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muniimyg · 1 year

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24 | shit

series m.list

note: you guys all knew this was coming right? ... the end is near... please forgive me for the upcoming slight angst/frustering times to come lol </3 we must go through them for the sweetest ending ever !!! i rlly said: UPDATE UPDATE UPDAYSYEJSJ. i’ll be closing the taglist by next ch ,, so this is your last chance to be added! thank you guys for reading,, i hope you enj this ch as much as i enj writing it 🤣 it was def a ✨moment ✨

💭 fave spicy line? BAUHWAHAUAA

💭 fave type of yoongi in this fic?

warnings: smut !! yoongi fingers oc ,, squirts ,, baby dirty talk & almost fucking :)

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “your universe” // please DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

taglist: @yukiehyukie @tarahardcore @bbsantc @jeonqkooks-main @whoa-jo @ellesalazar @exhibitachol @pamzn @floweryjeons @boraength @4ksj @joonsjuice @taegijns @avtrns @taegix94 @bloopkook @jihopesjoint @firesighgirl @vantxx95 @damn-u-min-yoongi @yoongukie-ff @hopeworldjimin @thisisaburnphone @pb-n-juju @xjiminsthighsx @miss-rainy-days @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase @whitefoxgirl @slutforheeseung @lovelytaes-blog

The party tonight is packed with so many bodies and faces you could care less about.

All you care about it Yoongi.

You’ve only been here 40 minutes before him yet it feels like 40 minutes too long.

It started off innocent.

It was just you laughing along to their jokes and genuinely sharing about your life.. Then you felt the buzz of alcohol kick in and suddenly someone’s body was pushing onto yours. You blink and find Yoongi shoving someone to the wall and yelling in his face. Everyone begins to crowd around and cheer as you slip your way in between the two and beg Yoongi to take a step back.

His furious eyes soften when you say, “Yoongi, I’m here. You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

No.

Of course, he wouldn’t.

Yoongi drops his fists and uncurls them. You gesture at him to take deep breaths with you.. Even tipsy, you were still such a preschool teacher. It warmed his heart but also angers it. How could you be so patient even in times like these? Times where a warning shove and spiteful words should be exchanged for the sake of your respect.

He doesn’t know what to do. He breathes in from his nose and sharply exhales in a pissed-off manner. “He deserves this.”

“You don’t,” you promise him. It’s painfully true. Yoongi doesn’t deserve to go through such angry emotions that clog up his relationship with you. Contrary, you don’t deserve to feel this uncomfortable between the two. “... I don’t deserve this.”

It’s then that Yoongi realizes how many eyes are on you three. How childish and immature everything has quickly become. You aren’t even his girlfriend and you already have him acting as if he’d kill for you… Which, let’s be clear; he would.

“Take a breather,” you beg him before swiftly turning away to check up on the guy he pushed.

Before you can say anything else or even check on Yoongi; he’s already halfway gone upstairs. You huff and turn to the guy whose name you can’t even remember.

“Look at what you did,” you mutter to the guy who is still trying to catch his breath. “You made my boyfriend upset.”

By the time Yoongi finds himself in the bathroom, he locks the door and sighs heavily. His head is spinning, not knowing if he’s in the wrong or in the right. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. If it’s not about you or for you—what is he doing? These days, it’s all about you.

Everything aches.

His heart, his head, and his knuckles all ache. His knuckles are a little red already but there are no cuts. Opening and closing his hands, he rolls his wrists to check on them. They feel a little tight but he’ll get over it.

Yoongi leans towards the sink, turns on the tap, and splashes his face with the running cold water. It refreshes him instantly and calms his boiling blood. Turning the tap off, he lifts his head and stares at himself in the mirror.

How did he get here?

Just a few months ago, you were the one chasing him. You were the one flooding his phone with random updates and thoughts. You were the one showing up to his practices. You were ignoring the swimmers and now—now you’re all they can look at. Now you entertain them and it hurts because you’re allowed to.

You’re not his.

You don’t even flirt with them! Yoongi knows you well enough and is confident that you could never do such a thing to him… It’s just the fact that it’s not you that he can’t trust; it’s them. It’s their impulsive thoughts and greediness that Yoongi is well aware of. Why? Because he has a dick too.

Because he likes you too.

Because maybe, deep down, Yoongi knows he’s just like them.

Just as Yoongi begins to dig into his thoughts more, they are interrupted by the sound of your aggressive knocking.

“Aki, it’s me,” your frail voice calls out for him. “Let me in, please..”

And just like that, Yoongi folds.

He takes a step towards the door but hesitates as his hand wraps around the door knob. Yoongi wonders if this is the best state for you to see him in right now. He’s so confused and consumed in his own feelings—could he see yours? Could he consider yours? Could he be yours?

He wonders for a minute.

You, on the other side, bite your tongue and hope he’ll let you in.

Just as you’re about to knock again, the door swings open and you feel him grab onto your wrist and pull you inside. You yelp at the quick movement. You’ve sobered up by now, fully aware of the tension and happenings. You weren’t that tipsy anyway.

“Why’d you storm off like that?”

“You told me to leave,” he snickers.

It’s partly his fault. He listened too quickly to you. Usually, he’d stay. He’s not the type to leave a fight he starts.

You shake your head to oppose his comment. “I asked you to take a breather.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Same shit… Why’d you follow me?”

“You left me.”

His shoulders drop and his eyebrows knit together in concern. He didn’t realize he left you with the same guys he was fighting off your body.

Idiot.

He’s such an idiot!

“Are you okay?” you ask him, quickly noticing the irritated look on his face.

He’s leaning against the wall, just staring at you. You’re against the sink, tilting your head at him. You’ve never seen Yoongi look this… Small? He looks so unsure. He looks so needy and just so… You don’t know. This is the first time Yoongi has ever looked at you like this.

This is the first time Yoongi looks at you like he needs you.

He moves closer to you. You straighten your posture and secretly inhale his scent. Nothing beats being close to him. You wish it could be like this all the time. How every part of him takes over you and just becomes a part of you… You wish this could last forever.

“I hate that shit,” he begins, voice already so fragile. You look into his eyes, chasing them for some sign of calm. Instead, all you see is a blurry chaos. In his eyes, you see so much desperation, devastation, and disappointment. It makes your stomach turn and you aren’t sure if it’s in a good or bad way. “I hate that they feel entitled to you. I hate myself sometimes because I feel entitled to you. I hate—”

“I’m yours,” you blurt, cupping his cheeks and pulling him close. “You’re allowed to feel entitled to me. I get it. I feel entitled to you too.”

He rolls his eyes, unable to stop his pettiness from arising. “Whatever. Shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?” Yoongi remarks the swimmers downstairs. God, when will they ever leave you alone?

“I’m pretty sure I am with him,” you tease.

Yoongi blushes and fails to hide it. “... Okay.”

“Okay?”

Biting his lip, he pulls away from you. “H-how do you do that? How do you piss me off and then pull me back in the moment you open your annoying mouth and say the dumbest shit—”

“You’re clearly upset,” you interrupt him. You hop on top of the sink counter and cross your arms. Offering him a sympathetic look, you ask, “do you want to regulate your emotions? Are you in the green zone, blue zone, yellow—”

“I’m not a child, ___.”

You laugh at him. “Then stop acting like one!”

“I am not your preschool student. I’m a fucking pissed-off boyfriend—”

“Mhmm?” you catch him in the heat of the moment. “What was that?”

Yoongi pauses and clears his throat. Did he just say that? Fuck. He hates that he has to correct himself. “... Eventually your boyfriend.”

“Mhmm.”

“Mhmm?” Yoongi glares at you. All this tension for you to be fucking around with him like this? Two can play this game.

Yoongi then comes back to you. Closing in on you, you spread your legs for him to fit in between. He snakes his arms around you, making you arch your back. Tonight, you’re wearing one of his favourite skirts. It’s a white pleaded one and it makes you look so angelic. He’s always wanted to do this. He’s always wanted to shove himself up your pretty little skirt and ruin you.

Thank god for your annoying little mouth.

It gives him an in.

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. You breathe heavily, taking in his scent once again. Before you know it, you feel his hands travel to your thighs and his index fingers twirl the thin fabric of your flimsy skirt.

“You’re mine?” Yoongi asks you, “prove it to me.”

You nod, eyes locking with his. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let him scrunch up your skirt to your stomach. Helping him, you put your hand over his and hold your own skirt up. Yoongi smirks at your obedience and tilts his head cockily.

