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saltsicklover · 2 years ago

Text

Dear 201 - Fan Mail Pt. 5

Title: Dear 201 - Fan Mail Pt. 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2650

Rating: T

Warnings: Drinking, anger, fucking angst. Steve Rogers is a fucking asshole.

-- To be continued. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :) --

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

Three little numbers both thrill and terrify Bucky in equal measure- he started to see the numbers everywhere after he received the letter from Ace. The news didn't seem to surprise Steve or Sam in the way it did Bucky. Steve has always been one to take news like a shot of neat whisky, the information flowing into him, burning, but on the outside he still remains stoic. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to take the news like the beach takes the tide, the news rolling over him like he had known it was coming, something he had come to learn already. As Bucky told him the news, the waves of his voice washed over him and he welcomed them like an old friend.

After the news broke, Bucky kept his next move close to his chest like a winning poker hand. The chips of his decision twirl threw his fingers, folding over his knuckles as he waits for his turn to bid. Sam has urged him to move decide, to write faster, to move faster. Bucky doesn't let the words get to him.

One night after too much alcohol stolen from Thor, the Asgardian liquor coursing through their systems, Steve tells Bucky to leave it be- to quit writing all together.

"Seriously, Buck, you don't need the headache of all this," Steve mumbles a bit, speaking more to himself than to Bucky who is splayed out on the couch across from him.

"What did you say?" Bucky questions him, his brows furrowing. He pulls his focus from the letters he has been rifling through, the letters from her.

"You don't need to write her anymore," Steve says as a matter of fact, "You don't need to deal with this anymore," He doesn't bother looking at Bucky, if he would he doesn't think he could stop his eyes from rolling. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on his glass, swirling the liquid around with a gentle twist of his wrist. He watches the amber colored concoction move around the glass, his attention better spent on that than he friend and the situation Buck finds himself in. Steve has deemed it ridiculous, too good to be true, a flat out fucking lie.

"Deal with what, exactly, Steve?" Bucky sits up now, clutching the letters a little tighter. The paper bunches under his touch, the new wrinkles spreading like roots through the words.

"This, this shit, Bucky!" Steve raises his voice; it echoes through the room, bristling over Bucky's form, striking a nerve.

"Excuse me?" Bucky manages, the words spit from his lips full of venom and animosity. His body tightens, the tendons in his neck pulling tight as he squares his shoulders with a bit too much force. He sets his jaw, teeth threatening to grind together to release some of the anger that is taking over his veins with pump of his heart, the tension in the air scalding this insides with each breath he draws.

Bucky would go to war for this woman, the mystery he has come to adore who lays just on the other side of the postal route, the stamp, the words, the ink. He hadn't thought about it until this very moment, Steve's words spurring something inside of Bucky, his chest burning at the thought of losing his 'Warmest Regards", the thought causes nausea to swim through Bucky, sweat overtaking his skin with pinpricks of anxiety.

Steve turns his face up, eyes coming up to see the sweat collecting on Bucky's brow. Bucky is almost seething, his body threating to vibrate with anger. "You know what, don't even bother finishing that sentence," Bucky corrects, holding a flat hand out to Steve as if to say 'stop'. Bucky shakes his head, bangs falling forward, concealing the band of sweat that coats his skin.

He wants to blame the alcohol for Steve's words, for the anger that poured out of them and into Bucky. He wrings his hands, letters sitting haphazardly in his lap. He wants to blame the alcohol for the way his heart seems to be imprinting itself on the inside of his ribcage and the way his hands shake. For the sweat that seems to have taken over his body, chilling him with a sense of sickness. But the only thing he can blame the alcohol for is the fact that it started their evening together in the first place.

What started as a night to just let go and relax from the strenuous missions and never ending paperwork has turned into honesty hour that has left Bucky feeling sick to his stomach, both from the anger and the liquor he decided couldn't touch him. But now the room spins and his best friend sits across from him, eyes burning into his own.

"I just mean, what if this is all some sort of ploy to get something out of you? What if whoever is writing you isn't this girl that claims to be on the other side. What if they aren't a barber in Hell's Kitchen? What if they are just in this for money or fame or for the story? Hell, what if they are some terrorist or threat trying to get close to you in order to bring us down? What then, Buck?" Steve's words bite and there is nothing too soothe the marks they leave in Bucky. His chest aches, and Steve's does too; the aches blooming from original sources but crippling each man with a dull pain that doesn't seem to subside.

Bucky runs his hand over his sternum, pressing hard with his knuckles, trying to counter the ache with pressure from the outside. Steve knocks back the rest of his drink, tasting like honey but burning all the way down. This time he grimaces. Bucky does too, stomach acid burning in his chest.

Words halt, the world seems to, too. It's like everything has slowed, each movement, each beat of Bucky's heart, each thought that creeps into Bucky's mind that tells him he isn't good enough to have someone write to him- someone so soft and full of love, full of light, on the other side of the paper with ink stained fingertips. Someone like that would be too good for him, he thinks, maybe Steve is right.

The world resumes speed when a glass leaves Bucky's hand, one he didn't realize he had picked up until the shattered pieces of crystal mingle with the leftover honey flavored amber that resided at the bottom of the glass moments before. The shards look like constellations, each sharp point sparkling in the light of the living room. They beg to be touched, the blade like corners glimmering as the men eye the new universe that has been created on the floor between them.

"Weren't you the one telling me all those weeks ago that a letter was coming for me? Aren't you the one who couldn't contain their excitement along with me every single time another letter showed up with my name on it? Weren't you the one cheering me on through this? What the fuck happened, Steve?" Bucky sounds almost defeated, burying his head in his hands. He grips at his hair tightly, knuckles threatening to turn white under the pressure.

Steve can't seem to make his brain work, his mind refusing to form thoughts that would do any good at defending himself. Bucky is right, he thinks- he knows. All those weeks ago when Bucky received that first letter, Steve memorized the pride that burst through his chest at the sight. He remembers the smile that adorned his friend's face just moments before the photo. Steve also remembers the steam that filled his lungs as he was forced to hear Bucky sob just a few feet away, unable to do anything to make the hurt stop.

Bucky is his best friend, and all those years ago Steve sent Bucky over the beam first shortly after rescuing him, putting his own safety, his own life on the line to make sure Bucky got out first. It was then he decided Bucky's life was the most important thing and just the mere idea of Bucky getting hurt, or heaven forbid getting himself killed, because he got himself in too deep with a 'pen pal' makes Steve physically sick.

Again, neither men dare to speak, each having voiced their concern. Nobody ever said airing out grievances was easy. They both sit their, their words hanging in the air, dense with meaning. They feel almost suffocating, the sentences wrapping themselves around each man and squeezing. Maybe that's the way it's suppose to feel- the protection of a best friend constricting itself around the body until there is no space to breathe.

Tears begin to prick at the corners of Bucky's eyes, a heat coming up his chest cavity, a sob threatening to escape his gritted teeth. The sight hurts Steve but he makes no move to correct it, to sooth his friend or to speak. Everything is out on the table, and it needs to stay that way.

Instead, he pushes himself up, the room swaying around him. It has been a long time since he's been drunk, and maybe it needs to be a long time before it happens again. Steve steps over the shards shakily, moving towards his quarters. He stops just before rounding the corner, daring to look back at the scene he is leaving behind him.

Bucky sits frozen, an unreadable expression written into the lines of his face. His brows are furrowed, a deep line tracing itself on the skin between his brows. His lips are pulled into a tight line, teeth no doubt clenched together to keep a sob from escaping. A few tears have spilled themselves over the Bucky's face, wet, warm trails coasting down his cheeks. The tears fall from his chin. He closes his eyes, chancing a deep breath to steady himself.

"I just want you safe, Buck," Steve whispers, his voice barely audible, but Bucky hears it. He knows Bucky hears it because a small noise somewhere between a whimper and a cry comes out strangled and falls from his lips.

Steve disappears, leaving Bucky a broken mess on the couch, a universe of broken glass in front of him. A sight that would surely break even a tough man- that exact thought keeping Steve from turning around again. The truth hurts, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. He repeats it not only to justify the hurt he has caused but the hurt that has bound itself to his insides, squeezing with each low and ragged breathe.

In some twisted way, Steve thought that if he could hurt Bucky before she could, maybe it would hurt less. Maybe, if Steve thought it was a bad idea, Bucky wouldn't write her back, or maybe he would, just to tell her to never contact him again. Maybe its the jealousy that thrums through Steve at the thought of losing a friend, or maybe it's because he can't stand to see Bucky get close to someone when there is no one in the world that is bidding for his attention.

Steve gets letters, sure. But they are mostly from old women and family's he has saved or reunited. He also gets mail from children who have come to idolize him and he gets mail asking him to participate at local schools and to make appearances. They all want something or are thanking him for something he has already done, his time and energy already given.

It's supposed to be Steve and Bucky till the end of the line and women never got in the way of that before, but they way Bucky looks at those letters, his eyes lighting up at the words gives Steve pause. Bucky has never been this way about a women before and hell, maybe Steve should learn to be happy for his friend but instead the jealousy just eats away at him form the inside out.

When Bucky finally pulls himself from the couch he is shaking, tears stain his skin dry and cracking. He walks past the glass, the discarded crystal left to lay in waste on the floor. The whole universe in the shards becoming increasingly less important with each step Bucky takes towards his quarters.

He manages to pen a letter through his shaking, the lines of his letters wobbly. A few stray tears manage to fall onto the paper the ink smearing under them.

"Dear 201, I need to know that you are real. I need to know that you aren't just some sort of conspiracy or threat trying to get close enough to me to burn everything that surrounds me to the ground.

I need you to be real because I have this blurry image of you in my head that I need to make clear. I need to focus into all the details of you and commit them to memory. Each little, beautiful, imperfect piece. I crave the sight of you in your entirety.

I need to hear your laugh- I need to know if it sounds like pure joy blooming into the world. I need to hold your hands, to see the wear and calloses that adorn them. I need to know how your hand feels wrapped in mine when we shake the first time we meet. I need to know if it will ground me in the way your letters do. I crave you in your pieces and parts.

Most of all, I need you to be real because you are the best damn thing that has happened to me in years and if you aren't real- hell, if you aren't real, I don't know what I would make of myself.

With too much hope and heartache- Bucky Barnes"

Before the war, Bucky knew how to talk to women. Each dip of his voice and brush of a well placed finger had any women swooning over him. He had his pick, each and every time, knowing just what to say to earn himself a kiss at the end of the night. But never before this moment has he poured his heart out in its entirety.

There is nothing left in him to say- hell, there is nothing left in him to feel. He is now too barren to think or hope or cry. Every single piece of him now lies written in dark ink, the letters smudged and imperfect. There is no blood left in his chest, his heart now pumping electricity alone and it courses through him, numbing his already sore being with each mingling prickle.

The tear drops have dried now, but the paper is wrinkled where they once fell. The markings like gravestones for the hurt and hope that poured out of him, not only from his pen but from his heart.

He doesn't think twice about sending it, he doesn't have to. Like words spoken to gods, it was sent the moment it was said. The words are meant to be heard; there isn't a thing in the universe that can stop such a cosmic circumstance.

Sleep takes Bucky the moment his head hits the pillow, the catharsis of the evening allowing his body to rest. He sleeps on his mattress tonight, the blankets wrapping his body like a shroud. He sleeps like the dead as there is nothing left in him to keep him awake.

Steve doesn't sleep. Instead, he drinks, letting the Asgardian liquor continue to numb his senses. The room spins around him as sickness snakes itself through his body, making itself at home in the deepest parts of him.

Maybe that's how it is supposed to feel when you bare your soul to another. Honesty being rewarded with rest and respite while envious anger is rewarded with anguish in equal measure.

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sserpente · 5 years ago

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Raw Desire

Synopsis: Something is wrong with him. Something none of the Avengers, including Thor, understand. When Loki turns into his Jötun form unwillingly and begins to act in a very primal and aggressive way, their solution for the problem is to lock him up in a cell below the compound until it’s all over. It’s a disease, perhaps, one which only Frost Giants can develop. Only Loki is not sick. Loki is in heat--and his Jötun body will not rest until his most carnal desires have been satisfied...

Words: 9176 Warnings: Jötun!Loki, smut, fluff, symptoms of addiction

A/N: You wanted some Jötun!Loki, I wanted some Jötun!Loki... so here we go. Enjoy, everyone! 😏

Additional NSFW Warnings: breeding kink (a little bit, anyway), Loki is in heat (kind of, duh), lack of aftercare (at first...)

His antagonising scream tore through the entire compound. You flinched, alarmed. Loki. The heart-breaking sound of pain tugging at your nerves was followed by a loud thump—like a heavy metal door falling shut, locked for good. It had come from the cellar, where the Avengers stored weaponry and ammunition; along with provisory but secure prison cells of Wakandan technology for criminals until they could be handed over to the authorities.

When you reached the source of the rousing noise, you almost knocked straight into Thor. His muscly back resembled a thick fleshy wall that would break your bones if you collided with him with too much force and speed.

“What happened?” Out of breath, you moved around him—facing the culprit of the commotion. The eerie flickering camera right outside the cell door showed Loki knocking his fists repeatedly against the metal door. His knuckles were already bloody from the repeated impact, yet the door would not budge. Much more concerning, however, was his appearance. Loki’s skin—every inch revealed to the naked eye anyway—was blue, his otherwise enchanting blue eyes sparkling with mischief of a deep blood-red. Countless, unique and fleshy lines formed a complex pattern on his arms and the back of his hands, even his face and neck. Your lips parted, both in shock and surprise at what your eyesight had revealed to you.

“He’s losing his fucking mind.” Tony responded for Thor before the Thunderer could even open his mouth in defence. He came tramping into the room as mad as you had never experienced him, tapping away on a tablet in the process. “I told you it was bad idea to bring him back here, Point Break! What were you thinking?”

“Can anybody tell me what is going on?! Why is he… like this? Is he in pain?”

“In pain?! He almost killed Nat. If Wanda hadn’t interfered…” Tony did not finish the sentence—regardless, the threat of what consequences there would have been for the God of Mischief was clearly audible.

“This was unlike him. He had no reason to…”

“No? He pounced on her like a… like a…”

“Beast?” Bruce added matter-of-factly. His hands were in his pocket when he approached the scene and patted Thor on the back in an attempt of providing comfort.

“Maybe… maybe this isn’t his fault, Stark. I know my brother, he’s never acted like this before!” The God of Thunder roared in defence, his arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Tony retorted sarcastically. “You know your brother so well he even tried to kill us all. Three times. No. This man is evil. Look at him!”

Petrified, you risked another peek. Loki was downright animalistic, his fists still working the metal cell door. He was getting weaker, worn out—like the fire in his red eyes was slowly being extinguished to make way for weariness. There was something primal in his behaviour; something raw. You would be ignorant to deny it scared you.

