

When he pulled away, you felt him begin a similar trail down your left arm, and you let yourself just get lost in the sensations. It differed when he got to your hand, your fingers more specifically. You heard his breath hitch, and you glanced down at him, confused.

“You haven’t put it back on,” he muttered, and it took a few moments for you to realize that he was talking about your ring. You knew it was risky, keeping it off when Hans could be home at literally any time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put it back on during the past couple of weeks.

“No,” you whispered, “because there’s only one person my heart belongs to, and it certainly ain’t the man who gave me that ring.”

An almost pained noise left Arthur, and you thought something was truly wrong until his eyes bore into yours. The once awestruck, loving look was now replaced with some more primal, more hungry, and you sucked in a gasp. His body was almost instantly pressed into yours, crowding you up against the wall. His mouth was attacking your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks that would darken by morning. If you had any rational thought left in you, you would’ve made sure he kept his marks somewhere you could easily hide them, but you had none left.

“Say it again,” he groaned into your skin.

“My heart is yours, Arthur.” You don’t think you’ve ever uttered truer words before.

“Mine…” he breathed out, like he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

“I’m yours.”

He moaned at that, his breath fanning across your skin. “Mine,” he repeated with more certainty, unyielding still with his ministrations.

You never thought that you would ever like anyone having a claim to you, even more so when you got married to Hans. But you realized that you didn’t mind because unlike the marriage it was mutual. Arthur was yours as much as you were his.

“Yours.”

It seemed like that was the last thing you needed to say before his restraint snapped.

You were startled when you felt the ground no longer beneath your foot that was still against the ground, Arthur picking you up with ease with two hands beneath your thighs. Your other leg joined in wrapping around his body, your hands grappling for purchase across the broad expanse of his shoulders. He wasted no time, heading straight up the staircase to where he knew your room to be. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet, and you realized that he still remembered your rule of no shoes in the house, and you somehow fell even more in love with him for heeding what you said, no matter how small or insignificant it was.

It was hard to kiss him because of all the jostling of climbing upstairs, but you tried anyway. You almost immediately tore away when you accidentally bit down hard on his bottom lip from all the movement, but it quickly died in your throat at the somehow even hungrier look Arthur shot you. “Darlin’ we ain’t gonna make it to the bed if ya do things like that,” he spoke after his grip on you faltered slightly, but you were clinging on to him too tightly to really tell.

“Is that a promise?” You teased.

Arthur barked out a small laugh at that, his eyes crinkling. “The stairs ain’t gonna be the most comfortable place, but if you insist…” He made a show of bending over slowly, trying to deposit you onto the wooden stairs. You immediately made a noise of protest, and Arthur straightened back up, laughing yet again. “Is that a no, then?”

“It’s a no. But maybe next time,” you giggled.

“Next time,” he echoed, and you could barely detect the small amount of disbelief in his voice.

He had reached the top of the stairs now, passing the first door to Hans’ office. As you passed, a thought filled your mind that got your heart racing even more, biting back a moan. You pictured yourself laying back on the desk, Arthur’s face between your legs, your cries muffled with-

The familiar surroundings of your room tore you from your thoughts, and a shaky breath left you. You missed the look that Arthur gave you, fully aware of the kinds of images that had just flashed through your mind. But he didn’t say anything, merely tucking them away into his mind for a later day. Like you said, there was always a next time.

Arthur set you on the side of the bed, standing in between your legs, You had to strain your neck to look up at him, and you followed him as he sank to his knees before you. If it didn’t look like he was worshiping you earlier, it certainly looked like it now. Awe was back on his features, eye wide, letting out soft, pleased sighs as he took you in. Moonlight spilled in from behind you, casting you in a cool white light, your shadow cast over him.

Even though there was a rug, you knew that how he was sitting was probably not the most comfortable, and you tried to usher him to the bed. Arthur just shook his head, pressing a grateful kiss to the back of your hand. “In a moment, darlin’,” he reassured.