You aren’t sure if it’s the slight buzz or the fact that your absolutely throbbing waiting for him to do something... But you give in. How could you not?

“Good girl,” he whimpers before dipping low to kiss your lips.

Your lips melt onto his so easily.

Just as sweet as the first, Yoongi takes his time sucking on your tongue and dragging the kiss intensity. It’s so wet and lewd, you practically feel his boner breaking through his jeans. As he kisses you, his lips travel down to your neck and your collarbone. Throwing your head back, you lift your other hand and place it on top of his bulge.

“Fuck,” Yoongi struggles to keep it together. He sucks on your neck, letting your soft moans encourage him to leave a big hickey. He loves the way your hands rub him and how small they feel against him. Soon, your hands travel under his shirt and then around his arms.

When he’s done leaving a mark, you hiss at the touch of his thumb rubbing against your panty. You two quickly exchange looks before you bite your lip and nod at him slowly. He takes this sign and finds the hem of your underwear to pull them down not even a second later. Scrunching your underwear in his hands, he places them beside you.

You let him push on your stomach for a moment, causing you to lean against the mirror. In this position, he gets a clearer view of your pussy. Yet, he doesn’t look at it just yet. Instead, he tugs on the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off,” he commands you. You shake your head teasingly. “Why not?”

“You didn’t say please.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Yoongi cries. “I hate you.”

You giggle in response. “I’m waiting—”

“Please let me see your tits, ace.”

You shrug. “Why?”

Yoongi’s shoulders drop, unamused by your behaviour. He huffs, “hey, how long do you think I have before my dick explodes?”

Laughing, you playfully shove him. He sticks his tongue out at you and pulls away. You frown as he pushes your legs together and turns his back on you. About to leave, he suddenly gets hit on the head with your bra.

Did you just fling your bra at him?

Turning around, he’s greeted by your bare breast. You pout and pat your lap. “Come back. I’ll be good, aki.”

Yoongi nods, eyes closed with a tired expression. “Fine.”

You gasp at his reaction but quickly forget the negative feeling as he cups your breast with his veiny hands. Spreading your legs again, he takes his place in between them. There, he buries his face into your boobs and licks them.

You moan.

“Argh, g-get on with it,” you whine.

Yoongi blinks. “Say please.”

You’re dumbfounded and Yoongi feels awfully prideful.

“I’m waiting.”

“P-please,” you choke, reaching for him. He lets you touch him. “I’ll be good.”

Yoongi takes your word for it.

You two pick it up from where you left off. He bows his head and then spits on your pussy. Your breath hitches, feeling his saliva run down your folds. Yoongi wastes no time, dragging his thumb to massage his spit in.

The bathroom is filled with heavy breath exchanges as he begins to stick his fingers inside you. There’s no warning and you can’t lie; it felt a little discomforting in the beginning. His fingers at long and thick, ultimately making you need a little time to adjust to the stretch and burn. Once you get used to it, it’s completely pleasurable.

It feels so good—so rewarding.

He knows exactly what he’s doing too.. Watching every little reaction from you and feeding off his skill of being a quick learner. He notices what you like best and how squeezing your breasts every so often adds to your experience.

Circulating inside you, he pumps them in and out. His speed is exactly what it needs to be at the moment. Meanwhile, his ego continues to skyrocket from your whimpering and gasps. Yoongi curls his fingers inside you and looks up to watch your facial expression. Your eyes roll back and flutter to fixate on his lips. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration; completely getting lost in the sensualness.

Yoongi fingers you deep and fast. It gets more and more intense and before you know it, you’re uttering his name. “Y-Yoongiii,” you sob. “I’m g-gonna—nghh!”

He pulls out his fingers when he feels your walls tighten. Instantly, he slaps your pussy and sneaks in a few rubs against your clit. Before you know it, you wince at the sudden relief of release.

You squirt.

Yoongi takes so much pride in this. He moans, leaning against your forehead again and watching your stomach twitch. Followed by that, your breasts bounce from the overdrive. Your lips have become puffy from all the kissing and lip-biting. There’s so much sweat between you two and he can’t help but love how sticky everything feels.

He pauses, letting you catch your breath. After a moment of silence, you sit up and pull him towards you. Without exchanging words, you unbutton and unzip his pants. His boxers cover his length and it makes you so much more hungry and desperate.

As you peel off his boxers, Yoongi breathes; “do you really want me to fuck you in a bathroom?”

You blink at him.

“W-what? Why not?”

He shrugs, watching you take his dick out. You pump him and run your thumb across his angry tip. Yoongi’s body shivers and he can’t help but mutter your name.

“Fuck, ___.”

You smile, loving the way he reacts to your touch. Even if you feel a little exhausted from your turn; you couldn’t miss this. You refuse to.

He moves close to you and stretches your folds. Then, he places himself in between them and shares one final look with you before he brushes his dick up and down your entrance.

“Don’t tease,” you beg. “You’ve done that enough today.”

He chuckles at your desperation and feels his heart clench. “Whatever you want, ace. You have it. You have me. I’m yours.”

With that, you reach up to kiss him. As you two kiss, and just as he’s about to push himself, knocks abruptly interfere.

You two turn to the door and watch the door knob shake. Yoongi pulls away, tucking himself back in. You reach to your side and put on your underwear and bra. Fixing yourselves up, you two sigh at the sound of Jimin’s voice on the other side.

“Yoongi, you fucked up one of our swimmer’s shoulders! He can’t compete at our next meet! I hope ___ blue balls you, you bitch! I won’t let you two fuck because of this!”

After that, Jimin continues to yell and knock on the door. Yoongi groans, hating his friend more than ever. Looking back at you, he watches you compose yourself. You fix your hair, adjust your clothes, and catch your breath.

He offers his hand and helps you off the sink counter. Your legs still feel a little weak, so you stumble. Yoongi catches you before you can fall and holds you tight. You thank him for helping you and clear your throat to break the awkwardness.

“You sober now?” Yoongi’s voice is dry. He feels a little parched and imagines you feel the same.

“... Y-yeah,” you nod, snapping back to reality. “Thanks f-for that. W-we should head out… Jimin probably wants to talk to you anyway, so I’ll head out first—”

Yoongi catches your arm and holds you still. “No goodbye kiss?”

Your eyes widen.

After all of that, he still wants to pull this kind of bullshit? You can’t help but feel it to be endearing though. Giving in, you quickly kiss him on the lips, unlock the door, and push past Jimin.

Jimin glares at Yoongi and shoves him. “Bro, you fucked up one of the sperms shoulders! I fucking hate you—”

Yoongi stands in the bathroom, watching you leave. He can’t hear anything Jimin has to say and honestly? It doesn’t matter to him right now. All that matters is you..

Yoongi doesn’t even know where you’re going, but he is sure to follow soon enough.

There’s no easy way to describe how he feels about you. How intensely he yearns for your attention or how much it aches to be yours for a moment and then left in the dust the next.

It bothers him so much to watch you walk away… It’s a sight he can’t seem to swallow. Instead of fighting what he thinks this is; Yoongi gives in to the very thought that has been running through his mind since the very first moment you stepped into his life.

“I think I love her.” Yoongi confides to Jimin.

“No shit...” Jimin responds, sighing in defeat as he lets Yoongi slip through the door and follow you into the crowd.

#yoongi smut #yoongi fic #suga smut #bts smut #suga x yn #yoongi x yn #yoongi college au

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accio-victuuri · 7 months

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Weibo HS entries have been very fun today, lol omg. Sina Weibo is never on my good side but there are days like this that i am very amused. 😂😂😂

So earlier today, the entertainment hs was blowing up with Ren Min’s name because of her dating scandal. A paparazzi, released video evidence confirming that she is dating a director. So the top searches were all her name or that director, or both. I really don’t approve of celebrity’s relationships getting outed like this but what can you do. Then XZ gets into the mix, remember, She’s his co-star in Yuguyao / The longest promise. The reason why is kinda funny tho:

Their CP supertopic has changed their avatar into the words “fake” like what most accounts do when denying a rumor or melon, they stamp this word on it. It’s because of what came out, if RM is in a relationship, then their ship is not SZD. Which I think is not necessary, you can pair people up and continue to do so but not believe they are real. For example I love Dilraba and YY because of YAMG, but I don’t think they are SZD.