“Tony,” you began, forcing your voice to cease the shaking, “What happened? Why did he attack Natasha? Was he hurt?” Your sudden concern for him was going to give you away. No, not sudden. It had always been there, hidden just beneath the surface of your heart. You had only kept it a secret because… because what?

Loki did not know you had been harbouring romantic feelings for him for a significant amount of time now. Dark, tall and mysterious, he matched not only your type but had hopelessly captured you with his melancholic and lonely nature, the grief in his stunning blue eyes. You refused to believe that Loki was evil, that he had ever truly wanted to harm his brother; and you were desperate to be his friend… and even more than that. But the God of Mischief had hidden his heart behind such a hard shell that you were worried you might never get him to open up to you.

You would by no means describe yourself as an altruistic person—but there was a both enamoured and depraved part of you which desired, longed, for him to like you back.

“Talk to me.” You stated, tilting your head when he flung his dagger at one of the battered punching bags in the training room.

“What?” He sounded almost scornful when he spun around to gift you an incredulous look.

“Talk to me, Loki. I want to know what’s going on in your mind. I thought I was… you are always so distant. You disappear in here every other night, you snap at everyone trying to speak to you. You look nervous, like something is trying to break out of you.” Like you are trying to get rid of monstrous amounts of bottled up energy, you added silently. “You seem so restless. What’s wrong?”

“What concern is that of yours?” He spat.

“See! That is exactly what I meant.”

Loki growled. “What do you want from me, (Y/N)?” You flinched when he used your full name as opposed to the nickname everyone called you by.

“Why? Why are you screaming at me, I’m just trying to help! Don’t you get it, Loki? I care about you. And I care about what you think, even if I am probably the only one in this bloody compound who does.” Now that was unfair. But it was also the truth. “Why are you pushing me away? Let me in…”

Desperately, you moved forward in an attempt to reach up and cup his face, only for him to grab your wrists and pull them away harshly.

“Let you in? All I have ever received in return for ‘letting someone in’ was hurt and hatred. Give me one good reason for why I should open up to you,” he mocked, releasing your hands as if they would burn his fingers if they lingered on your skin for too long. “Tell you about my sorrows.” Sorrows. He had sorrows.

“I am not them.” You simply said. “Not any of them. I am not Odin, not Thor, none of the Avengers.”

Blinking, you snapped out of your memory. You had had this tragic conversation only two nights ago. No matter what you had said, he would not tell you what was on his mind. Now you knew.

“Something is wrong with him.” You interrupted the discussion, one you had not paid any attention to, by silencing them with a loud and determined voice.

“You don’t say?”

“No, Tony, you don’t understand… Loki is… he is Jötun. Thor, has he ever voluntarily turned into his Jötun form?”

The God of Thunder thought about it for a moment—then, he shook his head. “No.” You gave him a meaningful look. “So… you think it has something to do with his species?”

You nodded slowly and swallowed.

“Then we keep him in here until he is better.” He concluded. Your eyes widened.

“What? Thor, no… you can’t keep him locked up in there! What if he doesn’t get better on his own? Are you going to incarcerate him forever?”

“That would be an improvement.” Tony tossed in bitterly.

“We have to help him.”

“We? (Y/N)…” Bruce remarked almost tauntingly.

“You’ll find us upstairs. We need to let the others know about… whatever this is.” Tony added. You gnashed your teeth when he and Bruce turned to leave. For an awkward moment, it was eerily still—right until another one of Loki’s screams tore through the uncomfortable silence. You flinched once more. He was howling in pain.

“You think it might be a disease only Frost Giants can get?” Thor asked with concern in his deep voice at last.

You shrugged apologetically. “Maybe…”

“Loki and I were going to return to Asgard next week. I shall ask around, one of the healers should be familiar with Jötun diseases.”

“Go as soon as you can. Your brother is in pain, Thor, can’t you hear that?”

The God of Thunder nodded absentmindedly. But if no one was going to do something about Loki’s suffering—whatever it was—immediately, you would do it alone. So you did what Loki would do first. You dug up his books.

Loki’s room was neat, tidy. The green bed had been made—there was not a single wrinkle in the fabric and the desk was all clean, not giving thin layers of dust only visible in the direct sunlight a chance. The books he had brought from Asgard, old, thick, yellowed and heavy, he had stored on a bookshelf higher than you could reach.

Sucking in a determined breath, you moved the desk chair in front of it. The polished wooden floor to your feet complained with an ear-piercing shriek as you did. Determined, you climbed up to study the titles. All of them were written in Nordic Runes, making you realise that your research would end up being a lot harder than you had initially assumed. You could not speak a word of Old Norse, let alone read those Runes. Never mind that… you needed answers—and Loki needed your help.

It took you two hours to go through the titles and have them translated via a website you had had to pay for (using Tony’s credit card details—desperate times called for desperate measures) to use its allegedly reliable services.

Then, finally, after what felt like half an eternity, you found a suitable page-turner. It was titled Mythical Creatures and Species across Yggdrasil—at least, that was what the website you used told you.

Eagerly, you opened the book searching frantically for the chapter on Frost Giants and began sucking up all the information you could get. The more you read… and the more you compared Loki’s symptoms to the described behaviour of Jötuns in the book, the more aghast you became. One thing was for sure. Loki was not sick. Loki was aroused.

Terror-stricken, you bookmarked the page, grabbed your phone and jumped to your feet, abandoning the pile of books on Loki’s floor. You needed to speak to Thor right now.

He was about to enter the bathroom when you found him, once again almost knocking into his broad form.

“I… I found something.” You choked out.

“What?”

“I found something… about Loki. Thor… he is not ill, not really, he is…” Biting your lower lip, you pushed the God of Thunder into the bathroom, shut the door behind you and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “He is… aroused.”

“What?” He roared, blushing. “What do you mean he is aroused?”

“Look… I found this book, I…”

“You speak Old Norse?”

“No! I used… I used a translator. Thor, listen, please. It says here that to ensure their continued existence, male Frost Giants, every one-thousand years, experience the primal urge to copulate with females of their kind. Much like wolves or elves, this ‘heat’ usually begins with restlessness, extremely aggressive and possessive behaviour, unusual amounts of pent-up energy as well as an extreme hunger and loss of appetite at the very same time. Loki hasn’t showed up for lunch, dinner or breakfast and… he has been spending extraordinary times in the training room downstairs in the middle of the night lately. He barely sleeps, it seems.”

“Go on…”

“How old is Loki, Thor?”

“He is a little over one-thousand years… old.” He looked up in shock when he realised.

“That’s why he is in his Jötun form, Thor. He can’t control it, it’s not his fault, it’s… in his nature. God…” You had read it all, yet you were still working on processing it.

“This… it would explain why he tried to attack Nat. So… he is not in danger then?” Thor probed.

“No, not necessarily but—“

“So we can just wait until it is over.”

You frowned. “Until what is over?”

“His heat! If what you are saying is true and Loki’s behaviour derives from his heritage… if he cannot control his reactions, we have to keep him locked up and wait. We can’t have him ravish all the females in the compound.”

“But… he is in pain.”

An urgent knock on the bathroom door interrupted you.

“Hey, are you having a soap party in there? Other people need to use the bathroom too!” Closing the heavy book shut again, you rolled your eyes.

“There are at least three other bathrooms in this compound, Tony!”

“What are you two doing in here anyway?” He asked as he opened the door and leaned against the threshold when he spotted you two sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“(Y/N) found out that Loki is… uh… in heat.”

“In heat?!” Tony repeated. “Like a cat?”

“No! It… has something to do with the procreation cycle of Jötuns. It… is in his nature.”

“Fuck…”

“Hey… language.” If you hadn’t recognised his voice, you would know it was Steve who joined your heated discussion. “What’s going on here?”

“Loki is in heat, like a cat.” Steve frowned.

“No, he isn’t! Not like a cat, this is…” Thor stood again before you could finish your sentence.

“It’s for the best, (Y/N). Down there, he’ll be save from getting himself into trouble.”

“Thor, wait! Loki is suffering! Soon, he will…”

“We can’t risk it, (Y/N)! He almost raped Natasha!” Tony barked. “And if you go near him, I’ll lock you up too. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, (Y/N). I will not let him hurt you.”

“He… he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.” You chirped. No. Loki would never deliberately take a woman against her will. If he did… no! Loki had in incredible amount of self-control and composure; and you knew how much he despised his own heritage. He would fight this—for as long as he could.

“Besides…” Tony added. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he got a taste of his own medicine.”

“Stop blaming Loki for your PTSD, Tony. That was Thanos’ doing and you know that.” You growled darkly. The billionaire paused for a moment.

“He is staying where he is,” he concluded then. “Until he’s gone back to normal.”

But you did not want to wait. You couldn’t. You had read about the symptoms in detail. In the book it said that moodiness and aggression were only the beginning. If Loki did not act on what his Jötun body demanded from him and… released, then soon, excruciating pain would torment his loins. Masturbation appeared to be out of the picture. You nibbled on your lower lip. This thought of yours invaded his privacy on a truly shameful level, yet you were certain that if sexual arousal had already been plaguing him for a significant amount of time before this outbreak of his, he would have tried to lay hand on himself already and learned it did not provide the necessary relief.

Sooner or later, he would no longer be able to suppress his erection—and it would not disappear until he… sheathed himself inside a female to fill her with his seed. Under different circumstances, the idea of him claiming a woman… you, in such a possessive manner would have aroused you tremendously yourself. As of right now, however, Loki was in agony. The pain, if ignored for too long, would only get worse—it could last up to months and even then the denial of sexual release could result in permanent damage to his loins and even his potency.

But there was no cure either. No potion or spell to contain a male Jötun’s heat which Thor could have forwarded to Asgardian healers.

It was past midnight when you stopped reading and translating—too appalled by how much more Loki would have to suffer if nothing was done about his… condition. The only way to make it stop… was to act on it.

Your lips parted in realisation. You liked him, very much so—and you found Loki incredibly attractive, dreaming of his hands on your body, even. Perhaps you could help him after all. You were not Jötun but… would his body really make a difference? This most primal part of him wished to mate with a female—and although you had never seen a female Jötun, you doubted they looked much different than you did down there.

You had to wait another thirty minutes until the lights in Tony’s lab finally went out and you could sneak through the compound and downstairs to the cells—and once you had made sure that Vision was nowhere to be found, you switched off the security camera for Loki’s cell and approached the thick metal door.

It was quiet. He had stopped screaming. There was no banging against the walls either. Yet when you unlocked the door and slipped inside, his appearance, cowering on the floor and leaning against the cool wall with bare feet, startled you to the core. Loki’s raven hair was completely dishevelled, his knuckles bruised and covered in dry blood. His Jötun appearance was downright intimidating and close up, even more fascinating. He was breathing heavily, the thin shirt he had been wearing underneath all of his armour torn in several places, revealing blue skin and in his dark leather trousers… there was a remarkable bulge.

You shivered slightly when his red eyes met yours. Slowly, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?” He growled hoarsely but weakly.

“I… I want to help you.”

The God of Mischief snorted. “You cannot help me.”

Mutely, you shook your head. “I can. Loki… I… I know what’s happening with you.”

He snorted once more. “So do I.”

“Let me help you.” Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to him. He reacted immediately. Loki jerked, greedily, as if to grab you and pull you on his lap. He could barely stop himself. Yet you were convinced that he would not hurt you in this state… much. A wave of courage rolled over you—you were doing this for him; and you wouldn’t be doing it if you did not like him in this way. Regardless of what he thought of you after, if he could even imagine being with a mortal like that… you longed to stop his pain.

“Leave.” He said quickly when you kneeled down next to him, timidly resting your palms on his thighs. “No… I said… leave… while you still can.” You did not. In fact, you ignored his rather sincere warning. Slowly, to not tickle the sleeping dragon, you reached for the buttons of his leather trousers and began undoing them until he grabbed a hold of your wrists to stop you. He was ice cold.

“Have you… lost your mind?” Loki was cut off by a loud hiss escaping his lips when your fingertips brushed against his erection. He was large—much larger than he would be in his Aesir form, you presumed, and his cock too was blue and covered in dozens of ridges.

“It won’t go away on its own,” you whispered. “You know it won’t. It’s okay.”

Braver this time, you stroked him again, creating more skin on skin contact. Loki was still holding on to you tightly but made no move to stop you. The touch of a female… it must have been bringing some sort of relief already. Coming here had been the right decision.

“Loki…” You murmured. Finally, your hand closed around his incredibly hard cock entirely and you began to jerk him off—gently at first, only to pick up speed when his breathing grew even heavier than it already was. Defeated, he dropped his head against the wall, revealing his blue neck to you. “Please let me help you.” You repeated. “It’s okay. I trust you.” Upon those words, Loki’s eyes widened barely noticeably. Perhaps it was all he had needed to hear to lose his self-control and composure entirely.

Growling like a wild animal, he suddenly started at you, pushing you back firmly so you lost your balance like a beetle on its back, wrapped his ice cold hands around your ankles and pulled you into him. Your back collided with the floor, knocking all air out of your lungs. You gasped for air all the while Loki busied himself with your clothes. Any layer of fabric was too much. He wanted you naked for him. His sheer strength petrified you when he tore at your pyjamas and ripped them to pieces until they were scattered all over the cell. You trembled—but it wasn’t the icy temperature of his blue skin that made your limbs shake so much. It was, so you realised when your widened eyes fell on his massive erection, now fully springing free from his tight trousers, your own arousal growing into dizzying heights. This, whatever it was, excited you—maybe even way more than it should.

Once more, the God of Mischief grabbed your ankles, forcing your legs open. Your heart skipped a beat when he laid his blood-red eyes upon your bare pussy. Your lower lips must have been glistening with your juices in the artificial light of the cell. Loki growled, his long and cold fingers gripping your ankles so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming. Eagerly, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his hard and ice cold cock teasing your clit. A moan escaped your lips, urging him on. The fire in his eyes had returned, like your body had set his ablaze.

He spread you even further for him, your nails digging into the metal floor beneath you—and then he claimed you for his own. Inch by antagonising inch, he split you apart, sheathing himself so deep inside of you all air was knocked from your lungs yet again. He was ice cold and he was much larger than the average man; and you were beginning to understand that yes, female Jötuns were anatomically different than humans. Human women were not made for taking such long cocks… so why did every single powerful thrust of his feel so good?