You shivered when you felt his hands on your thighs, skirting up the sides of your body slowly, methodically. It seemed like the small walk had calmed him some, his interest in slowly driving you insane returning. Warm hands grazed the undersides of your breasts, before grazing against your perked nipples that poked through the thin material of the nightgown. It made you jolt, earning a low chuckle from the man.

You gasped when he did it again, your body pressing into his large hands. “Arthur,” you sighed out, and he hummed in response, engrossed in the way you reacted to him touching you. Every brush of his fingers, every gentle squeeze, shot another jolt through your body, arousal coiling in your lower body.

Your body was growing incredibly warm, and even though the material of the gown was light, it still felt like you were wearing a winter jacket in the desert. But you didn’t make a move to take it off yourself. “Undress me?” You tried again, this time phrasing it like a question.

“You sure, darlin’?”

You were touched by his consideration, but you were almost growing desperate at this point. “Please, Arthur.”

Arthur took a second to judge the validity of your response before a soft smile spread on his face. He toyed at the hem of your nightgown, which had ridden up to your upper thighs. “I suppose I can arrange that.” You were barely able to lift your hips before Arthur was tearing your nightgown off over your head, tossing it beside him.

In just your undergarments, you watched as Arthur slowly took in your exposed body, the same look on his face that he had downstairs. “How did I get so damn lucky?” His hands joined in the exploration of your body, pulling out small noises from you. “My beautiful girl.”

His hands felt so much better when there wasn’t a barrier of fabric between them, you realized when he returned to your breasts. Despite the roughness of his skin, he was still gentle with his touches, and the juxtaposition made your head spin. It was hard to remember the fact that this was a rough, grizzled man, who had seen the worst the world had to offer, yet regarded you so carefully.

Your hand reacquainted itself with his hair when his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, his fingers playing with the other. Teeth grazed against the sensitive bud, making your hips jump from where you sat on the bed, a cry of his name leaving your lips. Fingers tightened in his hair, and Arthur groaned. His mouth was still pulling pleasure from your breasts, and the noise he made just added to the stimulation, the low timbre rolling through your body.

After a few moments of lavishing your breasts with attention, he was descending even further, lips barely leaving your body, leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake. When he stopped right above the ribbon that held your undergarments, he brought his gaze up to you, a silent question in his eyes, a stifled gasp leaving you when you realized what he was asking for. You’d heard stories, tales of lovers going down on their partners, bringing them pleasure with their mouths. You’d always just shake your head, not believing that someone would want to do that; it was one-sided satisfaction, in your mind.

But his gaze held nothing but pure want, like he needed to do this, craved it more than any fine liquor. It made you evaluate how one-sided the satisfaction might be. You hadn't realized you’d been silent for an extended period until Arthur’s voice pulled you from your mind. “Please, darlin’.”

Oh, you liked that. Another gasp left you, this one less stifled than the previous, and you felt something throb between your legs. Arthur picked up on your reaction, realization making him grin, eager to see you squirm. “Please, lemme taste ya,” he pitched his voice even lower. “I wanna feel ya cum on my face, darlin’. I wanna feel you soak-”

He was cut off by a sharp pull on his hair, yanking his head back, your other hand covering his mouth. Your cheeks were blazing, embarrassed beyond belief, but you’d be a liar if you said his words weren’t doing something to you. Any more, though, and you would explode. “You have a dirty mouth, Arthur Morgan.” You prayed that your voice didn’t sound too airy.

A light nip at your hand made you pull away, shooting a disingenuous glare at him. “You love it, darlin’.”

How right he was. If his hands inched any further downward, he’d be able to feel the effect he was having on you. You rolled your eyes but didn’t offer any rebuttal. You felt him run his fingers beneath the ribbon, eliciting a shiver through your body. “Can I?” He asked, still waiting for your answer.

You had just gotten out a quiet yes before a hand pushed you down to the bed, gentle yet commanding. Arthur spread your legs, groaning appreciatively at the sight before him. There wasn’t any shock on his features as he took in the darkened patch on your undergarments; he knew exactly what he did to you. He quickly undid the ribbon, then yanked the garment down your legs, letting it dangle precariously off one of your feet.