I’m not even mad when drama related CPs pop up or whatever co star the boys acted with. I mean, XZ & WYB started out like that too. It’s all good as long as they do not overstep and cause trouble and bad press for the boys. Poor XZ tho, suddenly getting dragged into this. Everyone should just focus on the 15 photos his studio released. It’s beautiful ♥️

NOW MOVING ON TO WANG YIBIS,

I already talked about the cpn implications of his photo today and meaning of the hashtag he used over here. The tag being 3rd on main HS, even tho if you look at the posts and the popular ones, WYB’s is the highest by a huge margin. So we know who gave traffic to that propaganda 😂 Please don’t use him for your rumors and to reach your KPIs, he will only work for free when it comes to the government’s projects.

On entertainment, he’s also there for other reasons, i’m capping it pretty late but it was much higher hours after he posted the photos. 📷

but my favorite is this one, which as of writing is not on the top 50 anymore. the initial post was that WYB’s photos were taken in Inner Mongolia. What’s hilarious are the comments 😂😂😂😂

everyone of the top comments are clarifying it’s because IM is a possible shooting location for Mermaid. what??? Why are they so defensive??? Can’t the account be saying that cause they wants fans to know where it is and maybe the fans can go and visit??? what are they clarifying for 👀

even a wyb fc account suddenly posted lol yet another “clarification”.

The lady (ies) doth protest too much, methinks.

It’s so obvious why they are saying this. Their CP alarm bells are ringing. I swear, these solos can deduce better than us. They saw our IM clowning so they decide to do this “damage control” lol. We know about Mermaid being potentially filmed in IM. We have been clowning since then so whatever explanations on the table is futile. I don’t think they will ever understand how to operate. Ignore CPFs. There is no sense in washing. CPN is all fake and speculation anyway. It’s not our fault. It is WYB who posted that and fed our clown minds.

and I think it will be so much better to post about that place and how yibo looks etc than make a clarification. they ( solos and other fans who have beef with us ) all say BXGs are “delusional” / “irrelevant” etc but they can keep on stalking our accounts and talking about us. In the meantime, we are still here, years later and THRIVING. 💛

#personal #yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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romeulusroy · 11 months

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Dependence Pt. 5 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Alternatively Titled: We Ain't Angry At You Love, You're The Greatest Thing We Lost I am getting this lyric tattooed on my body I'm dead serious

Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Logan

Word Count: 1,879

Inspired By: You're Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: All I have is the snippet to listen to and it makes me sob every time. I'm thinking of moving 1k miles away from my family, from my home, from everything, and every bone in my body wishes they felt the way this song feels. Every nerve in my body wants them to feel this way. I hope they'll miss me that much. Anyways, it reminded me of Baby Roy and the Succession finale. Yes I did cry while writing, what about it lol!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 1 / Dependence Pt. 2 / Dependence Pt. 3 / Dependence Pt. 4

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

You’re gonna go far, he says into you, his arms tight around you. You try to stop yourself from crying. Again. Sniffling into him, into his shoulder. Everything about this moment makes you want to turn around. To call the whole thing off. But then, how can you call off an entire lifetime? Your bags linger at your feet, everything you could fit into two suitcases. You didn’t start out like this, the day didn’t start out like this, but as it progressed, as things fell into place, you realized there was no place for you. In their lives, of course. Connor promised you your old room again, if you ever wanted to visit. But this place, this apartment, this city, it wasn’t yours anymore. It wasn’t home. You’re not sure it ever was to begin with. You remember to call me when you land, okay? An,whenever you need someone to talk to, I’m always here. He has this shake in his voice, the kind that tells you he’s doing his very best to keep himself together. Composed. You can’t say anything, the words getting caught in your throat. Instead you just nod, sobbing into his sweater. He holds you tighter, rubbing your back. When he stops, he cups your face, meeting your teary eyes, wiping your cheeks. Pops would be so proud of you. He wouldn’t. He never was. But at some point you have to stop chasing something that never existed, something you can never have. You smile for Connor’s sake. Maybe he really believes it. Maybe he’s just saying it. Either way, you’re glad you went to him. You’re glad you told him. You’re gonna so far, you have no idea. He sighs, as if the words have been sitting on his chest for a long time. As if this is the first time in your life he’s felt real, genuine relief. You want to be held a little longer. You want to be loved the only way a father, a father by choice rather than blood, could ever love their child. Without conditions, without restraints, without a ceiling or a floor. Infinite. Beautiful. You’ll have to let go eventually, part ways, but for now he holds you like he did when you were an infant. Never could he have imagined the life you’d live. It was a fantastic surprise. You were a fantastic surprise.

You continue to awe him every single day.

You catch him at the bar, nursing a martini. Your hands begin to shake, but you settle them at your side, sitting beside him. You can do this. He wasn’t expecting you, sliding his drink away from you. You’re okay, you’ll be okay. You can be around it, you have to in order to say goodbye. He notices the luggage before you have the chance to say anything. Going somewhere? You bite your inner cheek. Yes, actually. He turns to you. His stitches have opened, the wound bright and red. Angry. You try to read his expression. There’s a hint of fear. He saw you in that bed, screaming, crying, begging not to be alive anymore. You knew he meant it out of love, but you couldn’t face it anymore. You couldn’t be looked at like that anymore. If you wanted a fresh start, a real one, you had to get away. You had to find somewhere with people who saw you for you, not your mistakes, not your darkest moments. Somewhere inside him, he understood that. Somewhere inside him, he wanted the same thing. Leaving for him wasn’t an option, though. Is that so? What does Mummy think about that? He sips his drink. You don’t want to roll your eyes at him. You don’t want to be annoyed with him. You’re not sure how long it’ll be before you’ll see him again. I, I didn’t tell her. I’m not telling her. He lets your answer settle for a moment. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. You never have been sure. Roman could be so unreadable, so unpredictable. You keep talking, trying to fill the silence, a lump developing in your throat. You’re speaking so fast, almost hysterical. You have to explain yourself. You have to explain yourself or you’ll die. I have to get away. I’m not sure for how long, I just, I can’t be here anymore. I have to stay sober and I can’t do that here. It’s not because of you, because of any of you, I want you to know that. I’m, I’m sorry if that upsets you or makes you ang- But he interrupts you, leaning over, hugging you. Not as tight as Connor. It’s as if he’s afraid to touch you still, afraid to hurt you. Gentle. You feel his muscles tense then relax. Whatever you gotta do, you do. Just don’t scare me like that again. You promise him it will never happen again.

It won’t. It doesn’t. The hurt from home doesn’t follow you, wherever you go.

You can’t reach the other two. You try calling, the deja vu twisting your stomach. The last time you tried to reach them, the last time. . . No. Stop it. This isn’t that. You’re better now. Shiv picks up, waiting for you to talk. You don’t care what happened. You don’t care what went down in that boardroom. You don’t care that he’s CEO now, that you lost. She’s your sister. The same sister that comforted you after nightmares, who iced your bruises, who wanted the best for you from day one. Whatever happened couldn’t change that. She gave you so many chances, time after time, and you let her down. You let everyone down. She still cares, she always would. You would, too. The words come up, out, before you can stop them. How much you love her, how much you’re going to miss her, how badly you need this, how much you wish you could be with her right now. You hear her take a sharp inhale in, a shudder in her voice. I’ll come and visit, yeah? Wherever you end up, I’ll be there, okay? You nod. Yeah, yeah of course. You can feel your eyes well up again. She was your big sister, the only maternal figure you’d ever known. It wasn’t your mother who shushed you to sleep at night, holding you close. It wasn’t your mother who gasped at the bruises you gave yourself in a fit of rage. It wasn’t your mother who climbed into that hospital bed with you when you were sick and scared and didn’t want to fall asleep alone. It was Shiv. You're Shivy. Your sister. Do you have everything packed? Always fretting, always worrying. Yes, Mom. You laugh. You know she’ll be a good mother. Maybe she doesn’t think so, maybe Tom doesn’t, but you do. She took care of you your whole life. She’s still trying to. You um, you have your chargers? Extra socks? Do you need me to- I’ll be okay, you interrupt. You’re both quiet for a moment, taking one another in. You can feel her wanting. Wanting to reach through the phone and kiss your cheek, to hold you so close your hearts beat at the same time. Wanting to keep you there forever, not wanting to let go.

She always knew this day would come, though. You’d always had big plans. You could never be confined like the rest of them.