Loki pulled out almost completely, with only the tip remaining inside of you, only to plunge back inside only the fraction of a second later, fucking you furiously. Your tight and wet walls appeared to mould around his manhood, gripping him tightly, asking for more despite the almost unbearable coldness against your most intimate parts. No longer were you in control of your arms. They reached up, palms gliding over his bare chest and enjoying the coldness under your fingertips. Fascinated and aroused at the very same time, you traced every single ridge on Loki’s body while he was fucking you senseless, until your eyes rolled to the back of your head, unable to take the pleasure. His long manhood his spots inside of you which you had never known even existed. He leaned down, at last letting go of your ankles, instead taking a hold of your wrists to pin them both down right above your head and pressing his body so tightly against yours that your clit kept rubbing against his pelvis with every single stroke. You moaned, stricken by ecstasy, and arched your back as you kept moving your hips up to meet his thrusts.

Aroused, you looked down, watching how his blue cock kept sliding in and out of you, spreading your lips as they enveloped him welcomingly.

Loki groaned, his attention steering towards your breasts as they bounced with each of his rough thrusts. Hungrily, he lowered his face, his cold breath ghosting over your mounts, and sucked your right nipple into his mouth—hard. He nibbled, suckled pulled and bit until the already hardened nub was throbbing with pleasure and need and he repeated the same blissful procedure with your left nipple all the while he kept rutting into you uncontrollably.

“Loki…” You wondered if, in his current state, he would be able to speak. As of right now, he indeed reminded you of a wolf who would annihilate anything standing between him and his subject of desire, his prey—you.

Your toes curled, the promising and numbing sensation growing in your lower abdomen having you scream his name over and over again. You could already feel yourself clenching around him, your body urging him on to mark you with his seed and impregnate you and when he finally released himself into you, burying his cock as deep inside of you as was physically possible and coating your walls with his load, he triggered your own release.

You came with a loud moan, feeling him twitch against you as your pussy contracted around him again and again until you collapsed underneath him, spent and tired from his vigorous fucking. Loki, on the other hand, didn’t even think about letting you be. Unceremoniously, he pulled you on his lap so you came to snuggle up against his cold and naked chest, your face hidden in his neck. He supported himself by leaning against the metal wall, his cock still resting deep inside of you.

“How… are you… feeling?” You breathed out, barely able to keep your eyes open. Being taken thoroughly by a Frost Giant had been a lot more exhausting than you had initially assumed.

He was panting, his eyes almost shut. His erection inside you, however, was still very prominent and nowhere near ebbing down.

“Better… soon.” He growled into your ear. Soon? A high-pitched scream escaped your lips when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit down hard enough to make you squirm on his lap. You could still feel his ice cold sperm dribbling out of you and coating his own cock when he grabbed your arse and began moving you up and down his cold rut, forcing you to ride him.

“Oh… fuck…” You choked out. You were tender already, sensitive to the touch. This was too much, too soon. Yet Loki was too caught up in his pleasure and urges to give you a break. He took you several more times that night, eliciting orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from you—until you were on the verge of passing out.

You awoke with a hunger unlike one you had never experienced before. Irritated, you crawled out of bed—using the toilet but skipping your morning routine to get to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. It was only seven. Loki had not… released you until half past six. There was no way your body could have drawn enough rest from this meagre hour of sleep.

Be that as it may—for now, you were hungry. Quietly, you tiptoed into the kitchen, ignoring the sweet ache and tenderness between your legs and resisting the urge to cup yourself through your pyjama bottoms. The white and bright light of the fridge blinded you when you opened it and reached for a package of juice and one of those pre-packed turkey sandwiches Tony kept buying. Unceremoniously, you then closed the fridge with your butt and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. And you kept returning to the fridge until Steve joined you in the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and then go for a run. When had you ever been this hungry before? Was it because of the aggressive sex you had had with Loki? Jesus…

You blushed when Steve asked you how you had slept—and you were rather grateful you had been smart enough to switch off the security cameras before… helping Loki out. He had still been in his Jötun form when you left at long last but he had looked content and… satisfied, in the most carnal manner possible. You would wait until the rest of the Avengers were up to check on him, to not raise any suspicion.

So when Thor staggered into the kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face, you nearly jumped from your seat.

“Good morning!” He yelled—clearly in a very good mood. He managed to scarf down an entire package of fruit loops before you couldn’t take it anymore and aggressively scratched your fork over your empty plate until the room went awkwardly quiet.

“Didn’t you forget something?” You asked him heatedly. The God of Thunder frowned.

“No! I did flush the toilet this morning, (Y/N).”

Rolling your eyes, you stood.

“Loki. Loki is still one level below you, locked up in a cell, in pain, while you are enjoying your breakfast.” You hoped though, sincerely, that he was no longer in pain.

“(Y/N)… we spoke about this, there is nothing we can do. Down there, he can’t hurt himself or anyone else. I told you I’m going to Asgard soon, I will speak to—”

It was in this moment that your plate broke in half. You had, subconsciously, used your fork to stab it so forcefully it fell apart like a rotten apple. Eyes widening, you mumbled an apology.

“Sorry… I just… no one should be suffering like this. You all heard him last night.”

Bruce gave you a gentle smile. “You’ve always had a big heart for everyone, huh?” You nodded quickly. They did not need to know about your feelings… or the arousing ache between your legs. Your heart was racing. You took a deep breath, hurrying out of the kitchen without cleaning up behind you. Instead, you immediately locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the tap to splash some cold water on your face. The icy temperature calmed you once it came in contact with your skin, reminding you of him—if only for a moment.

You were shaking. What on Earth was wrong with you? You took a quick shower to wind down, threw on an oversized sweater and then headed downstairs to the prison cells. A glance at the monitor of the security camera made you let out a relieved breath. Loki had indeed gone back to his Aesir form—and he did no longer seem to be in pain. It was, so you wondered, very unusual, however, to not complain and wreak havoc so the Avengers would let him out but then again… would they truly believe him if he told them he had overcome his heat?

With another deep breath, you opened the cell door and slipped inside.

“You were not supposed to see me like this last night. No one was.” He said quietly before you could even open your mouth, not bothering to make eye contact with you.

“Did you know? What was happening to you?”

“Yes.” He snorted, a bitter smile spreading on his thin lips. “I believed I would be able to control it.” Finally, he looked up, his blue eyes locking with yours. “Did I hurt you?” Your lips parted in surprise. Slowly, you shook your head.

“No… I mean… it was quite pleasurable… for me as well… actually.” You choked out sheepishly.

“Hmm… that I could tell,” Loki gave you a light smirk. “Thank you.” He said then—and for the first time since you had met him, you sensed true honesty and sincerity in his smooth voice.

“I’ll leave the door open.” You returned his smile; the planes in your belly flying loops.

“We are… keeping this between us, are we not?” He hastened to ask when you turned around.

“Of course.” After all, no one needed to know you had let Loki mate with you to regain control over his loins.

It was five days after your intimate encounter with Loki when your constant shaking became worse enough for him to notice—and if that wasn’t bad enough already, your body had begun to sweat; a lot. Day in and out, you had to change your sheets as if your bed was your personal sauna—or your personal hell.

You felt like you had been hit by a bus, like an extremely nasty form of the flu had you in its steel grip tightly, unwilling to let you go. Sleep, however, to get some rest and recover, would not come either. Two hours per night at most, three if you got lucky. And instead of getting better, it became worse.

He had been restless ever since. It could not be. After all, it had also never… or had it? Growling to himself, he locked the door to his room, enjoying the quietness and most of all, utter privacy.

Not a soul in the nine realms was aware he was still in the possession of the Tesseract. So when he produced it out of thin air—his large hand momentarily surrounded by a green mist—he made sure to hurry and quickly teleported himself back to Asgard. Heimdall would never open the Bifrost for him if he wasn’t accompanied by Thor.

He was worried about you and his surprise about these particular circumstances was remarkably low. When he closed his eyes, he could still taste your hard nipples on his tongue from when he had suckled on them. He remembered how warm your body felt against his when he had cradled you in his lap and the thought of your tight cunt around his throbbing cock stirred arousal in his leather trousers if only he indulged in reminiscences for too long. Most of all, however, he was unable to forget the sincere smile on your face when you had freed him from the cell the next day… and the mesmerised gaze you had met him with when he had ravished your sweet quim over and over again.

With another deep breath, he disappeared in an ice cold cloud of smoke.

Sneaking past the guards and into the palace library—the one place he had spent hours on end in growing up here, hiding away from Thor, his friends and the world, reading and hoarding knowledge—was pathetically easy. He knew exactly what to look for, what lecture would confirm his worrying suspicions. Once he found what he had been searching, he sat down on the windowsill—another usual spot he found comfort in—and began his research. He had known about the impact of a male Jötun’s seed on his female counterpart, of course; for even though he despised his own race, he, as opposed to Thor, had paid attention during their private tutoring lessons as children. The heavy book in his hands, however, made him, the God of Mischief and Trickery, hold his breath. What Loki had not known was that the repercussion of a male Jötun’s seed did not just occur in Jötun females. It applied to any species—including humans. However, the chances of survival for weaker lifeforms were alarmingly low.

Abandoning the book, he hurried out of the library and into the city. There was someone he needed to speak to.

“With all due respect, my prince but you are not welcome here.” Loki rolled his eyes. He knew it would not be fun, exactly, to seek out his ex-partners and ask about their well-being long after he had left them. The man opening him when he knocked on Sigyn’s door, a woman he had been engaged with for several years in his youth, was about as tall as Thor—his right hand decorated with a golden ring. Husband. Just great. And, judging by his obvious dismay of finding him on his doorstep, she must have told him about their shared past.

“I need to speak to your wife. Urgently. That is an order.” Sigyn’s husband growled, clenching his fists but stepped aside regardless. Loki made sure not to pay any attention to the furniture and his surroundings. Toys were scattered all across the living room, hinting that Sigyn had become both wife and mother in his absence. Her face fell when she spotted Loki standing in the middle of the small room—truly like he would even have preferred Helheim over being here of all places—as pale as a ghost.

“Loki… I mean… your highness. What… brings you here?”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Um… by all means. Sit down. Would you like some ale?”

“No.” Sigyn pointed at the rectangular kitchen table and then sat down opposite of him. Her hands were folded on the surface of the polished wood.

“It is good to see you.”

“Likewise… Now this will sound odd,” he began unceremoniously, ignoring her husband towering above him with his arms crossed. “But I have to know how you fared after we separated. Not… emotionally. Physically.” He emphasised.

“Physically? That is indeed odd. Oh, I… um… let me see, it’s been such a long time. I had quite an appetite after you left,” she laughed, clearly uncomfortable with his presence. Loki sighed.

“An appetite. What more than that?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Except… yes, of course! I fell ill a few days after. The healers never found out what my body was rebelling against. It lasted for a few months. Tiredness, insomnia, attacks of sweat and I could not stop shaking. Why do you ask? Did you… did you experience it too?”

“No,” he replied quickly, a nauseous feeling spreading in his guts. You were showing the exact same symptoms. Symptoms of addiction. “You said it lasted for a few months?”

“I am sorry, your highness but is there a point to this interrogation? My wife has to feed the baby.”

“We’re almost done.” He barked, glaring at Sigyn’s husband from the corner of his eye.

“It did,” Sigyn confirmed. “But then it never returned.”

“Thank you. That will be all.” Loki took a deep breath and stood, resisting the urge to massage the bridge of his nose to clear his thoughts. It was only when he turned on his heel to leave this way too harmonic place that he noticed Sigyn’s husband had left the door open for him. He rolled his eyes.

“Loki! I-I mean, your highness…”

“Loki is fine, Sigyn. We have seen each other naked, after all.” Beside him, he could practically hear her husband gnashing his teeth. He smirked.

“I understand you do not wish to share with me what troubles you but whatever it is, I hope everything will turn out to be alright.”

Loki gave her a smile. It was as honest as he could muster in this tense situation. Sigyn had always known when he was being plagued by dark sorrows, even before he learned about his true parentage. Much like you. You too had been able to tell he had been unwell, both physically and mentally. He swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Sigyn.”

He had to see Amora, too. They had not exactly gone separate ways peacefully but if she had experienced the same symptoms as Sigyn after their break-up, he had to get back to you immediately. And he had to tell you. The truth, a luxury given his nature, was the very least you deserved.

“Where have you been?” Thor roared as soon as he entered the kitchen to pick up one of those cold drinking chocolates you had introduced him to a while back—the ridiculous amount of sugar would help you, if only for a moment. The presence of Tony, Nat, Bucky, Steve and Thor, leaning against the counter or sitting at the kitchen table, he ignored as best as he could. He would have preferred to be alone now.

Loki quirked his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Asgard, given that you were unwilling to get help yourself.”

“How? Heimdall wouldn’t…”

“There is a lot Heimdall does not know, brother.” Thor grumbled something he did not understand but it sounded awfully like a curse word in Old Norse.

“Whatever. Have you seen (Y/N)? Her room is down the same hallways as yours, has she left her room lately?” Tony barked at him.

“As far as I am concerned, she has Vision bring her excessive amounts of food, for she is too weak to come to the kitchen herself. No. I have not seen her around.” He replied nonchalantly, with false disinterest. This time, so it seemed, however, his choice of tone, equalled shooting himself in the foot.

“We need to get her to the hospital. None of the medicines I gave her worked even a little bit—and I contacted the best doctors I know.” Loki suppressed a scoff. As if a hospital full of human ‘doctors’ would be able to help you. The only one who could… was he.

“For Fuck’s sake, she has been feeling ill ever since…” Tony’s face fell. “Ever since we locked up your brother.” Belligerently, his gaze wandered over to Loki again. “Okay, Reindeer Games, what did you do to her and don’t even try to lie to me!”

“You do assume, automatically, that I have something to do with it?” He mocked. Tony clenched his fists.

“Loki,” Thor added calmly. “Do you… know something?” The God of Mischief sighed. If he told them, what little trust they had in his capabilities as an Avenger would vaporise like smoke. It mattered not. In fact, he could not care less if any of those self-proclaimed heroes even liked him. Yet if he spoke the truth… surely they would do anything in their power to keep you away from him—which was exactly what they could not do if they wanted you to survive and feel better again as much as he did. He could just take care of the problem on his own… sooner or later, however, they were bound to find out about their intimate encounters, and he was beyond keeping secrets like that. If he wanted to make love to you, then he would, may the Norns help him.

“It is… my seed.” He choked out reluctantly.

“Your… what!? Your… yeah, no, I can’t say that out loud without throwing up… is making her sick!?”

“The seed of a male Jötun is causing… an addiction. Withdrawal will make her weak and ill.” Loki looked up grimly. “Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships.”

“What, like penguins? How did she even come in contact with… did you… did you rape her? I swear to God, I will kill you.”

“I did not lay a finger on her.” Loki replied darkly.

Tony threw his hands up in the air. “So how did your happy juice get inside of her in the first place then!? How did that happen, I wonder?”

“She came to me voluntarily, Stark!”

“But you knew? If you knew it would make her sick, why didn’t you stop her, you selfish asshole!?”

“How!? How, Stark!? Resisting the urge to mate in heat is like attempting to suppress a sneeze. It’s impossible. Don’t bother your pathetic human mind with things you do not understand.”