Neither of you cared, Arthur especially, his eyes locked onto your glistening cunt. Holding the insides of your thighs, he kept your legs open, rubbing soothingly into the skin as he made his way closer. Anticipation made you shake, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, rising in pace when his breath ghosted over you.

Both of you let out sighs when his mouth made contact, your body jumping at the foreign contact. Sensations you’d never felt before invaded your body, almost too many for you to keep track of. His beard prickled against the highly sensitive skin, a complete difference from the soft glide of his tongue through you. You barely even saw the way his eyes rolled back, completely taken in by the way you tasted.

You whined out his name as he did it again, and his eyes glanced up at you between your legs. It was an even better sight than anything you could've ever imagined, and you couldn’t help the slight mortification when you realized you said it aloud. It was the second time that night something had spilled from you that you hadn’t wished to reveal, and you debated just covering your mouth so that it wouldn’t happen again.

Even though you couldn’t see it, you just knew that he was smirking, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve thought of this before, darlin’?” He asked between passes of his tongue, pleasure building slowly in your core. But you could tell that he was very clearly avoiding your clit, his tongue always stopping or passing it, just to rile you up. And it was working.

“Arthur,” you whined, but you knew at this point trying to plead with him was an uphill battle.

“Have you thought of this before?” He asked again, and you realized that he wasn’t going to give what you wanted until you answered him.

“Yes,” you admitted, and even though your response was hardly louder than a whisper, it felt like you shouted it to the world. Of course, you’d imagined Arthur like this before, and so much more. It wasn’t often, either during the one time Hans had been intimate with you recently or during the lonely weeks by yourself. You’d imagine him as you slip a hand between your legs, softer and smaller than Arthur’s, but you always tried to not dwell on that fact.

He rewarded your response by finally making contact where you wanted him, a loud cry tumbling from your lips as he lapped at your clit. You fumbled at the bedsheets, trying to find something to grab onto that wasn’t his hair as he wracked your body with pleasure. “What’d ya think ‘bout?” His words were muffled, and it took you a few moments to form a coherent thought.

Apparently, you took too long, and you felt his attention move away from your clit, choosing to just pass around it instead. You loved and hated the way he was toying with you, leaving you a writhing mess beneath him. “I’ve- I’ve thought ‘bout this,” you vaguely gestured to where he was, and you sighed out when his tongue returned to the sensitive nerves. “I’ve thought ‘bout your fingers…” you had to take a moment, pleasure becoming overwhelming. “Imagined how they’d feel on me, in me…”

On cue, you felt his rough fingers brush against your folds, making you shudder. “I’ve thought ‘bout you bendin’ me over, takin’ me roughly, makin’ me scream.” You felt Arthur groan. But… but I also imagined you takin’ me gently, makin’ love to me, and I can’t… I can’t figure out which one I want more…”

“We’ll just have to try both then, darlin’.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say more, but you stopped. “Anythin’ else?” You heard him ask, and you damned him for having such acute observation skills.

“I’ve…” You couldn’t believe you were about to admit this to him. “Whenever he…” you didn’t even want to say his name, “you know, had me… I imagined it was you instead.”

You watched blue eyes widen. “You have?”

You couldn’t tell if he was disgusted by the fact, having gone still between your legs, but you were too nervous that you’d just royally fucked this all up to care. “I asked ya a question,” he muttered, pulling his head far enough away so you could see him better. Even still, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, and you ducked your head in shame.

“I have,” you whispered out.

“When?”

Of course, he had to ask that. That answer might put him off even more, but as you glanced back down at him, you found that you couldn’t without the truth. “Remember when you came over to the house for the first time? Durin’ the middle of the night?” You laughed bitterly. “I could barely look you in the eye, I felt so guilty.” And you still felt guilty, and it tore at your chest. “I’m sorry, Arthur-”

You tried to close your legs, his grip having gone lax, but as soon as he felt you move it was back. He yanked you closer to him, his mouth meeting you halfway, attacking your clit with precision. Short laps that had created a gradual and steady build of pleasure had been replaced for heavy, intense presses of his tongue, ruthless and unyielding. He was devouring you now, a complete switch up from the casual pace before, and you could do nothing but take it.