You couldn’t reach Kendall. It went straight to voicemail. So you sat in the lobby of Waystar, trying to figure out exactly how to put it. Every thought in your mind, every thank you and I’m sorry and forgive me and I forgive you. Everything that’s ever sat between you two into a compact, meaningful message. You didn’t want to worry him, that was the last time you wanted, for any of them. You sat and watched everyone pass by. They were celebrating the new owner, one of the biggest deals they’d ever made. Some on their way to get drunk, others drunk already. Too much champagne. Finally, after a long time, you called again, listening to his voice play the message. Kendall, it’s me, you start. What next? You’re sorry. You’re sorry for putting them through all that you’ve put them through. The alcohol, the drugs, all those scary nights where they didn’t know where you were, if you were okay. All those nights where you weren’t sure where you were, if you’d make it out. You were sorry for calling him that night, for putting the blame on him if anything happened. You were sorry for blaming him. For not being the baby sibling he deserved. He deserved better, he expected better. I’m uh, I’ll be out of town for a while. You forgave him. You forgave him for all those outbursts, all those times he hurt you and Shiv and Con and especially Rome. You forgave him for turning into your father, the man you despised, the man you feared, the man you loved. I’ll be okay. I won’t, I’m not, I’m clean. I’ll stay that way. You loved him. You loved him despite the fear, despite the outbursts, despite the narrow path he chose to take. You loved him, and love him, because he’s your brother. He begged for you to stay awake, stay conscious. He wanted you to live even when you didn’t. That night, he looked like a ghost. I’m gonna miss you. A lot. Thank you for taking care of me, for loving me, for being there, you want to say. Thank you for being the best brother you could given the circumstances. Thank you for protecting me from him, from everyone. Call me when you can. I love you. Bye.

This isn’t some magic answer to your sobriety. This isn’t a cure. Hell, it might be you running away again. Who knows? But you can feel it, finally. The anger, the rage, the wrath. That burden starts to feel less heavy day by day. It won’t disappear completely. You’re a Roy, it’s in your blood, in your genes. But it gets easier to carry, to hold, to take with you everywhere. You don’t want to cave in, not as much. Sure, a strong drink would help, but you made promises. You made promises you’d like to keep. Promises to yourself and to your family. You’d call Connor when you landed, wherever that is. You’ll tell Shivy, too, so she can come and visit. You’ll check in with Rome and give Kendall another call. Hopefully this time he picks up. Hopefully this time you can have a real conversation, you can talk to him, really thank him for all that he’s done. But you know your place is not here. Your people are, they always will. That mausoleum will be waiting for you like it waits for them. Eternity you’ll get to spend by their sides. Now though, now you have the choice. The choice to get better. The choice to get away. The choice to be free. You’ll see them again, you always will. They’re your brothers, your sister, the people who raised you. You’ll see them again despite the distance.

They can’t get rid of you that easily.

#writing #connor roy #connor roy imagine #connor roy x reader #kendall roy #kendall roy imagine #kendall roy x reader #shiv roy #shiv roy imagine #shiv roy x reader #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #succession #succession imagine #succession x reader

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goldenlol · 24 days

Note

also this is sword anon again and honestly your cookie run art is partially why i wanna get back into it after a long time but i remember some drama circulating around that darkmilk has a significant age gap n stuff and in extension so does yammilk (ik your pinned post doesnt include them I just added that since that was part of the discussion) so whats your take on their age thing cuz idk what type of shipper you are lol

HII AGAIN LFMAOO BUT OKFG RLLYYY?? YAYYY

I don’t talk about milkyam cause I just don’t like the ship, or most of its shippers. I don’t like a lot of choco ships tbh..but all I will say, is milk would protect choco from yam BUT THATS IT. THATS ALL.

for me, I hc young prince as 15 and milk around the same age, idk maybe 13? I cant see how people think young prince choco was an adult...?? Yes she went out to find a sword by herself but I think she was only allowed that because she is a good fighter and can survive on her own, it’s obvious cacao had trust that choco will return safely.

She just looks tall or mature for her age ig?? I think it’s because how she was raised, never allowed to be a child and trained to be better but yea no, I fr can’t see her as an adult here

edit: I forgot to add but she still kind of had that “oblivious” mindset I guess? Believing she can save her kingdom and could change her fathers mind even tho he’s so stubborn and that mentality of being “a hero just like his father”, I’m sure thats associated w younger people because “ur just a child you don’t know any better”

after she comes back she sees what her father rlly is and basically calls him a coward. It’s fr someone maturing and seeing someone for what they rlly are, not blinded by the child mentality anymore and only seeing someone as perfect when they’re not at all (not saying cacao is a coward mb minty, but bro wasn’t the best father 🙏😔 I love cacao) but also choco is manipulated easily because of her weak mentality.. my girl.

I know a lot of people are iffy or just hate chocomilk and that’s alr ig but god pls enough w tagging the ship and making threads telling people to hate it.

I know someone whose too afraid to draw it because of what people say and I’m like !! I got you bro I’ll draw it for us!!

Also I don’t think devsis would even allow such a ship to exist if it was wrong?? (it’s funny cause they make art of it n even make captions like that one where choco and lico go to an amusement park together, w “don’t tell milk” )

also I just hate how mischaracterized milk is w choco... my god y’all are weird as fuck w him. Milk wouldn’t harass choco or stalk him pls stop that, it’s uncomfortable..

he respects his space and choco’s life. When he met choco in that cutscene, people took choco being “uncomfortable” around milk, he wasn’t? He was just shocked or just “?? Rlly??” Kind of reaction because this man hasn’t been told anything nice after he became “bad” or whatever, so having someone tell him that he was the reason they became stronger and “want to be just like him” is obviously shocking to her, she wouldn’t believe that she made someone life better because she thought she only hurt people and deserved to be hated and treated in any way.

Anyway yea, they def both met as teens, didn’t see eachother til adults and it’s obvious milk is in love w choco idc (me too bro)

this is long as fuck sorry but GOD I NEEDED TO SAY SHIT!!

Take the cute art tho I love them sm (I think choco just has the mentality that no one could love him after what he’s done so he doesn’t understand why milk faints all flustered n shit but the idea of her being oblivious is cute too 😭 fuck it shes both!!)

also what type of shipper I am?? Wym

#dark choco cookie #milk cookie #darkmilk #chocomilk #God bless goodnight

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juniperss · 1 month

Text

“First Steps First” Jessamine ‘Lark’ Waterson (OC) x Neil ‘Chick’ Harding

A/N: so I’ve really been wanting to write something for Jessamine and Chick for a while but was super anxious and self conscious about it for a couple of reasons. The first being that I don’t write much fanfiction anymore and the second is because I’m not wholly convinced I nail the atmosphere of period shows/movies. But this idea just wouldn’t leave my head so I’m biting the bullet and swallowing my doubts!

This fic takes place in episode 4 during Dye’s celebration party (I can’t get over Harding saying “single fillies”, okay?) and inspired by the song “First Steps First” from the musical Bandstand. The song they dance to is “It’s Been a Long Time” and I don’t care that this version came out in 1945, it’s my favorite LOL

also hey autocorrect pls stop changing Chick to Chuck, thanks

Word count: 1,730 words (😧)

Warnings: none, other than the fact I don’t know how the military works so please ignore inaccuracies🤡😂 this is about the FICTIONAL version of Col. Harding

I saw that you said it was okay to tag you in OC stuff @rosies-riveters, so I hope this is alright and that you enjoy!

“Pardon my brashness, dear

Seeing you standing here

Dancing's more customary

For a soirée."

As much as Jessamine Waterson took pride in her work as a nurse on the Thorpe Abbots base there was no denying the fact that it was grueling, emotionally draining and often went without the accolades that came with other roles in the war. And while most days she was just fine with that, today had been particularly tiresome and Jessamine was glad for the change of pace the evening’s festivities allowed. The anxious energy that had gripped every person on the airbase had been exchanged for easy laughter, jokes, and celebration. After all, it wasn’t every day a pilot and crew successfully flew 25 missions.

As she sat with Beth and Ginny, an American nurse and mechanic respectively, who had become two of her fastest friends, listening idly to them chat about the dances they’d returned from moments ago, it took much of Jessamine’s will to avoid allowing her gaze to linger for too long on the man who had just entered the room. She had spent months chiding herself for the way her heart started racing at the mere thought of Colonel Harding being so near and despite the effort she put into acting completely normal on the instances their paths crossed, she feared her feelings were all too transparent.

It was inconvenient to have a crush during war and even more inconvenient that it was on a man who was not only a good handful of years older than she was, but compounded by the fact that he was an American soldier. An American soldier who was dashingly handsome and confident, who had just looked in her direction and caught her staring. Jessamine busied herself with the drink in front of her trying to ignore the heat burning in her ears.