“Loki…” Thor began warningly. The God of Mischief ignored him with a hostile growl.

“(Y/N) would never do that.” Tony said then.

“Perhaps you do not know her as well as you thought you do.”

“You little shit, I will…” Tony jumped from his chair as if stung by an adder, prompting Loki to draw one of his daggers seemingly out of nowhere when he started at him. Both Natasha and Steve barely managed to hold him back.

“Leave it, Tony. This is Loki. He is just trying to provoke you.” Nat appeased.

Just this one time, however, they were wrong. Loki did, in fact, care about you. It was just he had not realised that until you had willingly offered your body to him when he had been in pain. Glaring at them darkly, he rose from his chair.

“I am going to fix this.” He spat. It almost sounded like a threat. “Not for you. I could watch you drop dead to my feet without so much as blinking. But for her.” Fuming, he stormed out, his right fist still clutching at his dagger in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. And as of right now, Thor knew better than to stop him.

He needed to see you. Remorse and guilt were eating him up from the inside out—and it wasn’t just the fact you had helped him in spite of everything he had done to Midgard only a few years back. It was… you were… Loki closed his eyes for a brief moment. You were his.

When he knocked on your door, there was no response. Now there was a chance you were asleep, yet he somehow knew better than to leave and try again later as to not startle you. After all… he was going to make you feel better.

He slipped inside, locking the door behind him with magic so you would not be disturbed. The sight of you almost broke his heart. You were trembling, buried under a pile of blankets, pale and weak.

“(Y/N)…” He spoke with a quiet voice, approaching you slowly. Your eyes opened when you heard his voice, your weak body barely managing to turn over to look at him. A cough escaped your lips before you could answer him.

“Hey…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” You tried for a laugh but could only manage another cough. With a straight face, he sat down on the edge of the bed so he was able to bring his palm to your forehead. You were incredibly warm, yet the sweat made your skin cold to the touch. His heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, he was worried you only had a few weeks left until your body gave up fighting the withdrawal. He would not, ever let this happen.

“I brought you some cold drinking chocolate.”

“Oh…” You chuckled weakly. “Thank you. Is that the only reason you came?”

“No,” he laughed. “I came to check on you.”

“An eye for an eye, huh?” Your eyes fell shut when you smiled.

“Hmm… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated than that.” He purred. You never noticed how his eyes fell on your crotch, even if it was covered by a bunch of blankets. Slowly but determined, he slid his left hand under the layers of fabric until he found what he was searching for. With skilled fingers, he began to massage your clit until he felt you responding to his attentive touches. You arched your back, your sex growing wetter and wetter fast—like your body knew exactly what would follow. Licking his lips, he scooped some of it up to spread all over your quim and create even more friction. You were squirming by the time he removed the blankets entirely and positioned himself between your legs, careful not to shift all of his body weight onto you.

Was he going to… did he… could he possibly… reciprocate your feelings? Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies awakening in your belly. If only you could…

“Loki… Loki, I… I really want to do this again too but… not now, I’m… I really don’t feel well.”

“Shhh…” He would ponder over your words later. You wanted to do this again too? Had it not just be compassion and pity that had driven you to offer him your most intimate parts for relief? And what if you refused him now? You had to trust him. So he shut you up by pressing his lips against yours, capturing them in a passionate kiss and then, once again slowly but determined, removed the blankets and peeled your pyjama from you until he had you naked—fine, he had helped with magic; and he was certainly too impatient to remove his own clothes, so instead contented himself with freeing his growing erection from his trousers only.

A whimper escaped your lips when you caught sight of his arousal, his tip—not blue but the colour of flesh this time—pressing against your entrance. He slid inside you to the hilt with almost no resistance, your warm pussy welcoming him in. Loki moaned when your walls gripped him tightly; it was like your body already knew his release would make it feel better. Only this time, he was in control. This time, he would take his time and make gentle love to you—right until you began to tremble underneath him for entirely different reasons.

Your eyes fell shut when Loki started moving, retreating almost completely only to plunge back deep inside of you fast and passionately. You were too weak to buck your hips, as much as you would have loved to. And despite your weariness, he felt incredible. You were unable to decide which form of his you liked better.

You kissed him again when his nose brushed against yours and his breath tickled your lips, bathing in the intimacy between you. But when he slid his hand down to where your bodies were united to pamper your clit all the while speeding up, hungry for his release, you stopped him, albeit gently.

“I… I don’t think I can, I’m too… but I… it’s okay.” You murmured. “Cum.”

It was a request he could not resist, not any longer. Thrusting forward a few more times, his release was beginning to overwhelm him. He groaned into your ear, his hot breath brushing against your cheek, and let his climax consume him. He was throbbing against your walls, his seed—surprisingly warm and not as cold as it had been the first time—filling you to the brim and until you could feel it dribbling out of you again. Loki stilled, turning you over so you both rested on the mattress on your sides, with his slowly softening cock still inside of you and one of your legs draped over his hips. One heartbeat passed, then another and another. And just like that… you felt like you had been reborn.

“How… I feel so much better.” Loki kept silent. Remorse was sparkling in his blue eyes. Avoiding your curious gaze, he looked down, with a start fascinated with the blue roses on your bed sheets.

“Loki?”

“You did fail to read all of it, did you not?” He stated quietly.

“What… what do you mean?”

“The book you took from my shelf. I looked it up when you got worse. It wasn’t until I left for Asgard that I realised why our… sexual encounter is making you ill.”

“I… wait… Does that mean you believe it has something to do with you? I mean… what we did? Is it… I’m not pregnant, am I!?”

“No. You are not.” He smirked at you weakly. “That, I would have sensed already. No… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated. Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships. They never… switch their partners once they mated during their first heat. If they do…” Loki took a deep breath. “It appears that the seed of a Frost Giant triggers some sort of… addiction for their female partner. They develop a carnal craving for their seed which forces them to keep returning for… more.”

Biologically speaking, this was a downright bulletproof way of ensuring the survival of a species—the Jötuns’ own bodies turning against them and demanding sex. The gravity of his words, however, hit you only a moment later. So this was why you had been feeling so sick lately. You were showing signs of… addiction. Your body had become addicted to Loki’s seed. You swallowed thickly.

“I-is there… is there a way to stop this?”

“I went to speak to my former partners back on Asgard—which, to be frank, does not just sound like a disaster. But I needed to know if they experienced any symptoms similar to yours when we… separated.” You ignored the painful sting in your heart when he said ‘former partners’. Of course Loki had had sex before, had perhaps even been in love. He did not strike you as the type of Norse God who was unexperienced in the art of love making. After all, he had more than just proved this to you. It mattered not, not now.

“And… did they?” You probed nervously.

Loki nodded seriously. “They were both bedridden for months, plagued by uncontrollable trembling and sweating. Their appetite increased, they ate twice as much than they usually would without ever feeling truly full… and they barely slept anymore, tossing and turning for most of the night. Amora added she became increasingly violent as well. They, of course, believed it was a virus which would pass, eventually.” Terrified, you remembered how you had broken your plate in the kitchen the night after your lovemaking. It all made sense now.

But you did not dare ask what this meant. When dreaming of having a relationship with Loki, you had not imaged a partnership out of physical and sexual necessity which would feel like a chore to him; like an obligation now that you had helped him out, after all.

“But they were Asgardian.” He suddenly said, pausing to let his words sink in. “You are human. You are mortal. I am uncertain you would survive…” If I stopped having sex with you. Is that what he had meant to say before he stopped himself abruptly?

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage, as weak as it may be.

“This is all my own fault, Loki.”

“It is not—“

“N-no, let me speak. It’s my fault. You couldn’t help it. And I came to you on my own accord. But…” You swallowed. “Even if I had known, I still would have helped you.”

The God of Mischief frowned when you reached for his hand and held it—but it was a downright vulnerable expression.

“Loki… I’m not going to expect you to keep having sex with me if you don’t… I mean…” It was then he began to smirk cheekily.

“And if I do?” Loki had truthfully speaking always been a puzzle—always keeping his deepest thoughts and feelings all to himself. Until now. So he did reciprocate your feelings.

“Y-you do?” His smirk widened.

“It… does get better after a while, once the pair is more acquainted to each other’s bodies,” he continued. “And they are then able to spend more time apart without any signs of withdrawal showing. Ultimately, however, once the male Jötun claimed her, the female is bound to him… if he decides to keep her.”

Despite your weakness, you raised an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty sexist, Lokes.” Loki looked up. His heart jumped when you gave him a nickname.

“Sexist? No. Dominant? Yes.” He growled darkly.

“You’re right. It’s probably not sexist given that male Frost Giants go into heat.” You giggled in response. Loki tickled your sides for that remark, making you wriggle around on the bed. If your hunch was not deceiving your love-drunken mind, then the God of Mischief had just begun to court you.

“Loki?” You mused, raising your voice in a shy manner.

“Hmm?”

“I think I feel fit enough now to have an orgasm.”

The God of Mischief laughed—as heartily as you had never heard him laugh before. “Do you now?”

Next thing you knew he was already on top of you again, covering your naked body with tender kisses.

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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ynscrazylife · 4 years ago

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Loki request (spoilers)

Reader is a variant who got captured by the tva, they're sent to trial and Loki saves them from getting killed bc he still owed them a favour. Morbius gets confused bc those two dangerous variants know each other, turns out they were best friends in their original time line. Now Morbius has to babysit two sarcastic assholes. Double trouble ensures.

Double Trouble | l.l fluff fic

Summary: The request.

Authors Note: I fully acknowledge and support Loki being genderfluid. In this fic, I will be using he/him pronouns for Loki since those were the pronouns they’ve used for Loki in the show so far, indicating that at the time this fic is set, Loki’s genderfluid identity is of a man. Should those pronouns/identity change, so will the pronouns for my fics. I do not intend to be harmful in any way so if this is harmful to the genderfluid community, PLEASE let me know!

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @dearcardan on twitter

Yeah, Loki was definitely not taking any of this seriously. At this point, he theorized that the Avengers were laughing their asses off on this elaborate prank they were playing on him, and he decided to just wait it out. It had to stop at some point, right? There was no way that this “TVA” bullshit was actually, in any way, real.

At least . . . He believed that until he saw a familiar face.

Mobius had just saved him from being reset to the original timeline and they were walking out of the courtroom just as the doors opened and two TVA agents were walking another “criminal” in. Loki still wasn't buying this elaborate scheme so he didn’t really pay this new person much attention, until he heard the judge speak.

“Miss Y/N Y/L/N - am I correct?”

Loki froze, eyes traveling to the “criminal” passing him. He first thought that Thor had set this part of the prank up, but he knew his brother didn’t really understand how mischief really worked. Plus, Loki could tell Y/N wasn’t an illusion.

. . . So that meant she was actually here.

“Hey, wait, can I see this trial?” Loki whispered to Mobius, who glanced back at the judge and raised his eyebrows skeptically at the brunette deity. Loki added, “I just want to see a little more of how this place works, okay?”

Mobius was sure Loki was onto something and after a couple moments of thought, he agreed. At least this would give him a chance to get to know this troublemaker better, and they both shuffled into seats.

“You are correct, madame,” Y/N answered mockingly, a big grin on her face as she walked up to the podium. She then looked around in an exaggerated manner. “Well, do I get a lawyer or what?”

Loki smirked and the judge scoffed. “How do you plead?” The judge asked, dismissing her questions.

“What ‘crimes’ have I supposedly committed?”

“You have been accused of creating an alternate timeline that does not fit into the main continuum. You snuck into Odin’s vault using your Asgardian abilities and when you used the fake Infinity Gauntlet and, in your attempt to enchant the Gauntlet to work like the actual one, you accidentally travelled forward in time and created a new timeline,” the judge summarized.

Loki smiled, amused and proud. He only wondered what led her to this.

“In my defense, I heard that my friend was in trouble and wanted to help out,” Y/N said with a shrug.

“Well, the enchantments were not supposed fully work. They were meant to just backfire on you and knock you unconscious, where you’d be imprisoned in the dungeon. But then you tried to use another powerful object in Odin’s vault which created a Nexus event, messed with your enchantment on the fake Power and Time stone, and here you are,” the judge explained.

“If I wasn’t meant to do this - why didn’t these ‘Time Keepers’ control my actions and make me do something else?” Y/N asked, changing the subject.

“I am not going to entertain you any further. In your previous statement, quote: ‘In my defense, I heard that my friend was in trouble and wanted to help out’ You have admitted your guilt and will now be reset,” the judge declared sternly.

Immediately, two TVA agents grabbed Y/N harshly and began to drag her away from the podium. Loki, who at this point had connected the dots that he was the friend she had been trying to help, knew he owed her one. He couldn’t just let her be reset and then be imprisoned. So, thinking rather quickly, he leapt up from his seat and shouted, “No!”

All heads turned to him. Y/N’s eyes went wide, not having spotted him, and Mobius was beginning to regret his decision. Loki turned to Mobius. “You need me to help you with this ‘sacred timeline’ stuff. I’ll only do it if Y/N stays,” he said, panting.

Mobius caught an angry look from the judge but his gaze settled on Y/N. After a couple moments, he sighed and relented. “Fine.”

Y/N and Loki cheered and she broke out of the agents’ grips, running to Loki who picked her up and hugged her. “That’s my girl,” Loki said, proud of her for her prank.

Mobius internally groaned. This was going to be a long day.

———————————

“So how do you know each other?” Mobius asked as he walked in-between the Asgardians, leading them to his office.

“Y/N’s been my best friend, partner in time, ever since I was little,” Loki said, grinning.

“Got it,” Mobius said, frowning. He could only imagine the mischief they had conjured.

———————————

After reviewing both of their files, Mobius had to step out for a second, leaving Loki and Y/N alone. “Let’s try to break out,” was the first thing to leave Loki’s lips.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “And suppose we do, how the hell are you gonna get the Tesseract back? Plus, I won’t wanna be imprisoned on Asgard,” she reasoned, quickly shutting the idea down.

Loki huffed. He was bored. He wanted to do something.

And he had something to do when Y/N stood up and started walking around. With a smirk, he grabbed the remote controlling Y/N’s collar and clicked it, immediately sending her back to her seat.

She turned and glared at him, and he just smirked, innocently shrugging. “I wanna have fun,” he said.

Y/N rolled her eyes and cautiously stood up again. When nothing happened, she walked around a bit more, and Loki let her . . . Until he got bored again. With another click, she reappeared on the other side of the room, in mid-walk.

Before she could protest, Loki did it again. And again. And again. He finally stopped when she got out the words, “CUT IT OUT!” and laughed to himself.

“You asshole,” Y/N grunted, beginning to walk towards him, but skidded back when Loki clicked the button just one more time.

“Oops. My finger slipped,” Loki smirked.