He wasn’t talking now, too concentrated on making you finish to do so. His name spilled from your lips, and you desperately gripped at the bedsheets, hips bucking and writhing. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to approach, having been edged on for so long. “Arthur, I’m… please,” you begged him not to cut you off this time, and you could’ve cried in relief when he didn’t.

With a loud final cry of his name that made you glad you lived in the middle of the woods, you came, your cunt clenching around nothing as waves of pleasure spasmed your body. The grip on the sheets turned vice-like as every nerve in your body was set alight, white-hot pleasure taking over all your senses. Arthur continued to pleasure you, the noises growing obscene, and you eventually had to pull him away, as it became too much.

His wish had certainly been fulfilled, his lower face and beard soaked with your release. His eyes were impossibly dark, panting wildly, and he almost looked animalistic. Slowly, you watched as he lowered one last time, eyes never leaving yours as he kissed your clit, a jolt of overstimulation hitting you at the contact.

Arthur stood now, hands bracing on either side of your hips as he stood. The first thing you noticed, besides his disheveled expression, was the substantial tent in the front of his pants, his cock straining against the denim. On shaky knees, you sat up, your arms bracing for support on his broad chest. Two arms wrapped around your body, hands resting on your back, keeping you pressed close to him. Leaning down, he kissed you, and you groaned when his tongue pressed into your mouth, tasting your release on him.

But you couldn’t ignore the way he pressed into you, and you managed to sneak a hand between your bodies, fingers running gently over him. He tore away from the kiss then, an airy noise that almost sounded like a chuckle leaving him. Smiling sweetly at him, you retracted your hand, only to start unbuttoning his shirt with thinly veiled desperation. Your hands were still shaking, which just made getting the little buttons undone an almost impossible task.

You felt him wrap his hands around your wrist, halting you. Gentle kisses were pressed against your hands before he set them beside you. His less-shaky hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt, your eyes greedily taking him in as the first bare expanse of his chest was exposed to you. As his shirt hit the ground, the sound it made barely covered up the noise you made when his upper half was exposed to you for the first time.

You knew he was a large man, but seeing him bare made the fact clear. Another fact that you quickly came to realize was that he was the most stunning man you’ve ever had the privilege to see. It had long been clear that he was a beautiful man, but you were quite literally staring at him with an open mouth, your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest.

Scars littered his body, the most substantial one being on his shoulder. It looked like a freshly healed gunshot wound, which made your heart lurch. Smaller scars trailed down his body, mostly straight lines and a few jagged edges. A dusting of wiry, brown hair covered his entire body, and you didn’t bother to resist the urge to run your hands through it. It was softer than you expected, and you let your hands roam freely, loving the way that Arthur seemed to purr under your touch. It turned into a groan when you brushed over his nipples, finding pleasure in teasing him the way he had done to you.

“You’re so gorgeous, Arthur,” you cooed out, nails scratching lightly over his skin. It was his turn to shudder, to be turned to jelly because of your actions. Your name left his lips as a whine, and you couldn’t deny how incredible it made you feel. His abdominal muscles jumped when your fingers ghosted over them, his breath catching when you began to tug at his gunbelt. “Take this off?” You asked, resting your chin against his chest and looking up at him. “Please?”

He had already started taking it off as soon as you asked, but you knew that he’d love hearing the added please. And he did, his eyes rolling back as he groaned. It didn’t take long before he was setting the belt down on the ground, being gentle to not cause a misfire of the weapon.

He was less considerate with his regular belt, the accessory hitting the ground with a large clattering noise that made you jump. You grinned when you heard the sound of a zipper, and you worked your own hands down to help him ease off his pants, underwear included, down enough to free him. A hiss left his mouth as his cock was exposed to the air, and you dared to look down.

Even with the lack of light, you could tell that he was quite well-endowed. When you took him in hand, you were almost startled to find that you couldn’t wrap your hand around him, but pure desire blocked out those thoughts. You didn’t care if it hurt, you needed him now.