“Oh well that was just adorable.”

Beth’s voice with it’s charming southern accent was usually a source of soothing reassurance and good advice, was now riddled with mischief and good natured humor now that the two women’s attention was focused on their friend. “You know there’s no shame in a little flirting, a little conversation. Why don’t you go ask him to dance?”

Ginny nodded in agreement, leaning across the table, “It’s not like you’ve never spoken to him before,” before turning conspiratorially to Beth, “remember how she gave him pain medication for his headache that one time.”

Jessamine’s hands came up to cover her face, the full weight of her body resting on her elbows as she suppressed a groan and a laugh. Of course the two of them remembered the first time she had met the Colonel; a simple exchange of names and him asking for something for a headache. Jessamine, partly sleep deprived and partly fighting off the butterflies in her stomach fumbling with the bottle before spilling a handful of pills across the floor of the nurses station.

It certainly wasn’t necessarily the most romantic or charming first meeting on her part, but Col. Harding had only smiled before kneeling and helping her gather the runaways. There had been a quip about how she could’ve just said no that resulted in flustered laughter from her and another grin from him. And her friends hadn’t let her live it down since she confided about it to them the following day over breakfast.

“I’m surprised he said anything to me after that.” Jessamine admitted and revealed her face to her friends. Though there had been more interactions with the Colonel after that, they remained confined to mostly professional settings save for a few pleasantries while off duty. “And to answer your question, Beth, I’m certainly not going to bother him and ask for a dance!”

Ginny rolled her brown eyes and tossed her head back in a sign of exasperation, looking up to the ceiling pantomiming someone experiencing a great tragedy which in turn caused another round of laughter at the table. “Well, if he asked you to dance, would you say yes?” Beth finally asked. This time all the hints of teasing had left her friend’s tone and there was nothing but curiosity and sincerity.

Jessamine nodded slowly, allowing the fantasy to tease at the corner of her mind just for a moment but unable to answer because just as she parted her lips to reply another voice cut in.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Colonel Harding’s voice sent a rush of heat through Jessamine’s body and she felt her posture straighten. She pried her eyes off of Beth to glance up, up, up at the tall soldier now standing beside their table and found that, despite him addressing them all, he was looking determinedly at her alone. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could steal Miss Waterson for a dance.”

“You’re not interrupting at all, sir.” Ginny chimed in, eyes flitting from the Colonel to Jessamine, “In fact, we were just talking about how much Jessamine was wanting to dance.”

Oh, that Ginny was going to get stern talking to later, Jessamine promised herself, but at that moment she was already standing. Hardings’ hand reached out and enveloped hers as he guided her to the dance floor.

"Isn't the band sublime?

And as it happens I'm

Just in the mood to do

A two-step, Do step

Out on the floor with me.”

The two of them found a place surrounded by three or four other couples just as the band changed from the upbeat, two step to a slower tune that made Jessamine’s heart pitter faster. If Harding felt any nervousness at the now much more intimate situation the change of song put the two of them in, he didn’t show it. Instead he wrapped an arm around her waist with the ease and confidence of a man who knew what he was doing. Her breath hitching just slightly before she felt him placing the flat of his hand lightly, respectfully against her back.

Every nerve was firing at once, each hair on her arms standing on end, she was sure of it as her mind raced. She was trying to remember just how one slow danced fighting through the nervousness, when she felt the firmness of her foot under her own.

“I’m so sorry, colonel.” The apology came out high pitched and squeaky and with the attempt to pull away from the man in front of her. But Harding kept his gentle grip and shook his head.

“It’s not the first time someone’s stomped on my foot. At least this time it wasn’t on purpose. And Neil is fine, or Chick if you think Neil is too familiar.”

There he goes again, Jessamine thought, being so effortlessly charming and saving me from my own awkwardness. Sometime in the desperate squeak of an apology she had been repositioned to properly be dancing. One soft hand held in his much larger one, the other placed on his shoulder, and her face precariously close to his as she found herself peering up at him. The rhythm was easy to find with Neil leading and the familiar trumpet crooning at the stage and Jessamine had to fight to keep her eyes from closing.

“Might you be charmingly coerced

No need to be so shy

Take reassurance, I

Know how to guide you through

The worst steps, first steps first

“It’s not too late to admit you picked the wrong dancing partner.” Jessamine finally found her voice and the confidence to add just a bit of a teasing tone to it, a smile itching at the corner of her lips. Her cheek had come to rest just slightly against his shoulder as they swayed to the music and as a result her voice was slightly muffled by the material of his dress shirt.

“You’re selling yourself short. It’s been at least a minute since we’ve had another incident. You’re a natural.” Each time he spoke she could feel the rumbling of his chest against hers and her head felt dizzy with the warmth and solidity of him.

“And I’m certainly not going to say that after I finally got up the guts to come ask you for a dance in the first place.” Neil’s confession took Jessamine by surprise and she pulled back to look him in the eyes searching for any signs of jest but only finding an intensity that sent her stomach exploding into a storm of butterflies.

“You...you had to work up the courage to ask me?” The image of Colonel Neil Harding having to work up the nerve to ask anything of Jessamine was too comical to be taken seriously but there was no denying the truth behind his statement. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jessamine. And smart and successful. Hell, you’d have every reason to reject a dance from an old colonel like me.”

This was almost too much for Jessamine to take and she struggled to wrap her mind around his confession. All she could do was blink dazedly up at him as her cheeks flushed bright red. A smile broke out across Neil’s face and he laughed, arm tightening around her waist for a moment. “I hope that wasn’t too out of line and that I haven’t just read this entire interaction incorrectly. But your friends made it pretty clear to me earlier that you felt the same about me.”

Oh…oh…oh it was all coming together now.

Jessamine couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from her chest and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. His own rumbling laugh was mixing with hers and soon Jessamine had relaxed with the words of his confession replaying in her mind. The song faded and another slow ballad picked began, nothing but their breathing and the shuffling of shoes on the floor mixing with the music to fill the space between them. “So,” Neil murmured, dragging Jessamine’s attention to his face once again, “you do feel the same?”

This time, Jessamine didn’t shy away from the intense and earnest way he was looking at her. Instead she lifted herself up on the tip of her toes just enough to bring her lips to his cheek.

She would have words with Ginny and Beth about this. But later…after another dance.

Yes, after another dance with Neil.

#my writing #🏷️ my writings #oc: Jessamine ‘lark’ Waterson #jessamine x neil #mota ocs #mota oc #mota x reader #mota x oc #masters of the air x oc #Neil Harding #chick Harding #masters of the air #mota

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drurrito · 2 years

Text

'till i d-i-e

a/n: and here it issss, the final part of this universe -- I will keep my thoughts in the tags.

summary: You're not sure if you can hold on much longer.

warnings: torture, cursing, angst lol

----------------

You wake up, soaked, shaking and gasping for air.

“Wakey, wakey, Avenger,” the man grins, you’re usually awake and taking jabs at him as soon as he walks through the door. Exhaustion has kept you asleep for longer than you’d like to be. You’re wearing thin, you don’t know how much more you can take.

“What? No breakfast in bed?” your fatigued lips pull into something that looks like a smirk.

“Ah, you’re hungry! Here, let me start you off with some water-” he kicks your chair over and it begins. You’re just thankful he’s starting with something easy.

Honestly, none of this feels real at this point.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re already dead.

It’s fine, you never thought you’d make it to heaven, anyway.

You just feel guilty for not doing things differently--regret weighs heavy on your bones while you think of all the choices that led you here, alone and-

Afraid.

It’s not that you’re afraid to die, you’ve made your peace with that notion long ago. But there’s something unnerving, even for you, about dying alone.

Maybe the team thinks you are dead by now.

Maybe they’ll never come looking for you.

You never got to apologize to Wanda. You think she’s better off with Vision but it feels wrong knowing you just shoved her into his arms because she got too close.

You never got to tell Natasha how you feel. Hell, you never got to tell any of the team how you feel and that’s your fault. Vulnerability never seemed like a safe option for you, avoiding it for as long as you can remember.

But they were so good, so patient. They gave you the space you needed in hopes you would come around and warm up to them.

You never did, and that’s your fault.

Natasha was most persistent next to Steve and Sam. You hate how she always wanted to keep you included. You hate how she was always there to patch you up or put you to bed for the past few months. You hate that she kept showing up for you, because you don’t deserve it.