Y/N glared, but being reset made her lose her footing, and she tumbled to the floor, causing her best friend to cackle. Annoyed, she ran at him and managed to push him off his chair, tackling him to the floor. They rolled around, neither one gaining the upper hand for too long, until Mobius re-entered, saw the chaos, pulled Loki to his feet, and grabbed the remote, resetting Y/N so she was back in her chair.

“Hey!” Loki exclaimed, pushing Mobius off him. “No one controls my best friend!”

Y/N couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but smiled nonetheless. Mobius glared and grabbed Loki’s remote, resetting him so he was back in his chair. He then turned to them both.

“I’m beginning to agree with my colleagues that this-” he gestured to Loki and Y/N, “-was a bad idea.”

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 4 years ago

Text

Visiting your hometown

What happens when you take your man to your home town? As your memories, people and places come together how will he react?

A small/long drabble to get me back into writing. Enjoy!

Victor Creed

This mutant never thought that he would walk in your hometown. He didn't expect to see cultures that morph together into one special town, your town. A place where you grew up. So keeping all that in mind he was cautious. Various not to offend someone or to say a rude word in your mother tongue. For the first time in his life, he is frazzled and nervous. he will keep in his front pocket a small leaflet some words he heard you say a few times that may be of some assistance. trying to woo you.

-that old hag showed me the middle finger. let's go.

Unfortunately, anything that he says wrong, will be your responsibility to amend it. so good luck.

Loki

you just know that Loki will have your mother tongue in his little finger (that sounds weird but let's carry on) but do not be fooled, he can not survive the morning wave of people in the farmers market. something that is pretty much normal for you. Loki doesn't know how to feel when he sees the local butcher wrapping the meat in todays' newspaper giving it to buyers or how people shove him to the side as his black suit with the green scarf is more than brought down in value. he will hear the near shouts of Famers that are trying to sell their livelihood to him as his head goes from one side to another in a split second. he will easily get reeled in by the old farmer who just smells the innocence on the Midgardian addressed god. you know the moment you grabs his hand he looks at you.

-how did you ever survive in this chaos?

-I thought you said that chaos is your middle name.

-it is however my kind of chaos is more dignified.

-survive just a little bit more, I need to go to that man in the corner.

-oh, no...

Thor

we all in the fandom know that thor is a ball of joy. but when he lands in your city, your territory he is stoic. he is here on a mission and no one should stand in his way. he will glue himself to your side and he will hold the dictionary book in his mighty right hand and your hand in his left. he will not stand for wasting a day on mundane stuff that you do with him back in the HQ so say goodbye to lazying around. when you go to the oceanic part of your country you are now almost ready to drown him in the ocean. or just leave him on the road, it is getting that heavy.

-thor, think it is time to stop.

-what do you mean?

-to be honest, I don't know anymore I am so tired.

-you are right... let us stop. for 2 minutes and then you can drive again.

-I will leave you here.

Bucky Barnes

bucky loves to travel. he loves to see you in the role of a guide you tell him about the park where you cut your leg open and when you got to the hospital as a nun stood above you praying for your recovery. bucky loves to feel the fresh air going into his nose thinking to himself how this was the same air that you breathe in. he loves to see all the different parts of the city where you went to. even so much that he went to your former hairstylist.

-bucky, you don't have to do this.

-nonsense, doll. I want to experience it. just like you did.

-that was eons ago. and I wore super short hair, like a hedgehog.

-hedgehog?

-yeah, it was so short that I only put on gel and made small spikes.

- I will give everything I have and say that you looked beautiful.

-alright, your call.

Steve Rogers

steve cannot wait for enough for him to arrive in the city where you walked, ran, and laughed. he cannot wait to enter your old apartment and see all of the hidden pieces that he wants to know. he loves to help you clean the apartment and see a big box of your old photos. he will look with your through on the hard wooden floor with one arm around your shoulders as you talk about each photo. even showing him the photo of your sister.

-when will I meet her?

-I don't know.

-didn't you say that she lived here, still?

-yeah...

-I want to meet her. I think am ready for it.

-okay...

Bruce Wayne

you just know that when you told him to pack his bags to go with you he did his research. he knows when, how the city was built. he will try to memorize the tongue twisters and say them horribly wrong just to make you laugh. when he looks at your old apartment he tries to envision the day you left it all behind to go to Gotham and it breaks his heart to imagine you in tears.

-bruce.

you take his calloused hand feeling his fingers tighten the grip.

-sorry, I immediately imagined you when you moved out. I got sad.

-why?

-because, you surely cried.

-I did, a little, but this city didn't have that something.

-and what is that?

-you dumbass. now stop sulking we need to clean.

Clark Kent

as Clark arrived at the farm where your aunt lived he couldn't help feel but prepared. he saw the cows eating grabs and was ready in a split second to milk it just to show off his soft and delicate side. Clark heard the stories of your aunt, well one of them, and from what he concluded, for now, this aunt was the beginner level, nice one, the one who won't tear him a new one if he doesn't treat you right. as the door opened you greeted your aunt in your mother tongue and introduced your man. Clark shakingly trying to reply in the mother tongue feeling the few letters that stood together could fall more apart than from his mouth. your aunt laughed hugging him and roughly patted him on his back. almost like a punch if you will. you look at your aunt and Clark cannot help but stand behind you as he whispered.

-what did she say?

-she said that you seem stiffer than a goat's turd.

-you said that this aunt was nice.

-she is. but that is the way we express ourselves.

-with curse words???!!

-what better way.

Arthur curry

Arthur was relaxed when he arrived, he was laid back when he slept in your apartment but that all suicide jumped off a cliff as he shook hands with your mother. Your mom wasn't that intimating but he heard the stories of her standing to your abusive father and running away with just some change in her pocket and a used car. he knows that the woman in front of him is strong can make or break your relationship. so he held the coffee cup in his hands as if was the key to everything he needed to know how to make your mother happy. he saw how your eyes sparkled when you talked to her how your smile ever left for a second you take what seemed to him in complete gibberish but cute gibberish. your mother turns to him asking in English.

-so Arthur, can I call you by your first name?

-yes, madam. of course, you can.

-thank you. well, then Arthur what do you do for a living?

with a small nod from you, he tells the honest truth.

-I am a superhero. but minus the stupid cape. I am here to keep you and your daughter, of course, safe from all danger. and I hope you will like me!!!!

you turn to your mother with a small chuckle as you tell her in your mother tongue.

-he is helpless.

-he seems like it, good luck, Y/n.

Orm Marius

nothing can save his pulse from rising as he walked with the crowd of people in the town square only your hand which he held more than tightly enough. you stopped pointing at a big statue of a colonel on a horse placed in the middle of the square.

-he is a big deal.

-yes, I can imagine the poor people that had to lift it up to place it here.

-yes, but thanks to those people, people now in the present can always remember what they went through at that time.

he didn't find any specialness in the statute for him it lacked in far more than that he can count but when he saw your face looking at the statue he knew that whatever that stirred in you he wanted to see it every day. he only squeezed your hand placing a kiss on your knuckles.

-does this mean you want in your likeness?

-sure, but only if you will make it.

-oh, darling, that is a recipe for chaos.

The Joker

j never put effort into himself. he did in destruction, in chaos, in mayhem, and even in covering his white skin with some basic foundation as he meets your off the edge aunt. when you told him that every second sentence from her is a curse he was more than ready to meet her. because sometimes crazy people click with the people who like to curse. everyone knows that. so when he sat in the house of your crazy aunt he firstly observed, he watched you talked together and exchanged laughs, even more, when you ever brought to tears as you laughed off the curses she threw at you so playfully making even j smile. so when she turned to him it was game time. and you were the translator.

-my aunt asked what is that you do for a job?

-tell her I am the man of your dreams.

-I told her that.

-damn, then tell her-WHAT?!

you giggle at his shock as you heard the playful quote she told you when you were little and j wanted to know what she said.

-what did she say?

-she said "if a girl gives a man a hand, she will give him her ass"

-your aunt is a wise woman.

- I knew you would like her.

Duncan Vizla

Duncan likes to take walks and taking a walk with you next to him as you showed him around your old neighborhood and told him stores of the always pissed on metal slide and the always filled cafes that were always the pinpoints for some scammers he found in question why you like it so much. as you showed his around you stopped at your old elementary school. you showed him the main entrance was where everyone hurled in the morning hours and where you sat with your friends and talked about the horribly proffers that still to this day haunt you. something he heard you mumble in your sleep.

-she was that awful?

-yes, and people like here never get old it's like the evilness she has in her keeps her eligible for work.

-am i not the same?

he couldn't ask a stupider question. and for that, you punched him in the shoulder.

-don't compare yourself to her. you aren't evil.

-you are forgetting my job, darling.

-you kill for money, she kills for fun and to keep herself alive. a difference now let's go home I need to remind you just how good and attentive you can be.

-lead the way, dove.

hope you liked it. Tell me what you think❤️

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nyx-aira · 3 years ago

Text

I care about you

| Loki Laufeyson x Reader | Requested by unkown* |

Summary: After your escape from Thanos and your past you have trouble adjusting to life on Midgard but luckily there's someone in your corner.

A/N: *I'm sorry but tumblr has somehow swallowed your request. I still had it on my computer but I don't know if you were an anon or a blog so I sadly can't tag you. I still hope this fic finds you and I wish you all the best <3

Request: Absolutely no pressure, but you know I'm a sucker for anything with Loki - especially maybe an Asgardian reader, who's also going through a bit of a depression and recovering from emotional abuse? If that's too heavy/complicated, I totally understand, but it'd be lovely to have Loki as my therapist. Fluff has definitely helped in the past.

TW! mention of abuse, mention of depression (please let me know if I need to add anything)

PSA c/@ynscrazylife

Things were difficult at the moment. Asgard was gone and so were many other people, you were free but it didn't feel like it.

You weren't sure what to feel, what to do. Nothing was how it was but you weren't sure why a part of you still clung to that old life, that life you wanted to escape so badly.

New Asgard was different. None of the glamour and luxury, nothing more than a small village somewhere in Norway.

Thor, Loki and Valkyrie were doing their best to make the best out of the new situation but it was a difficult task.

It took some time getting used to living elsewhere for everyone but you couldn't care less about getting a new start or recovering from the traumatic events that happened.

You just wanted everything to go away and at the same time clung desperately to the few happy memories you had of Asgard. People noticed of course but they didn't know what to do so everyone just gave you space and left you alone. Everyone but Loki.

He would check in with you as often as he could, he still had to coordinate most of New Asgard and all the troubles that came with it. He would usually show up at the end of the day with some take-out and would tell you about his day, listening to yours if you wanted to tell him and always offering his support and help if you needed it.

At first you weren't sure why he was doing it, why he wanted to help but over time you began to trust him more and more, forming a bond that was based on trust, honesty and care.

His presence would make you feel at ease and some days you would manage to tell him bits and pieces of what was going on. He would listen very carefully and try to help you as best as he could.

Sometimes after you had cried and clung to his shoulders while he had held you, he would carry you to bed and would make sure you had beautiful dreams that night, staying with you until you fell asleep. In the mornings there would be breakfast waiting for you with a small note attached.

Those small gestures meant a lot to you and after some time you would get better. Sure there were still days where everything seemed hopeless and you wanted nothing more then to cry and just stay in bed.

But Loki was there, every step of the way and he would make sure you knew that as well.

-----

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

Text

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 5

Lazy Mornings: A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1696

Warnings: smut (MF, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself. When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

Chapter 5

There was something a little magical about the way the sun crept through the curtains as Steve slowly woke. It fell in a clear beam over the bed, and dust motes floated in it, glowing brightly like they were alive and filled with their own kind of magic. From the beam the light diffused through the room, blanketing in a soft white haze that made everything seem like it was wrapped in cloud.

Steve had slept well. Better than he could ever remember sleeping before. It was the good, deep, restful sleep that most people just long for. There was no urgency to waking either, so he did it gradually, appreciating the scent of coffee, linen, and fresh-cut grass, along with the warmth of your body pressed against him.

You slept so close to him - practically buried into his side. Sleeping with another person usually brought with it some minor discomforts that were a trade-off to the intimacy of sharing such a space with another person. Hair that got in your mouth. Awkward arm placements. Overheating from the shared body temperature. Accidentally getting kicked in rather tender areas.

There was none of that with you. The bed which would normally be too soft for him to be truly comfortable was somehow perfect. The air temperature was cool, but the bed was perfectly warm in that way that made it hard to leave. The way you tucked in against him felt like the two of you were made for each other. Like two pieces of a puzzle, or Lego bricks.

You made a soft sound and your arms tightened around him. “Good morning,” you mumbled, in a sleep-heavy voice. “Will you stay?”

Steve hummed and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. “Mm-hmm.”

He wasn’t even quite sure what he was agreeing to. Now? Forever? He didn’t know, but either way that answer felt right.

You hummed and nuzzled at his neck, kissing his throat and gently grazing your teeth over his skin. “Good,” you whispered. “I have plans.”

He pulled back and looked down at you, smiling a lazy smile. You looked ethereal in the soft morning light. You returned his gaze and reached up and ran your finger along his jaw so that his morning stubble scratched over your fingertips. For a moment that’s all either of you did - just lay there gazing at each other - and then he broke. He leaned in and kissed you deeply. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself tightly against him. There was a slowness to your movements that seemed to translate to a deeper intimacy. There was no rush. No desperate need. The two of you took your time to just kiss and caress each other’s skin. He ran his hands over you as you raked your fingers through his hair. Your hips moved slowly against him so your cunt rubbed against his morning erection.

The pressure of your body against his, the warmth that radiated from your skin, and the way his body buzzed under your fingers, made that lazy, cozy feeling start to blend into his desire and need.

He kissed your throat and massaged your ass as he slowly rutted against you. Your fluids dripped from your cunt and coated his cock. He hummed and when the head of his cock caught on your entrance, he pushed, slowly sinking into the warm passage. The movement was met, not with a moan, but a soft contented sigh.

He rolled so he was on top of you and the two of you began to move together. He rolled his hips penetrating you deeply, taking his time to feel every ridge and contour of your internal walls. You counter, arching your back and rocking under him and clenching around him. The kissing was a constant tender caress. Lips against lips and necks, collarbones, and chest. It added to that soft buzz inside him, and the world became fuzzy and far off as the two of you made love.

“You feel so good, Steve,” you hummed against his throat.

He moaned in response and brought his lips to yours. You nudged him and he rolled over so you were straddling him. You broke the kiss and sat up, closing your eyes and letting your head loll back as you twisted and circled your hips while staying seated on his cock. He watched you, mesmerized by the way your body moved as you rode him. He ran his hands over your breasts and down your sides, letting one settle on your hip and the other over your pussy, working your clit with his thumb. You moaned and moved a little faster, your lips parted in silent pleasure. Your cunt began to clench and flutter and with a deep moan, you came, your body seizing up. Steve grabbed your hips and began to thrust up into you, chasing his own release. When it came, it was like his orgasm washed through him like a wave, he closed his eyes and groaned as his muscles clenched and he spilled inside you.