You stroked him a few times, pants of air escaping his lips, and his hips jolted when your thumb brushed over his tip. Precum coated the digit, and you brought it to your mouth. You made a show of cleaning it off, tongue running over the length of it before taking it into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you groaned in approval as the salty tang hit your tastebuds.

Removing it from your mouth with a pop, you sat back on your heels, helping to work his garments down his thighs, before letting it drop and pool at his feet. As he kicked it away, you let your eyes roam unabashedly, finally having a perfect view of his thick legs, also adorned with a light covering of hair. Backing up further on the bed and adjusting so that your head lay against pillows, you raised an amused brow when Arthur just stood there, eyes also roaming your body shamelessly.

“Are you just gonna stand there all night?” You teased.

“If you want me to.” There was an honesty to his words that had you melting, but you just rolled your eyes instead.

“C’mere,” you laughed, holding out a hand. He took it, letting you pull him onto the bed. He was on top of you in seconds, lips attaching to your neck again, a hand running down your body. Your own hands were all over him, every new piece of skin becoming familiar. You could feel his cock brush against your stomach as he leaned above you, leaking onto your skin.

As much as you loved his attention, you were so close to getting what you wanted that you couldn’t wait any longer. “Arthur,” you gasped out, “I need you.”

“You have me, darlin’. It’s just… you sure you’re ready?” You expected to find a hint of arrogance in his voice, but you found none, just genuine concern.

“I’m ready.”

Arthur brushed his lips over yours, then rested his forehead against yours. That awestruck, almost disbelieving look was back as he situated himself between your legs. Before he could, you snuck a hand down, holding him gently at the base to help him ease into you. He nearly faltered right there, not expecting to feel your hand, and you just smiled as sweetly as you could at him.

You whined when you felt him begin to press into you, removing your hand so that you didn’t hurt him on accident. Instead, you gripped onto his shoulders, nails biting into the skin, which seemed to just spur Arthur on more. He was slow, almost tortuously slow as he eased into you, strained breaths hitting your face. He was all you could feel, the delicious stretch of him; you’ve never felt such a wonderful pain.

It felt like hours had passed before you felt Arthur’s hips press flush against yours. Your chest rose and fell rapidly like you’d just run for miles. He felt incredible, and you could tell that he felt similarly by the small groans he tried to stifle. He stayed still inside you for a moment, letting you adjust, which the rational part of your brain was grateful for. But you had long since been ready for him, and you desperately needed him to move.

Petting back his hair, you brought his attention to you. So many emotions flashed in his eyes as he regarded you, a soft smile gracing his lips. You’d think that right now he’d look the most tense, but you’d never seen him so relaxed. The furrow in his brow was long gone, the crinkles in his eyes from smiling, not from squinting worriedly.

“I love you, Arthur,” you found yourself saying again that night, and you swore his ears turned red.

He stammered out something in response, but you just shushed him gently, running a hand back through his hair. “You don’t gotta say it back. I just needed you to know.”

“Oh, I know, darlin’. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

You just hummed in response, before wiggling your hips slightly. He got the message, slowly pulling himself out of you, leaving only the tip in. His eyes never once left you, gauging your reactions. All you could do was moan, too overwhelmed with the feeling of him to do anything else.

It didn’t take too long for him to build a slow rhythm, the rocking of his hips gentle. Even his touch was light as it danced over your skin, making you shiver. With each thrust in and out, your breasts moved with the motion, and eventually, Arthur just couldn’t resist the temptation. His lips were all over them as he continued to rock into you.

Your legs had locked around his waist, keeping his body as close to you as possible. You felt so full, hitting spots inside of you that you hadn’t even reached before. Every slow drag of his hips was magnificent, and you could feel the slow beginnings of another orgasm begin to form. It was long since reaching its completion, but you knew exactly what you needed to reach it faster.

Carding your fingers into his hair, you pressed your lips against his, this kiss sloppy and uncoordinated, but you did manage to snag his lip between your teeth. It gave you the reaction you wanted, his hips bucking into yours harshly, making you cry out with pleasure. “Arthur…” you tried to speak, but another roll of his hips made you moan, cutting you off.