But you hate yourself more for trying to push her away. You stupidly kept your cards close to your chest and now you’re going to die without ever being truly known.

“Where did you go? Do you not like spending time with me anymore?” the man teases with a wicked grin.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” you remark with a rasp.

“You sound thirsty,” he bites, throwing the towel over you again. The man raises the water can in his arm but stops when he hears panicked knocking at his door.

“Excuse me,” he grumbles, heading towards the door. The man on the other side of the door sounds exasperated, then the alarms start to go off. The door is shut and you can hear the man approaching you with hurried steps.

“It seems our time has been cut short, Avenger,” he sighs, “I will admit, I am a little disappointed I wasn’t able to get you to talk, but we had a lot of fun, didn’t we?” He pulls you out of the chair and hangs you back on the ceiling. You can hear the chaos going on outside the room while the man calmly walks over to his cabinet and pulls out the dagger again. He quickly heats it with the torch and marches over to you with a wild look in his eye that would jump your bones in the worst way if you weren’t so damn tired.

“A keepsake, for you to remember me by, in case your ankles were not enough,” his grin sends a chill down your spine this time. He’s much too lively slashing and burning your chest while you wince and groan in agony, body too exhausted to react much.

You watch him exit down the hall, leaving the door open. You hang there, chest heaving and pain pulsing all over until you see it--a flash of red hair.

Relief doesn’t even begin to explain what you’re feeling now, it’s enough to drain the pain your body is drowning in. Natasha’s eyes meet yours and you’ve never seen a more beautiful shade of green up until this moment.

Steve rushes in to lift you off the hook and runs off, saying something about helping the others sweep the floor for more captives. Gentle, calloused hands cup your face as soon as you’re on the floor.

“Y/n, look at me,” Natasha begs, “stay with me okay? Stay with me.”

You crane your head enough to do what she asks and she realizes you’re in pretty bad shape.

You wheeze out a laugh, “I told you not to wait up for me,” is all you can say before you start choking on a cocktail of your blood and spit. Natasha asks if you can stand and you give everything to show her you can even with your legs shaking violently in protest. She hooks an arm around your waist and you make two steps towards the door before you collapse.

“M’okay, Tash,” you mutter against the concrete floor before trying to stand again. Natasha lays a firm hand on your shoulder to keep you down, you don’t see the worried look on her face as you continue to struggle.

“I got this.”

“Stay down, please,” she pleads and that makes you give up. She crouches down next to you while she waits for help, taking inventory of every wound she can find.

“My legs,” you mumble, her eyes flit to your legs before her hands do. She watches you for a reaction as she carefully taps and touches her way down your legs before she finally sees what you mean.

“Oh, y/n,” the pain in her voice makes you wince.

Sam is already running in, scooping you up in his arms to take you back to the jet and for the first time in a long time, you cry.

-----------------

You don’t remember much after being rescued. You were so exhausted you slept for most of your stay in medical. But you were never alone, always hearing at least one of your teammates settling in to stay with you in shifts. Things were quiet for the first two nights until your brain had regained enough energy to conjure up nightmares that made you wake up the entire wing of the hospital.

The rest of your stay goes by in a blur until you’re discharged. Steve is there to take you back to the compound.

“Everyone is excited to have you back,” he says, flashing you a smile before keeping his eyes on the road.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” you joke, he snorts a little -- not at all surprised by your commitment to keep things light, despite how you got here.

It’s not long until you’re pulling into the compound now, Steve rounds the car to open the door and help you hobble towards the compound doors, home.

----------------

Natasha is bursting into your room, charging towards you. She’s an oncoming train and you’re a car that’s stalled out on the tracks. You sort of wish you were still in the hospital.

“FRIDAY, remind me to start locking my door,” you close the book you were reading and set it down on your nightstand, “what’s up?”

“What’s up?” Natasha’s chest puffs up so quickly you’re sure she’s going to explode any second. “You’re a fucking idiot,” it comes out like a low growl from the woman.

“Are you just here to hurl names at me?”

“Where the <;i>fuck</i> do you get off shutting everyone out and then running off to almost get yourself killed?”

“I don’t-”

“I’m not done,” she bites, “You’re on a team,” she starts to pace around your room. Your breathing is shallow and quiet, you want to disappear into the mattress beneath you.

“We might not be your favorite people on the planet but--fuck, y/n!”

“I know you’ve read my file, Tash,” you spit back, “you know I wasn’t dragged in here kicking and screaming!” you get up too, only a few steps from being nose to nose with her now.

Natasha recoils, taking a few steps back. She remembers the grisly details of your life before the Avengers. A death-dealing mercenary since you were thirteen, kept in a cage unless you were sent away on contracts. On paper, you had every right to be this miserable, wrathful person. But she was met with bright eyes, an infectious laugh and a chin held sky-scraper high when she first met you. It was jarring, to meet someone who managed to bloom under the most heinous of circumstances. She likes to think of you as a flower that never dared to stop growing.

“We’re supposed to be heroes, right?” you break her from her thoughts, guns still blazing, “that’s what I was doing, I was being a hero. I was saving Bucky, and Steve, fuck I was saving the whole team if you really look at the bigger picture, Tash!”

“You are such a prick!” she huffs, her hands clench into fists as she walks toward the other end of the room. She tries to gather herself before speaking again, feeling as fragile as can be.

“You were supposed to come back,” her voice is pained, but it will not break, “I should have…I should have gone with you-”

“Don’t,” you warn, “Bucky was right there! I wasn’t going to let Steve lose him again,” you bite your tongue and try to steady yourself. You didn’t plan on dealing with this…with her…so soon.

“I would have done the same for you, for anyone on this team,” you say it with bone-chilling certainty.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she says, shoulders deflating, “when Steve told me what happened,” she can feel her voice decay and brittle with each word, “it seemed like…like you wanted to just-” Natasha chokes out a sob.

“Give up?” Natasha doesn’t answer, instead turning her head away to gasp for air and wipe away her tears. You can’t help but scoff. Unbelievable. Did the entire team write you off as a coward or just her?

“You think I keep putting it all on the line in hopes that one day I’ll get taken out, like that?” You snap your fingers to punctate your words and Natasha flinches.

“I don’t know how to not go full tilt on missions. I’m good at what I do for a reason. If I don’t get the job done by any means necessary then it means I’ve failed!” You bark out, feeling your chest crack and split open.“I’ve failed the mission, I’ve failed the team, and I’ve failed everyone depending on me. Why would the Avengers want to keep around some fuck-up. I wouldn’t!”

You sit back down and cross your arms, your leg bounces wildly to relieve some of the rude buzzing in your muscles. Natasha’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears that she’s holding hostage. The tension is packed thick, if anyone lit a match in the room right now the entire compound would be blown sky high.

“Durachok,” Natasha shakes her head with a gloomy laugh.

“What?” You whip your head towards her with a tense jaw. She sees your nostrils flare and laughs again.

“You don’t have to fight for a place on this team,” her voice is small and sweet now, it boggles your brain, “your life isn’t some kind of currency you need to throw around all the time to buy acceptance. You belong here, y/n.”

You let go of a trembling breath and bury your head in your hands while you try to get a hold of yourself. Every part of you is screaming that Natasha is lying, that she doesn’t mean any of it. You just want to scream and crumple to your knees but instead you straighten up and root yourself with a breath.

“I never knew what it felt like to belong,” your voice is frighteningly soft, “until now.” You’re looking dead ahead at Natasha and she can feel herself wavering. She’s waiting for a smirk, a joke, any of your usual quirks that would tell her you’re not serious. But you are.

“It scares me,” you heave a shuddering breath and Natasha has to wrestle every fiber of her being. She just wants to reach out and be there for you beyond just standing there like some dope.

“I don’t want to lose this feeling,” you close your eyes and squeeze your hands into fists, opening and closing them like that while focusing on your breath until you feel grounded again.

“I don’t want to lose any of you.”

“You won’t,” she takes a step closer to you, “I promise you won’t.”

“It’s funny,” your laugh is empty, humorless, “When I was down there, in the thick of it, I thought about how,” you sniffled, “if I died, the funeral would probably be shorter than the drive to the burial site.” your lips pull into a pained smile. ”I never gave any of you much to say about me, and that’s my fault.”

“Were you scared?” The words spill out of Natasha’s mouth before she registers it’s her own voice speaking.

“Fucking terrified.” you choke. Natasha doesn’t waste another second, she takes a seat next to you and pulls you in for a bone-crushing embrace. You just collapse into her, sobbing. You’ve lost count how many times you cried since you’ve been back, you don’t have the energy to care about that sort of thing anymore.