You stayed sitting on top of him for a moment, just letting yourself relax and come down from your orgasm high. As your breathing returned to normal, you climbed off him. “I’m going to make breakfast,” you said, grabbing your robe and sliding it on.

Steve stretched and watched you leave the room as he debated what to do. He hadn’t ever had breakfast in bed, and he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t comfortable right where it was.

His need to be up and participating in the world ended up winning out, and he dragged himself out of bed. He tried to keep in the spirit of the lazy morning though. He used the bathroom and pulled on his boxers and t-shirt before coming out to find you. The kitchen smelled of coffee, bacon, and maple syrup, and you stood at the stove singing to yourself. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Really giving yourself to it, huh?” You asked. “I can feel it. Makes me feel a little more real.”

“If that’s all it takes for you to feel that way, I’ll have to do this more often,” Steve said.

You laughed and turned, kissing his cheek. “If you really want to spoil yourself, the paper should be on the doorstep.”

Steve let you go and went to the door. Sitting on your welcome mat in the hall was a copy of the New York Times. He picked it up feeling a little bewildered. Since waking up from the ice he’d seen newspapers being sold, but he’d never known anyone who bought them. He’d been dropped into a world of leading-edge technology where the new was delivered digitally in an instant. It was all tablets and holographic screens in his world now. Having an actual honest-to-god newspaper felt a little like he was stepping back in time.

He took it to the reading nook you had by the window and reclined back on the window bench, pulling the plush blanket you had sitting there over his legs and unfolding the paper.

It was strange how strong the scent of fresh-cut grass was, even though he wasn’t sure he could smell it as much as he formed the idea of it in his head just from being around you. If he looked down through the window, it was just another busy New York street below him. You lived across from Central Park though, and looking right ahead he had views of trees and grass he could sink into the illusion of a Sunday in the suburbs with neighbors mowing their lawn while he took his time to read the paper.

“Don’t you look comfortable here,” you said, bringing over a tray. Sitting on it was a plate filled with pancakes, eggs, and bacon, a mug of hot coffee, and a glass of orange juice. He shifted a little and took the tray, placing it over his lap, and you took a seat in the wingback chair beside him.

“You’re spoiling me,” Steve said, picking up his coffee and breathing in the aroma. “You’re not eating?”

“When I have someone who’s really giving themselves over to what I have to offer, I don’t actually need to eat,” you replied.

Steve surveyed you, raising his eyebrow. “Thor always needs to eat.”

You laughed. “Thor and I are slightly different entities. And I don’t pretend to understand it. I am feeling it very strongly from you right now though because this is not something you let yourself do very often. It’s nourishing.”

“For us both,” Steve said and started to eat. He took his time to savor it all. It wasn’t the best food he’d ever had, but it seemed to hit the spot exactly. The coffee was hot and brewed just how he liked it, bitter but not burned. The eggs were sunny side up but the white had cooked through while the yolk was still runny. The bacon was salty and crispy and mixed with the maple syrup on the pancakes perfectly.

“Do you think we can actually work long term?” Steve asked as he ate. “We seem to need such different things. And what would happen if I stopped fighting and just retried? Would that affect how this worked for you?”

You shrugged. “To answer your second question first; no it wouldn’t. Eventually, you’d stop appreciating the lie-ins and it’s really in the desire and appreciation of them that gives me my power,” you said. “As for the first, I couldn’t say. No one knows what the future brings or how long people can stay compatible. It’s working now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Steve agreed, and sipped on his coffee thoughtfully. Maybe he needed this. A reason to balance his life so he took something for himself once in a while. Maybe appreciating the quiet moments more would help him get through the chaos of his everyday life. Maybe his friends had been right, it was time for him to get a life too.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #small gods #lazy mornings

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leonardhoee · 4 years ago

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Ikevamp Guys as Villains

Warnings: Mass Murder, Gore...

Tagging: @aurora-morning @delicateikemenmemes @writer-akihiko @nafeary

Napoleon

Napoleon would be a royal dictator. He is the leader of a corrupt, authoritarian regime, hellbent on conquering the world. Think Hela (Thor: Ragnarok or The Darkling (Shadow and Bone). He controls people with his massive armies, and believes he is the only rightful ruler in this world. He believes that the world should be remade in his image so it can be restored to its former glory. He craves power and he will stop at nothing to get it. His armies are tools that swore their lives and souls to his cause. He feels no remorse in sacrificing them for his greater good. The only thing that would satisfy him now, is seeing the world crushed under the heel of his boot.

Leonardo

Leo as a villain would be like Iron Man gone bad. He does what he does simply out of curiosity he wants to see if it would even work. Cyberterrorism is just a tool for him. He would make modifications to his own body so that his eyes can see x-Ray, night vision, and other people’s biological information, and his brain is directly connected to the internet. He would create an entire army of robots like Ultron (Marvel) or Terminators. He hacks into government servers and international television broadcasts. He takes over entire governments simply by sitting in his lab controlling his army from a tablet. He can destroy anything connected to the internet with a flick of his finger. He wouldn’t even have to get up out of his chair. His plans would be so well thought out that no one would realize what happened until they’ve already lost.

Dazai

Dazai would be unhinged and reckless. He’d completely detach himself from human emotions and commit as many insane heinous crimes as possible till he does something bad enough that he would get killed for it. He creates an alternate persona for himself like the Joker or Hisoka (HxH), and at that point he has buried his emotions so well that he fails to differentiate between his persona and his true self. He may not actively acknowledge it but his true goal is to just go out in a blaze. It doesn’t matter how many lives it costs to do so.

Jean

Jean would be walking a fine line between villain and antihero. His main motivation is wiping out the people he considers evil, to make the world a “better place”. However, he would take it to a point of mass murder. There would be major battles breaking out between the people that support him and the people that believe what he is doing is evil. He believes he is bringing divine justice upon those who deserve it and thinks this is the way to atone for his past sins. Sound familiar? Jean would be Kira (Death Note). He is also similar to The Hood (Arrow). He has no mercy and he will not hesitate to kill.

Comte

Comte is rich enough to buy world leaders. He is the puppet master behind every single nation of the world. No one suspects him, however he slowly takes over countries one by one. He would also run some kind of underground mafia operation that’s involved in pretty much every kind of trade there is. He gets his money from so many sources that even if one is cut off, he is still rich enough to maintain his control over politicians and famous businessmen. Comte is the leader of the secret societies that the world’s richest people are involved in. The world answers to him and you would never even know. (Similar to Kingpin (Marvel) and the Court of Owls (DC)

Sebastian

Sebastian was adopted by Comte after ran away from his family. When he was young, hs saw firsthand how cruel the world can really be. He wholeheartedly believes the world is better off being run by Comte, and has pledged complete loyalty to him. He is Comte’s right hand man and he runs most of their underground mafia operations. He is incredibly versatile and does whatever Comte needs from him. Acting as a proxy? Assasinating a world leader? Leading a heist? Sebastian can do it all. His ideals have been so skewed growing up with Comte, that he sees himself as an extension of Comte’s power. Nothing more. He is a loyal weapon to be used by his boss.

Vincent

Vincent would release his emotions and would be unable to handle it mentally. He would be a serial killer who escaped from an asylum after losing his mind. He would kidnap his victims and slowly bleed them out as he paints with their blood. His specialty is carving designs into his victims after they have bled out and died. He leaves a sunflower at every crime scene and each new murder is just his latest artistic masterpiece left for the world to see. One way or another his art will be remembered, and it will cause the whole world to feel as much as he does.

Theo

Theo is driven by rage. Rage towards the world, towards the way he and Vincent were treated. His strength and anger would translate into him having an incredibly powerful monstrous form. His only goal is destruction. He wants to tear apart the society that allows people to get hurt like he did. He would be similar to Venom (Marvel), Abomination (Marvel), or Eren (Attack on Titan). Blinded by rage, he looses sight of his original goal and devoted himself to destroying everything he sees. It doesn’t matter who gets killed, they’re just collateral damage.

Isaac

Isaac can be two different types of villains all in one. On one hand, he’s a mad scientist who happened to discover a chemical combination that can be weaponized. However his insatiable bloodlust drives him to weaponize his discovery for himself. He wants people to know fear like he does (think Scarecrow (Batman). I can see him laying with Leonardo and helping upgrade his robot army with that chemical. On the other hand, when he lets himself give in to that bloodlust, he won’t stop unless he is stopped by someone else (like ripper Stefan from Vampire Diaries). He rips apart his victims like a wild animal. His crime scenes are covered in blood with dismembered body parts.

Mozart

Mozart would be an assassin for hire. He’s like a ghost. There have been stories about him but no one truly knows who he is. He works in the shadows and kills efficiently and without hesitation. One of his specialties is creating various sound waves that can kill his target. For those type of kills he doesn’t even need to leave his base, he can simply hack their device and cause it to play that frequency. Comte has hired him before to carry out certain kills he couldn’t do himself because of his position. Mozart is extremely devoted to his job will kill anyone who gets in the way of him and his target.

Arthur

Arthur would be a mix between Moriarty and Kilgrave (Jessica Jones). He would have some kind of mind controlling ability that allows him to create loyal puppets for his elaborate schemes. He loves playing games with the people suspecting him and he leads them in circles with their investigations. Sometimes he will even offer to personally help investigate cases he is responsible for, just to lead them into dead ends and plant fake clues. Every crime of his is a masterpiece with countless layers going into it. He does not see the people involved as humans. They’re just his pawns in his game of chess. Arthur just wants to see how far he can go before he finds a worthy opponent that can solve his cases.

Shakespeare

Shakespeare would be a theatrical serial killer who later escalates to mass murder. He would start out by abducting people he believes to “fit the role” he has planned for them. He would then kill them, replicating famous death scenes from plays and movies he admired (or his own plays). Each crime scene would be perfectly set up with lighting, makeup, and costuming. This would escalate later on to him and his troupe taking massive groups of people hostage, forcing them to read lines and act out various gruesome plays. When someone dies in the play, the actors have to murder each other. If they refuse, Shakespeare murders them both out of rage and brings in new people to replace them. He will not stop until he creates his perfect play.

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qwanderer · 4 years ago

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What makes a Loki a Loki?

Loki is called upon to be a lot of different people. He’s been raised on Asgard, and that’s formed some of the more basic aspects of his personality and values, but at the same time he has attributes that have been consistently discouraged and pushed down by that culture, and we can see them step forward as he moves into situations where they are encouraged.

Throughout the canons, there are a lot of Lokis. Siege Loki, Lady Loki, Kid Loki and his murderer, Ikol, King Loki, and the God/Goddess of Stories. The earlier aspects I know only by secondhand information, but I’m very familiar with Loki from Young Avengers and Agent of Asgard, some of my favorite comics of all time. But I know some basic facts - the way the earliest Loki was a quintessential comic book villain full of pure simple theatrical mischief and ridiculous schemes, the fact that Lady Loki was a somewhat more sinister appropriator of bodies for her own use.

In my view, MCU!Loki has, at the very least, the same capacity to shift personalities depending on the circumstances, and I haven’t yet seen anything in the Loki show that’s thrown my suspension of disbelief with regards to his characterization.

I’ve seen some people rebel at the idea of Loki gleeful over the destruction of Pompeii and the causing of chaos it allowed, but it reminds me of some meta I wrote very early on in my years of meta-writing in the MCU. The values Loki was raised with, Asgardian values, sometimes treat death very lightly, especially death in battle, especially human or otherwise non-Aesir death. In the Aesir context, at least to a certain extent and certainly in terms of what we’ve seen Odin teach his sons onscreen, violence is honorable, fighting is an adventure, lives are cheap and Valhalla is the ultimate goal.

I think a lot of the central conflict of Loki’s character is that he follows some of these principles to their logical conclusions in situations that Aesir values never meant them to cover. If life is unimportant, then it won’t be so bad if I tell Thor that Odin is dead. If the throne of Asgard has dominion over all the Nine Realms, then why shouldn’t I rule Midgard?

But he also shifts the way he acts to suit the situation. He is a shifter, it’s what he does. On Asgard, he is expected to be a warrior, a dignified prince, a companion and support for his brother. The values are bravery and dignity, and so a lot of what he projects there is bravado and elegance, which are close enough for him to get by.

When he is taken by Thanos, the only things Thanos wants and values are power and death. So Loki becomes an avatar of power and death. He carries that with him to Earth, because he is still very much under the jurisdiction of Thanos. But he very quickly learns how to use and manipulate Earth values, like wit and pathos. They seem to fit him better than the others, and he carries them through the other movies and the different frameworks he finds himself in.

He also tends to carry Asgard with him, the knowledge that he’s a prince, destined to be a king, that he needs to carry himself a certain way, with that elegance, dignity and bravado.

When I see Loki in the first episode of the show, I recognize him as some of the deepest, most quintessential parts of Loki that have only been allowed to peek out on occasion before. And that is due to manipulation on Mobius’s part - Mobius makes it very clear what he expects of Loki. To get down to the very basic levels of him and find out his motivations, what makes him fundamentally himself - “What makes Loki tick?” There’s a quiet void there, and the only thing that’s being asked of Loki, for once, is that he sit down and fill that void with words - the truest and most sincere words possible.

There’s a clear and interesting divide between that phase for Loki, and the phase we see in episode two - Mobius has stopped providing that space, and in the interim, he’s made it very clear what he expects Loki to be like, what mold he’d prefer the trickster to fit into.

The hard-working, lovable scamp.

Loki is hiding his deepest self again, which we all do most of the time. Loki can’t feel that deeply and express that freely all the time. Because of the environment he’s in - which may not be any more or less free than any of the other environments he’s experienced - he expresses himself in a particular way. He is the hard-working, mischievous scamp Mobius has been pushing him to be.

I don’t think he’s any more or less himself than he’s ever been - he’s simply responding to different pressures. And the pressures of this episode press him very hard into the Neal Caffrey mold. Which is an interesting mold in itself - when I was writing White Collar fic, I made a point to distinguish who Neal was when he was with Peter and who he was under different circumstances - prison, witness protection, with Mozzie, with Kate. (I wrote an autistic Kate, and had him most freely himself when he was with her.)

Like Neal Caffrey, the Episode 2 Loki is treading a line between behaviors that will get him things because he’s useful and compliant, behaviors that will demonstrate that he’s into minor trickery for fun now and might not be getting up to anything bigger, and those bigger tricks that are definitely still running in the background. It’s the obvious balance for a trickster on a leash with an indulgent bureaucrat.