“Darlin’, you feel so… God.”

“Arthur,” you tried again. “Faster, please.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Praises tumbled from you as he picked up the pace, and you felt yourself building faster. Yet it wasn’t enough, and you finally just told him what you needed from him.

“I need you to fuck me, Arthur.”

If he was shocked by your words, he did a damn good job hiding it. He said your name, low, cautionary, making you shiver again. He continued the pace he was at, though, and your fingers tugged at his hair in mild frustration. “Darlin’, you-”

“Fuck me, Arthur.” You didn’t care that you sounded like you were whining. When he pulled out of you completely, you were confused, but it was quickly replaced by sheer arousal at the look on his face.

Like you weighed nothing, you were flipped over by Arthur, being manhandled by him turning you on a lot more than you thought it would. Now on your hands and knees, you didn’t even get to glance back at him before he was filling you again. His hands dug into the flesh of your hips as he pounded into you relentlessly, and you’re sure your voice would be hoarse later because of how loudly you were crying out.

With every thrust in, he hit something in you that made you see stars. “Is this what my girl wanted?” You heard him ask, panting lightly from exertion. “Am I fuckin’ you just like ya wanted?”

“God, Arthur, yes!” You could feel your release coming closer, faster than you anticipated.

“Is this what you imagined?” He leaned down close to your ear. “Is this what you imagined I’d do to you, instead of him?” He said the last word with so much venom, so much hatred. Jeasuly, you realized, looked good on him. But he didn’t need to know that Hans had never had you like this; you were enjoying his anger.

“Even better.” You admitted. “So much better.”

You groaned when you felt his hand sneak between your legs, rubbing at your clit with hard, short circles. “You feel even better than I imagined, darlin’.” His words hit you like a freight train, and you glanced back at him, shocked. “What, you thought you’re the only one with dirty thoughts?” His lips grazed your shoulderblades. “Oh, darlin’, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this for longer than I care to admit.”

If you weren’t currently about to fall apart beneath him, you would’ve asked him to tell you more. But you couldn’t, and you felt the tension in you begin to shatter. “Arthur, I’m…”

“I’ll be right behind ya,” he groaned into your skin. “C’mon, darlin’, let me feel ya…” With a final thrust of his hips and press of his fingers, you came again, your arms shaking. It only took a few more thrusts for Arthur, especially because of the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him, and he quickly pulled out of you before spilling across your back.

Your arms finally gave out, collapsing face-first into the pillows. Pleasure coursed through your body, making your muscles buzz pleasantly. You felt the bed shift, and you whined at the lack of heart from Arthur. “I’ll be right back, darlin’. I promise,” he chuckled lightly.

True to his word, he was back within moments. You must’ve dozed off for a second, but you were woken up with a start when you felt a damp, warm washrag wipe at your skin. “S’just me,” he reassured, quickly cleaning your skin of his release.

When you heard him set it on the nightstand, you finally rolled over, glancing up at Arthur. After enhancing soft smiles, he leaned down and kissed you, which quickly turned from light grazing of lips to a heated kiss. When his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, you felt arousal begin to creep back into your system. The things this man did to you.

Still, much to his evident disappointment, you pulled him away. You saw the bags under his eyes, still as evident as they were a while ago. “Arthur,” you sighed, “you’re exhausted.”

He just shrugged, clearly not regarding his well-being. “I made ya a promise, darlin’,” he smirked. “Besides, I don’t think I could sleep if I wanted to.”

“But-”

His lips silenced you, and when he pulled away you glared lightly at him. “We’ll just sleep in late tomorrow, no?”

You sighed, but it was hard to remain adamant in your stance with the way he pleaded at you with his eyes. “I suppose-” His lips collided against yours, climbing on top of you, like he couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer. But what made you gasp was the feeling of his almost hard cock pressing against you, ready for another round.

The two of you didn’t go to bed until the light from the sunrise streamed into the room, tangled up in a mess of blankets and limbs.

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