“Thank you for opening up to me. I know it’s hard,” she whispers against your temple.

“I’ll try not to make a habit out of it,” you joke, laughing to the sound of Natasha heaving the world’s longest, loudest sigh.

----------------

You’re emotionally spent when Wanda shows up at your door later that night.

“Hey,” she wraps her robe tighter around herself and fidgets with the material. Her eyes immediately fall to the fresh scars on your chest while you rub the sleep from your eyes. Her lips tick into a small frown and her arms twitch at her sides to reach out and graze the marks with her fingers. She never asked about the length of your injuries when you were still in the hospital. She was more focused on staying by your side. You were dazed and hardly talking, it was a version of you that she’ll never miss.

“Hey,” you realize she’s alone, no Vision in sight, “everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she tersely nods, “yeah, everything’s fine. How are you settling in?”

“So far so good,” you breathe, feeling weirdly nervous, “wanna come in?”

Wanda keeps fidgeting with her robe for a beat, she’s certainly no stranger to your room and doesn’t pretend to be as she brushes past you. You close the door with a soft click and stay there until you feel your nerves die down.

“I’m sorry,” you start, “I was a dick.”

Wanda blinks a few times, she wasn’t expecting you to apologize for anything right now.

“I was so scared of you,” you murmur. Wanda thinks this is some kind of joke, you always make it a point to say you never get scared. Now you’re admitting otherwise?

“Are you okay?” She asks, not expecting a real answer.

“I am, honest,” you leave the door and step closer to her. “I’m just…I’m sorry,” you apologize again and Wanda feels like her head is going to spin. “You were genuinely trying to connect with me and I just…did everything I could to avoid being vulnerable, even if it meant pushing you away.”

“It's okay,” she tries to soothe but you’re animatedly shaking your head, “it’s not,” you insist. “You made me feel seen,” you say quietly, “and I ran away from it.” You feel a lump in your throat but you keep it there. You need to feel this. You’re not pushing things down anymore.

Wanda can see the tears pooling in your eyes and it takes all of the air out of her lungs to see you like this. She’s only ever seen glimpses before. You were usually quick to shut down or deflect with humor. But now, you’re standing in front of her on the verge of tears, real tears.

Her chest aches, she takes a few careful steps towards you until she’s close enough to pull you into her arms. You let her, you missed this, you missed her.

“It’s okay,” she mumbles against your neck, “I forgive you.” She knows you need to hear it by the way your body sinks further into hers.

----

You stay up talking to Wanda for a while. She tries to catch you up but you didn’t miss much. Time at the compound screeched to a halt when you were gone. There weren’t any movie nights or team bonding activities. It was an all hands on deck operation to bring you back.

“They were gonna call Carol?” You ask, astonished that Fury would even green light such a thing.

“Natasha was hell bent on getting you back,” Wanda says with a small smile. She starts to play with the lapel of her robe, “she loves you, you know?”

You face contorts into a cocktail of confusion and disbelief. You want to try and say something about it but Wanda continues, “I think I knew deep down, when we were together, that you loved her back.”

“I don’t-” you sputter.

“It’s okay,” Wanda says for the umpteenth time that night, “I’m just wondering if you’ve said anything to her yet.”

Your shoulders slump and you sigh, “no, of course not.”

“You should get on that,” Wanda musters up half a smirk despite the soreness she feels in her chest. Vision makes her happy, he genuinely does. She knows she loves him the same way she loved you. She just can’t help but mourn what you two could have had if things were different. She has her answer though, there wasn’t much of a chance for her to begin with.

Wanda gets up from your bed with a yawn and you follow her to your door.

“This was nice,” she nods, her smile faltering.

“It was, I’m sorry it took me almost dying for us to talk like this,” you laugh and she lightly smacks your stomach.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she warns with a familiar tenderness that makes you feel warm all over again.

“I won’t, I promise,” you say it like you mean it. Wanda stands there for a moment before leaning up to press a kiss on your cheek.

“I really missed you,” she murmurs before walking down the hall. You stand there for a little longer when it sinks in that she wasn’t just talking about you being taken. She missed you, the real you.

----------------

Natasha wakes up to a knock at her door. She opens it to find your face understandably puffy and worn from today’s events. Your arms squirm against your sides and for a moment Natasha thinks you just woke up from a nightmare.

“I talked to Wanda,” you mumble. You’re not looking Natasha in the eye and she can feel a familiar pang in her chest while she tries to push that mental picture out of her mind.

“Yeah?” She tries not to sound so dejected.

You clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, “She helped me realize that I needed to take one more risk.” You take a cautious step towards Natasha and reach out to cup her cheeks before pulling her flush against you. She positively hums into the kiss and settles into your touch. Your lips take all the time in the world to drink her in. You feel a little dumb for taking so long to do this. That feeling is long gone by the time Natasha closes the door and slumps against your lips once more.

----------------

You recount the mission gone wrong at the next team bonding (and drinking) night. You admit to being scared, Natasha smacks Tony when he mutters something about being right.

You take the time to thank everyone for being so patient and kind, despite how hard you tried to push them away. Sam hums a little louder than he expected to and that earns him a look from Steve.

“I really feel like I belong here,” you say with unshakable confidence. You believe it, you honestly do.

“You do belong here, y/n,” Steve assures you, the rest of the team nods. You can’t help but smile, overwhelmed by the support and love from this team, your team.

“You always did,” Natasha reaches for your hand and squeezes it. You feel that warmth again as she pulls you towards the middle of the couch. Everyone else settles around you, Tony picks a movie from the queue before flopping down onto the couch next to Bruce.

You watch the movie with a team you’ve grown to love so much, finally feeling seen, finally feeling like you belong.

#this took a little bit of emotional labor ngl #but here we are and im so proud of finishing this series #shoutout to all of yall that came along and stuck around for this little series #i got more ideas obvi #i wont be adding any more to this universe (im like pretty sure)#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader

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joekeeryswife · 1 year

Text

Regretful 2 - s.h & e.m

Hello loves! i hope you’re all doing well. here’s the long awaited part two, it’s not good 💀 i just wanted to get something out. i honestly just hope it makes sense lol. please please please send requests! anyway, i hope you’re enjoy reading xx (part one)

taglist (remember to add yourself 🤍): @eddieamoremio @loverboy-poems @ladyapplejackdnd @alexxavicry @lovurry @juleshadalittlelamb @bibieddiesgf @plk-18 @caseyqdilla @Heyyimmissunderstood @m-rae23 (if your name has a line through i can’t tag you, please make sure you write the correct @. also please be specific!)

Steve was on his way to Family Video for his usual Saturday shift and he didn’t know why but the thought of seeing Robin was making him anxious. he knew he was wrong, he let his mouth talk before he could even comprehend what he was saying and now both you and Eddie were ignoring him. that fight had been over a week ago and he knew Robin would have heard about it from you.

Robin had made her own way to work as it was her turn to open up so when he walked in he wasn’t surprised to see her standing there with an angry expression on her face. “you are an absolute dingus” she said as soon as he entered Family Video.

he sighed and nodded his head “i know i know” he tried to shrug her off, he hated when Robin was right. “you do know that y/n is like the hottest girl in Hawkins and you say that to her? i have nothing against Nancy but jeez. can’t believe you fucked that one up”

Steve rolled his eyes and walked to the staff room so he could take off his jacket. Robin hadn’t left to follow him so he was relieved to get a few seconds of piece before he would be questioned all day.

he walked back out to see Robin sat on the counter like she was waiting for him to come back, with a less angry look on her face- it was almost sympathetic. Steve walked to the counter and started sulking as he looked at the door, hoping that maybe you’d come in so you could talk it out.

Robin felt conflicted just like Eddie but in a similar but completely different way. Eddie and Steve were also boyfriends but Eddie wanted to be there to comfort you but he also wanted to talk to Steve, he just didn’t have the time. but Robin was best friends with both you and Steve and it was hard to comfort him when it was his fault you were upset.

it was confusing for both Eddie and Robin. “is she still ignoring you?” Robin asked in a much calmer tone this time. he sighed. of course you were still ignoring him. “yeah. so is Eddie. i just- i know what i said was wrong. i didn’t even mean to say it. i don’t even love Nance anymore and here i am fucking up my relationship by bringing her up”

Steve was starting to get choked up. he missed you both so much and he can’t believe he said that to you. “look, maybe you should speak to them. do you wish y/n was Nancy?” Steve turned his body so he could face Robin.