You can see that it’s a facade in the way that he is near tears when he sees the Ragnarok paperwork, but when he brings it to Mobius’s attention and Mobius expresses his sympathies, Loki says “Yes, very sad,” and then dismisses it in favor of moving on to his mischievous enthusiasm over the resulting theory he’s had.

Like all good lies, it’s built out of truth, so when I see this Loki, I see pieces of the Loki I know, just put together a little differently, which is how Loki seems to do it.

Although he’s not free as he might hope to be, and in fact threading a narrow path between a very constricting set of pressures, I do still think he’s enjoying the dropped expectations of dignity and elegance. I think he’s enjoying being in a culture that encourages him to be a geek. To go on about the things he’s passionate about and his areas of expertise. And I think that’s a lot of what unsettles people about this Loki, because that elegance and dignity have carried everywhere else with him. And I’m not going to argue that the TVA are doing anything nice for him - quite the contrary - but I still do enjoy seeing him able to be the geek he’s always had the inclination to be, in the right circumstances.

It makes me wonder, a little, how much his mother is on his mind right now, after the first episode, because if I had a guess, the last time he’s felt free to be this enthusiastic and expressive about his interests is in magic lessons with her as a child.

So. The other variant.

We know from the Lady Loki comics arc that Loki can possess other people’s bodies over the long term, and we know from kid!Loki and his murderer interacting in YA that the original occupant of a body can sometimes hang around and talk back, if only as a figment of his imagination. We know from most incarnations that Loki can go to a lot of dark places if the circumstances push him to it.

As I’ve said before, I’m intrigued by the question the difference between the two variants poses - how much different can two Lokis be before they are no longer meaningfully the same person?

We’ve got clues on both sides, of course - our scamp on a leash saying “I wouldn’t do this to myself” on the side of them being not the same person, and the vengeful goddess he’s chasing saying “I was afraid they’d found a better version of me” on the side of them being the same person.

The more I think about it, the more I’m willing to predict that this vengeful goddess is, in some way, an incarnation of Loki. But (be warned, I’m going to reference Stephenie Meyer now) it could be in as small a way as something out of The Host - a stolen body’s original personality fighting dirty against the invading spirit.

If this is something based on the character of Sylvie from the comics, it could still be anything from a person - human or Asgardian - chosen and manipulated by Loki to do his bidding, to a full-on possession, or even a body constructed for a specific purpose but developing its own personality traits.

We know this variant is a body hopper, and Mobius’s briefing mentioned that it’s an inherent ability of most Lokis to shapeshift, so there are a lot of potential explanations for this unfamiliar shape.

But the differences between the variants could also stem mostly from different experiences.

The only thing I’m at all sure of is that this variant has also been tortured by Thanos. It’s possible that she branched earlier - that the wild desperation of having freshly escaped Thanos translated into being dragged into the TVA like a cornered wildcat, on the raggedy edge and desperate enough to go all-out to get out of the collar while still in the custody of the minute men. Then, as she became familiar with the TVA in concept and execution, developed opinions and built a personality around taking them down, taking them apart the way she wished she could do to Thanos, the way Thanos did to her.

But she could also have branched later - after the destruction of Asgard, or when Thanos appeared on the refugee ship. After the worst has happened to her people. With some preexisting notion that time could have gone differently, that some things that had happened should not be allowed to happen.

I have a weak spot for interactions between incarnations of Loki in the comics, so I am incredibly eager to see the MCU’s take on this.

#Loki meta #the loki show #loki spoilers #loki laufeyson #loki #meta #marvel #comics #616 #white collar #the host #sylvie #loki s1e2

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helpinghanikan · 4 years ago

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Sleeping arrangements

Avengers (and Matt Murdock x Reader)

Sum: It's late and the bed is so nice. It's time to sleep and to bring your heroes along with you. (Fluffy little snippets of sleepy time with the Avengers)

Steve Rogers:

It’s the last train home and only one thing in this world is warm. The wall of Steve Rogers your head rested against was beating softly through the jacket and shirt he wore. Keeping your arms around his center to keep any of the heat from getting away. His own arm protects around your shoulders, keeping you in and gibing his hand something to do instead.

He could’ve driven, he should’ve driven, instead he wanted to take the train. He wanted to walk around like he did years and years before, but this time with your hands intertwined.

Although far away the train has started to shake the earth. Taking you out of the almost sleeping world and back into this cold one. The change in worlds brings out a yawn and lets the cold back in. It’s been a long day. With your eyes closed and clothes heavier than they could ever be Steve was the only thing keeping you up. His chin rests on your head after a while, thumb rubbing over your shoulder as the train finally pulled to a stop.

Inside it was the same story but in a seated position. Guided into his lap and landing with a groan as it was just so much work. The practically empty strain allowed your legs to stretched straight out over the seats.

Steve could stay awake longer than most, but he was tired. He was cold and annoyed and really wished he had driven instead of taking this stupid train. He took his frustration out on squeezing you tight, holding on as if you were liable to fall right out of the seat if he let go. At least it was warmer inside the train.

Tony Stark:

Someone staying up late, not getting enough sleep, and making exhaustion their personality trait is funny for maybe week. But After days of trying to coax him to come to bed, to try something other than just giving up on sleep or even talking to a doctor it gets concerning. After weeks of these same issues, it becomes frustrating.

Everyone, from Pepper to Peter have done their fair share of lecturing. Happy has gone out of his way in helping you get the dumbass to appointments. All of which he has walked right out because, unfortunately, he was still an adult who could make his own decisions.

It’s only after using the nuclear word that he pays attention.

“Anthony,” You say just before he leaves the room.

Although speaking to his back he does stop. His shoulders have tensed under the t-shirt and he’s listening in.

There’s an audio book’s worth of things you could say about this issue. But it would all be a repeat that he’s heard before, from many different mouths. Instead, you kept it simple, not even bothering to turn on the light.

“You didn’t even try.” It comes out from a tired partner just wanting the best for him. Yet Tony walks away from the advice, again.

Thor:

Power doesn’t stop for sleep. It’s still in the air when he’s laying sideways towards the window. Because of the whole nighttime thing it’s hard to tell if clouds are actually coming in or darkening. Maybe you’re just insane but Mr. Weatherman didn’t say anything about rain tonight, right?

It was a jolt that really woke you up. Looking over your shoulder at the expanse of muscular back. Thor movements were always a bit too…loud for this world. Whether running through a fight or moving in his sleep it calls attention to everyone. He doesn’t mean to, but it does wake you up enough to see your glass is dryer as a bone.

As if reading your mind, the rain has come down. It could almost be described as torrential how hard it was all coming down. Matching the dramatics of rain, a lightning strike coming straight down into some poor tree.

This wasn’t the first time Thor had a nightmare. Asgardians just seemed to be humans 2.0, making Thor just as a victim to horror as we humans are. At the same time, he was still another worldly being, translating to giving him a few feet when waking him up.

Another strike of lightening and another tree is taken out of this world. Without the lights on that blast was your only moment of lightening. The rest of the journey made to Thor’s side of the bed was done in darkness and pounding rain. Following the outlined Asgardian until reaching his shoulder. A gentle hand on his should does nothing. A little shake and a whispered “Thor,” finally does the trick.

The two strikes of lightening outside somehow reached his eyes. For the briefest of seconds blue, cracking energy is directed right at you. Stopping just as quickly as they appeared, replaced with Thor’s regular blue eyes that blink a few times.

“What is it?” he asks.

There’s no point in telling him the truth about his nightmares and their effect. Then again, there’s no point in lying either. Instead, it’s better to distract. “It’s still super early. Back to bed.” You say instead, kissing with until he takes the hit and holds you.

Bucky Barnes:

Sleep is a luxury that isn’t worth chasing. With the pillows and sheets there were nightmares and enemies that could sense his weakness. Trying to get at least six hours and all that guarantees is waking up sweaty and a call to doc, making sure to get everything back in order before you could ever notice.

Instead, he takes walks. Maps out the city at night, the changes and differences that happened without him. He recognizes the buildings, the structures and bricks that were too strong to be a victim to time.

Most of the time he does this alone. Watching a show about nothing until you were asleep before starting his walk. But there were times you catch him, calling out to him like the neighborhood cat trying to get away. Getting on your own shoes and jacket quickly. Then enforcing the handholding during the little adventure.

It’s only when passing by something important that words are shared. “One of my buddies worked here when this place was a mechanic. Broke his leg just before the draft, I still think it was on purpose.” He’d say then never bring it up again.

These walks are always shorter than most. After two times Bucky learned when to make the loop back home with you. When your building comes back into view the handholding has gotten sweaty. The walking had slowed to a crawl and you were dragging him down by the arm. Even less talking was done after getting through the door; just landing face down onto the bed without bothering about the shoes.

These kind of walks were Bucky’ favorite.

Natasha Romanoff:

The bed was used almost exclusively for sleeping. As the couch was both comfy and expensive. And, as Nat puts it, “Should we do it with the lights off too? Under the covers like grandparents?” Although it was probably another reason to use the overpriced couch more often.

Like any good, and overworked, soldier Nat could sleep anywhere. When a mission is done, and there’s nothing to worry about, a shower and a nap is the best in the world.

“I smell nice,” She says walking into the living after the shower. Steam still behind her, hair wrapped up and a sweater purposefully bought to be several sizes too big.

She stretches and lays over you like a cat. Resting as close as possible so you, too, can smell the expensive shampoo she uses. Making sure that the body wash isn’t ignored either as that, too, was expensive.

“Might as well spend this pay on something,” She says when asked about the prices.

Although she asks what you’re up to she won’t be awake for the answer. Already teetering into sleep land when you answer.

Natasha was as athletic as she was heavy. Only sometimes managing to carry her bridal style and most of the time having to walk/guide her into the bedroom. Either letting her drop onto the bed with the same weight you had carried in, or she holds fast and takes you down with her.

Just like a cat, Natasha gets to decide cuddle time.

T’challa:

Although the mattress was new, the bed’s size was traditional, and passed on through generations of rulers. Forget California king bed, A Wakanda king bed was that and a half. Ten feet length, twelve feet tall. Combined with blankets, pillows and more it was easy to disappear into the thing. But it was also easy to get lost in it all.

In the middle of the night, in the very center of this ocean of bed, you can reach out forever. Finding pillows (both the decorative and the usable kind), smaller blankets or stuffed animals that have managed to be added. But it’s a tiresome journey, one that doesn’t seem to have an end even as you stretched to pointed toes and fingers.

It’s only after touching body heat that you can relax. Finally finding your king that turns to your touch. Making his own journey through sheets and bedding. Using you as the trail into his love. Neither of you thinking about the absolute nightmare it will be to make this bed tomorrow.

Pietro Maximoff:

For most of his life Pietro is moving. Be it running or just running his mouth, he’s not the kind of guy to sit still. Unfortunately, this also applies to sleeping.

“He’s been sleep walking since we were children,” Wanda once said. “Our father once found him crying in a puddle. He had slipped and woken up in the street. He’ll deny crying, though.”

As an adult Pietro doesn’t actively get up and walk around anymore. The man made up of strong and lean muscle still moves quite a bit. Waking up from freezing feet finding yours or because he’s sat upright in bed again. Using soft, but firm, pressure to get him to lay back down or to guide him back to his side of the bed. If you weren’t careful his arms would find you, almost dragging you back to his side of the bed.

He'd deny it in the morning. Smiling with barely open eyes as you’re still pressed against him. No matter how much you’re going to insist this was his fault he’d still mock you. Nuzzling in since you insist on cuddling so much.

Peter Parker:

There’s a time limit next when sitting next to Peter. You have ten minutes before his head finds your shoulder. If you don’t shrug or lean away he’ll stay there, slowly leaning in until he’s all settled.

Although not completely asleep he does rest. If your hands are held in those moments you could probably feel his pulse slow down as his breathing slows. Maybe his eyes manage to stay open, but his eyes do get heavy. Someone could say his name, and he’d respond, but it be from his throat. An annoyed groan directed to whoever was ruining this moment. Even if it was usually a teacher or adult.

It’s only when traveling, and you’re sitting for a while, that he completely falls asleep. Progressing past just leaning his head and adding his arms. If you allow him, putting an arm around your back and the other over your center. With your own arm over his back, he sleeps in a position that, although sweet, always left a pain in his neck. Something he’d complain about until you ask if he want’s you to rub his shoulders.

Stephen Strange:

During aura projection Stephen’s body is dead weight. No muscles or bone working with the individual trying to help them. It’s just taken over by gravity and his entire weight wants to be on the floor. Sleep does the same thing.

Short of a bucket of water to his face he won’t wake up. Part of his experience in med school was taking every bit of use sleep could give him. Which leads to sleeping fast, and sleeping hard, usually opened mouth. No snoring yet, but the moment he does there’s an open target for shutting him up.

Matt Murdock:

It’s a mixture of meditation and caffeine that he is still functioning. Too busy, much too busy, as a lawyer for the two of you to share a bed most of the time. Making any comments you have about his sleep schedule mute.

Watching him doesn’t change give any information either. Coffee in the morning, some deep breathing and self-centering in the between moments at work, and sleep ins on days off were all you could gather. Between that it’s easier to just assume he’s fine.

Just laugh at his “not like I need to rest my eyes,” jokes and move on.

Carol Danvers:

After going through every time change known to man, alien and beyond Carol has developed a very specific still. Carol Danvers, woman with the power of a star and to sleep literally anywhere at any time. Be it a cleared-out corner of some ship, an open floor that keeps her hidden from passersby or on your lap. The latter being her personal favorite.

Like a massive golden retriever, she wants to be in the middle of your lap. Close as possible with a arm holding around your shoulder and the other on her toy, or phone. A being of wiry muscle and heat keeping you pinned to the couch. Most of the time she’s out ten minutes into the movie, most of the time the remotes’ out of reach, and most of the time you gotta go pee.

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karimac · 3 years ago

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…in the details, Part 3

A/N: Warning for this series: 18+ audience (minors DNI), some cinematic level violence, some fluff and angst. Doubt that smut will be involved, but it may be implied. I’ll make sure that is noted clearly if it pops up.

All relationships, at this point anyway, are platonic.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

A bit about the OC Kari

Part 1

Part 2

All mistakes are my own.

Word count: 3,556

Well, that was not exactly the best idea, was it?

Dr. Darcy Lewis, unlike her colleague, Dr. Erik Selvig, was not a big fan nor an authority on any form of mythology. And the Irish history ask was a longshot at best.

So, here you were, in the coffee shop smack dab in the middle of Westview, talking to Dr. Lewis and getting nowhere fast.

“And, that’s not happening,” the astrophysicist grumbled as she set down her phone and took another sip of her beverage. It was some weirdly sweet concoction that looked like what humans thought rainbow-colored unicorn poop looked like. This world was not ready for what real magical beasts looked like. Most authors had not gotten all of that right in their books. No surprise there. No human really needed to see such things on a daily basis, and whoever had been the muses for those authors had covered up a lot.

“I take it Dr. Selvig has no clue on the Celtic Pantheon?” you asked as you sipped your very boring, light, non-sweet hot coffee. The barista probably wanted to laugh when you ordered it, but he did his best to stifle his snicker. “It was a very long reach on my part, Dr. Lewis. I’m sorry I roped you into this.”

“You can call me Darcy because you actually acknowledge my academic status,” the brunette said as she flipped her phone over again. “So, Thor is off in space. You don’t want me calling Falcon or his pal with the metal arm. Captain Marvel isn’t on your contact list. Ant Man and The Wasp? They can be sort of science geeks, right? Wait. Banner? Is he OK to call?”

Before you could open your mouth, Darcy was texting Banner off her own phone. “You know Bruce?”

“I met him at some meet and greet at MIT before the world went poof,” Darcy replied as she set her phone back down and seemed to be praying Banner would actually return her text. “Stark was there, too, but Banner was the one I got coffee with. Sweet guy, you know, even if he gets all green sometimes.”

As you sipped your coffee, you noticed a few people giving you odd looks. It made you very nervous. “Maybe we should finish up and get back on the road?” you asked Darcy as you quietly motioned toward the other patrons getting their daily fix of caffeine.

“Yeah, bubbe isn’t answering me anyway,” Darcy said as she picked up her phone and got up from her chair. By now there were several residents blocking the exit. “What is your problem? We paid. We’re busing our table. Then we’re leaving.”

“Are The Avengers going to hunt her down?” one woman in the back of the group asked as Darcy looked back toward you and mouthed the word “Help” before turning back to the crowd. The questioner was loud, but you couldn’t see her because of the big delivery man standing in front of her with a huge pile of Amazon packages. “Why did you come back?”

It was time to vamp. With an apparently faulty memory, this was going to be interesting.

“Before you all ask about what is going to happen regarding Wanda Maximoff, I want you all to know I have no authority to speak for The Avengers. I have never been a true member of the team. I helped them at a time when things were beyond bleak for this world. It was an honor and a privilege. But I am not a spokesperson. I am not a team leader.”

“Then why did you come here?” a man with glasses, holding a briefcase, asked from the line where he was waiting for his order. “Then and now?”

“I came the first time because I was looking for my friend. I was pulled into that nightmare just like you were. I wish I had been able to help her before any of this happened.”

“But you have powers, right? Couldn’t you have shut her down, hot stuff?” the first woman added as she moved to the front. Then you recognized her. Agatha Harkness. If Wanda kept her alive, there was a reason for it, and all the pain you had rising in your core had to be tamped down fast. Harkness had hurt Wanda, and that would have to be addressed one day. You were good at playing the long game.

“Taking her out in any sort of power stunt could have jeopardized your lives. I was not sure what she did to make it all happen, and I was not going to risk your lives. I’m sorry it wasn’t put to an end sooner. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to get to a meeting regarding the incident here,” you said as you and Darcy pushed through the crowd and back out to the street.

“OK, what was all that? Spin? Or are you remembering something?” Darcy asked as you got back into her car. You had left your rental on the outskirts of town. Better to travel as a unit until your business here was concluded.

“I remember a couple of things from that mess,” you said as you tried to keep your hands from shaking. “I remember Wanda and Vision’s sons. Billy and Tommy. I remember the house where I lived. Can we drive out to where Wanda had her house? Maybe that will help?”

Darcy pulled out of the parking space and made the lefts and rights to the lot where Wanda’s house had been. The one you were living in was in a lot right next to it. It was empty now, too, but you got out of the car anyway and stood in the center of the patch of dirt. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you tried to piece together what had happened. And then you started to cry as you fell to your knees.

“Whoa, slow down,” Darcy said as she ran and knelt beside you. “What did you see?”

“It’s weird. Wanda came over one day and more or less apologized to me because she couldn’t give me my real happy ending. I can show you, if you’ll let me…”

“Go into my mind?” Darcy protested before you could wave her off the idea. “No Vulcan mind melds for me today, thanks.”

“No, I carry this mirror, and you can see memories in it. Trust me, I do not use telepathy as a first line of anything. I tried it once, to help a friend, but it just caused more problems,” you groaned as you pulled the mirror out of your backpack. You waved your hand over it, and Darcy could now see what had happened with Wanda.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find them and bring them here,” the Sokovian said quietly as she walked around the 1980s version of what was your living room. It was way too pastel for your liking, but the hints of fuchsia, orchid and teal in the overall cream and light gray design weren’t so bad. You had a couple of cats there with you. One was an orange tabby with a penchant for eating tuna at any given moment. He was warm and affectionate and just a ray of sunshine dressed in fur. The other was as white as the driven snow, but his own cuddly disposition came through. He was the one who would leave you weird gifts every morning. Rocks, feathers, and yes, the occasional dead mouse would be at the foot of your bed each sunrise. You’d find out at the end of that nightmare that the cats were only constructs of Wanda’s chaos magic.

“I know you miss the three of them,” she continued as she pointed to a framed picture of Steve, Bucky and Sam, all decked out in appropriate 1980s clothes that made them look like they ran away from some cop drama. “It’s probably better that there aren’t too many Avengers here anyway. Vis is getting concerned. And this way, well, no one needs to know which one you would have chosen. I know. You know. So you can always talk to me. Like we did before. But I gave you the wedding ring to make sure no one came on to you. Just in case I can get him here soon.”

As you showed Darcy the memory, a tiny part of you was screaming that this whole scenario seemed wrong. You watched Wanda’s crimson glow float around you as she spoke. You vaguely remembered The Morrigan trying to kick some sense back into your addled brain, but Wanda’s world was much too enticing to let your other self come to the fore. You wanted the damned happily ever after with the husband and the house and everything that meant in the modern American ethos. You had rationalized things for years in such a way that you’d never let yourself get it. That was why no one was here to hug you at night like Wanda had Vision. Maybe that fact alone was enough to crack Wanda’s hold on you a bit more than she realized?

But you also had to admit that you wanted to be there for Wanda in case things went south. That much was clear from the moment you showed up in Westview the first time.

“How come you didn’t just zap her? Fight back?” Darcy asked as you fully shifted to the present day and paused the memory.

“Because she wasn’t wrong. I did miss Bucky, Steve and Sam. I missed Banner, too, because they were, in the end, the ones still here that cared if I lived or died. And Spider-Man. Which is random and weird, but he did. And frankly, what I said in the coffee shop was true. I had no idea what my powers would do to her spell. I could have leveled the town. That was not an option.”

“So, that Agatha woman…” Darcy started to say and then stopped. “Wait. That was her? In the coffee shop? That was why you were acting so weird?”

“Yeah. Wanda could have killed her or taken Agatha away with her to imprison her. She didn’t. After what Agatha tried to do to Wanda, to try and take her powers, Wanda had every right to finish her off. But Wanda doesn’t likely know all that yet. There are rules set up from ages ago. Things witches can and can’t do to each other under specific circumstances. So Wanda left her trapped here—for now anyway. But, whatever happened with them, it affected me, too. I got hit with stray magic blasts. I’m betting it messed up my powers in ways I didn’t realize. And maybe my memories as well.”

As Darcy knelt there, her phone finally chimed. It was some weird little R2-D2 chirpy beep, and she looked elated as she showed you the message. “Seems Bruce still cares if you are OK or not. I don’t think bringing him here is such a great idea…”

“Did anyone send him data about what happened here?” you asked as you got to your feet, pocketing some of the dirt from the lot before you stood up. “Air and soil samples? Readings from the residents?”

“I can get them for him. Trust me, Jimmy Woo and Monica Rambeau would be more than happy to help. I’m glad that loon Hayward seems to have gone into hiding or was hauled away to The Raft,” Darcy noted as she checked her phone again. “Seems the doc is working out of a Stark lab here in Jersey. Road trip?”

You really didn’t want to go see Bruce. You had no idea how you’d explain any of what you did to him.

++++++++++

You rehearsed what you planned to tell Bruce a million times in your mind as Darcy drove along the Garden State Parkway to a place called Woodcliff Lake. Stark Industries did indeed have a lab there, and it made you want to scream as you walked into the facility. You did not need yet another reminder that you could not save Tony Stark’s life at the end of that final battle with Thanos. That was part of why you were in this mess in the first place. It was also why you had a screaming fight with Stephen Strange, but no one else knew about that yet.

“Dr. Banner? We’re here!” Darcy yelled as you walked toward what had to be the research wing. The lack of security in the place was a bit disturbing, but then again, there were probably booby traps built into every square inch of the place. You could just hear Tony now as you got closer to the lab area. It would likely have been close to the speech you got the first time he talked to you at the compound.

“Hey! Lucky Charms! Don’t touch any of the expensive stuff. I guess that means don’t touch anything. I still have no idea why you are hanging around the team except that Steve wants you here for some reason. Maybe you’re tied to…his friend…and I just don’t want to face that? Still have issues with all of that, even if the man is dead. Pepper and Morgan said I should be nice to you, but I’m not quite there yet after what happened in Berlin. They are better people than I’ll ever be.”

“Earth to Kari?” you finally heard Bruce say as he waved his massive green hand in front of your face. Then he realized why you were likely spacing out. "Dr. Lewis, can we have a minute?”

“You can call me Darcy, if I can call you Bruce?” Lewis said as Banner nodded to her. “Cool. I’ll go find the little scientist’s room and be right back,” she added as she left the lab.

“So,” Bruce started as he pointed you toward a set of chairs at one side of the lab, “Darcy filled me in via text. I have no idea what happened with Wanda, and I know none of us know where she is. I did call a friend who wants to help,” he noted as a swirling circle of yellow light formed near the window that looked out over the parking lot. “I figured you’d listen to him, and he knows more about this stuff than I do.”

“What did you do?” Wong shouted as he exited the portal. “You usually listen to reason. Why did you go after Wanda all alone?”

“I went to help Wanda. She was hurting. She watched Vision die twice. She lost Pietro. I can relate to all that very, very well. My twin Branan died in front of my eyes, too, and I’ve buried two husbands. Both died in battle. I just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. But she…she hit all my vulnerable points. And she was under attack at the same time. From a woman named Agatha Harkness and from the director of SWORD. Some martinet named Hayward. He built another Vision. I think Hayward was using Wanda’s powers to bring him to life. Darcy is going to check in with some of the people who worked with her to get you more intel, Bruce.”

“Another version of Vision? Great,” Bruce muttered as he looked over at Wong. “As for this Harkness person…”

“The name rings very small bells, so I’ll need to do some research,” Wong noted as you bumped your left fist against your forehead. “What?”

“Harkness is a succubus. And she is old. Not as old as I am, but she is still a good 400 years old, give or take a day. She apparently survived the Salem Witch Trials. Wanda spelled her and left her in Westview. I think she is, at least in small ways, aware that her world is all wrong. I didn’t want to press it when I saw her in that coffee shop. We do not need an angry succubus flying around. Wong, they got into an aerial battle, and Wanda was using sigils, runes, whatever you want to call them, to focus her power. I think she picked that up from good old Aggie. I never showed her anything like that on purpose. I always suspected she had magic in her bones, but it wasn’t my place to start that fire. The bigger issue is that Wanda conjured up two children while she was there. She created cats for me, so anything is possible. I got knocked out by the end of the fight, so I have no idea what exactly happened in the end other than Wanda running off and Agatha being left behind for some reason.”

“And?” Wong asked as he started to look you up and down. “You did a spell? And it went bad? Your aura is all messed up.”

“I…I tried to do a spell so The Avengers would think of me less and less, and then eventually I’d just be a fleeting memory. I felt walking away in the dead of night, the thing I usually do when I am leaving town, would not be good enough. The spell got botched, and now I’m connected in some fashion to Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Looking back at it, I spent more time with them in the days leading up to my departure. Steve and Bruce were there the day I left, and so were Sam and Bucky. And…I’m carrying a lot of guilt about Bucky after his accident in 1943.”

“All this on top of the magical circus Wanda made? Are you insane?” Wong yelled as he started to pace.

“And the fight I had with Stephen on the day of the battle. Yeah, I guess I am insane,” you replied as Wong threw up his hands. Bruce had gotten extremely quiet, and that was not a good thing.

“Before we get to dissecting your spell, Kari, was this because of what Tony said? About you not being an Avenger because you were…?”

“Unstable? Yes. And the fact I could not bring anyone back from the grave, especially during that last battle. And the fact about who killed his parents. Buck did while under Hydra control. Steve found out and never told Tony. I ran into The Winter Soldier a few times over the decades, so there was the chance I could have prevented their deaths, too. Tony really had no reason to ask me to join the band.”

“Once we get your spell problem sorted, then we will address this, too,” Bruce said as he looked toward Wong and shook his head. “I loved Tony like a brother, but he was wrong…”

You winced a few times as you tried to listen to Bruce and Wong, now joined once again by Darcy, as they tried to figure out how to fix or reverse that spell, and they hashed out what might have happened to you during that first trip to Westview. You were really trying to focus on their questions, but you felt a tug that no one else could ever have possibly felt.

“Baltimore,” you mumbled as you pulled out your cellphone and debated texting the person you felt tugging at that damned invisible string. No. That would have ended badly, especially since your original spell had gone haywire.

“Bucky Barnes was arrested?” Darcy asked as she showed you her phone alert. “I bet he punched that new fake Cap in the nose. Sorry, but that guy looks like he has no clue. I saw him on Good Morning America. Total cheese fest.”

“Wait. What?” you asked as you took her phone. “Sam didn’t keep the shield? I just hope Bucky didn’t punch Sam and wind up in jail for that!” You gave Darcy back her phone and looked at yours again. It was buzzing. “Anyone here know who the hell is Christina Raynor?” you asked the trio in front of you. No one had any clue about that. You hit the speaker button as you answered the call.

“Hello? Ms. MacOrish. I’m James Barnes’ therapist, Christina Raynor. Sam Wilson said I should give you a call and ask you to join us in Baltimore. As quickly as possible, if you can. I don’t think Mr. Barnes wants to spend the night in a holding cell.”

“Oh no, you are not going to Baltimore,” Wong said as he crossed his arms and got a stern look on his face. “Not while your head is all over the place. You could portal to Baltimore in the 1800s for all you know. You could end up eating lunch with Lord Baltimore in the 1700s. You really shouldn’t do this.”

“Wong, what better place for me to go than to see a therapist?” you said with a smirk as you opened your own portal, this one a lovely shade of emerald green, that went to where Raynor was waiting for you—outside an interrogation room at the city jail.

“Mr. Wilson said you’d be fast. He did not tell me you were one of the powered class,” Raynor said as you went through the portal, looking back to wave briefly as you heard Darcy’s last comment.

“What about your rental car?”

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