“absolutely not. i love y/n, i don’t love Nancy anymore” he shook his head, he would always have love for Nancy but he was not in love with her. Robin nodded and he looked back at the door just hoping one of you would come in so he could explain himself.

“maybe you should go to them? or go speak to Eddie. he’s usually the one who works everything out” Robin suggested. Steve didn’t even think of that, yes Eddie was ignoring him but he hadn’t tried to contact him either. this probably was the best thing to try.

Steve was tired from the shift at Family Video but he knew he needed to listen to Robin and go speak to him. the trailer park wasn’t to far from Family Video so he wouldn’t have to drive for long. but once Steve arrived at Eddie’s trailer his nerves started to grow and he almost drove away so he didn’t have to face him- but he knew he had to so he could sort this situation out.

Steve took a deep breath in before opening the car door and making his way to the front door. it was like a breath of courage. he knocked three times and heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching the front door.

he could hear the soft sound of a random movie playing and Steve hoped you weren’t there- it meant he could speak to Eddie and see what he could do to work things out with you. Eddie opened the door and was shocked to see Steve standing there. “hi” Eddie said, moving to the side so Steve could come in.

“hi” it felt awkward as the two of them walked to the sofa. Eddie sat down and starched the back of his neck “i’m sorry, i was meant to call you” Eddie hated picking sides but calling Steve had slipped his mind and being with you as you tried to get your mind off of what Steve had said was difficult so the phone call hadn’t been made.

“no, it’s okay. i know you’ve been busy” Eddie nodded and an awkward silence filled the room. “how is she?” Steve broke the silence. he needed to know you were okay. “she’s uh, she’s doing okay. a bit quiet but yeah” Steve looked down at his lap with guilt written all over his face.

Steve was never one who could cover his emotions well. Eddie saw Steve internally beating himself up about what he had said to you and carefully took ahold of Steve’s hand to comfort him. “i don’t even know why i said it. she’s so much better then Nancy ever was and now i’ve just fucked it all up because i couldn’t shut my fucking mouth. she probably hates me”

Eddie watched intently as Steve spoke, he knew just by the look on his face that he wanted to see you and apologise for everything he did but the fear of you possibly breaking up with him was stopping him from even attempting to speak to you.

“look, she wants to speak to you but what you said to her really hurt her Steve. i guess she’s just as scared as you. she doesn’t hate you, she loves you.” Steve looked at Eddie with tears in his eyes. “did i really compare her to Nancy all the time?” Steve whispered and Eddie nodded. “shit”

“i’m gonna be honest i wanted to punch you in your face when you said that to her but i knew you regretted it. i’ll help you get her to forgive you just” Eddie sighed “just don’t say anything like that again. you really hurt her”

Eddie watched Steve’s facial expression slightly change when he said he’d help him and to Eddie that showed that he wanted you back and regretted everything he had said to you. “i’d never ever hurt her again” Steve said making Eddie nod his head. “okay then, let’s go get your girl back”

Steve and Eddie drove to your house in two separate cars (Eddie in his van) because Eddie thought it would be a good idea if Steve went inside your house by himself. it would be awkward for him to just be sat there whilst both his lovers sorted things out. Steve had bought you your favourite bouquet of flowers and a movie in hopes that after you forgave him you would want to maybe watch a movie with him, if not bringing the movie was pointless.

Eddie and Steve arrived at your house 10 minutes later and they both got out of their cars. “so what you need to do is just apologise and explain why you said it” Eddie tried to fix Steve’s hair but Steve swatted his hand away. “not the hair”

Eddie rolled his eyes but looked over Steve to see if there was anything else he could do to make him look smart-ish. Steve ran a hand through his hair to fix whatever Eddie saw wrong with it and took a deep breath. “okay so flowers, pretty in pink movie, looks like you’re all sorted” Eddie smiled at Steve’s nervous face.

“it’ll be fine Steve, just tell the truth. call me if you need anything” and with a kiss on the lips Eddie had made his way back to his van and driven off, leaving Steve on his own at the end of your lawn. “cmon Steve you got this”

he could see your bedroom light on and a few others around the house but only your car was in the driveway so your parents weren’t home. he took a deep breath before walking to your front door and knocking straight away.

it took a while for you to answer but after a few minutes he could hear the sound of your feet walking toward the door. you had honestly been miserable, constantly worrying that you weren’t good enough for both Eddie and Steve. no matter how many times Eddie reassured you that you most definitely were you still had the thought at the back of your mind.

you just wanted to know why Steve would constantly compare you to Nancy. you opened the door and was shocked to see Steve standing there with flowers and your favourite movie. “Steve what are you doing here?” you said, trying to sound like you didn’t care he was there. but you did. you cared so much that it hurt you.

“look, i know you probably don’t wanna see me and you probably hate me but i just wanted to come here-” Steve realised he was rambling and internally slapped himself. “can i please come in?” you looked into his eyes and practically melted. you nodded your head and moved to the side so he could come in.

you closed the door and walked up to your room with Steve following behind you. you sat on your bed and watched as Steve slowly sat in front of you, obviously being careful to not overstep any boundaries. you were silent and Steve took that as an indication to start talking.

“i’m so sorry y/n. i really am. i had no idea i was comparing you to her all the time. what i said was horrible and disgusting and i can honestly never forgive myself for hurting you. hurting you was the last thing i’d ever want to do and i went ahead and done it anyway. i don’t love Nancy, i never will again because i have you. you always show me what’s its like to be loved and you’re so caring and kind to people you don’t even know and you are just so amazing and i love you. i should have never laughed at you when you were telling me how you were feeling, relationships are about communication and understanding and i just laughed in your face and i am so sorry.”

you watched intently as Steve spoke and your heart fluttered, just by looking at his face you could see he felt guilty. “i’ve never felt loved before, i’ve never been shown affection and when you and Eddie came along i was shocked to be so cared for and to even be shown affection and i loved it. i just love you both, especially you and i just hope you can forgive me for what i did”

you felt a shy smile appear on your face as Steve spoke. his hand was holding onto the flowers for dear life and it made you almost laugh out loud. “are those flowers for me?” you smiled and saw Steve visibly relax. “shit- yes they’re for you. i was meant to give them to you downstairs” you giggled and accepted the flowers into your hold when he passed them to you.

“i really am sorry y/n” Steve’s voice was calmer now. “i know. thank you for your apology” you smiled at him and placed the flowers carefully next to you, making sure none of them would get squished. you sat up properly and took ahold of Steve’s hand. “please don’t ever compare me to her again, it really hurt me Steve. a lot”

Steve nodded and stroked the back of your hand softly. “i will never ever compare her to you again” Steve lent in and kissed you passionately, it was like he was making up for all the kisses he missed that passed week. “do you think we could watch pretty in pink now” you said when you pulled away from his kisses. Steve laughed and nodded his head “i guess we can” Steve got up and set up the movie, struggling with the VHS player but figured it out.

you moved the flowers onto your bedside table and moved over so Steve could lay down next to you. Steve pulled you into him and you cuddled. you could feel small kisses being placed on your forehead and that made you smile. you did miss Steve a lot. “we should call Ed’s” you said, taking your eyes off of the tv so you could look up at Steve. “no way. i wanna keep you to myself tonight” he joked and you smiled. “i love you Steve” he lent down and kissed your forehead “i love you more” you smiled, you were glad to have your Stevie back.

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attic-club-sandwich · 15 days

Text

I Can See You

mammon x shae

18+ Only; Minors DNI

cw: afab!MC, self insert. Lots of heavy kissing, making out. A little bit of dry humping.

Summary: Shae has been crushing on Mammon for a quite some time now, and she gets butterflies every single time she’s around him. One day at RAD, she passes him in the hallway on her way to class, accidentally brushing shoulders with him. They share a brief glance, faces flushed, before muttering a quick apology and hurrying off. Shae spends her next class daydreaming about what could have happened if she had just gotten the courage…

A/N: This is another song fic inspired by "I Can See You" by Taylor Swift. I thought it was a perfect song for another Shae and Mammon fic and the thought was bouncing around in my head for so long lol I hope that you guys enjoy! If you like this one, please check out my other song fic, Dress. It's my baby. I'm so proud of it. (this is me begging you to read it).

Tag List: @amberrskiies, @obey-me-posts, @sassykattery, @delphi-dreamin, @flemmingbamse

@a-hidden-gem

@otomefoxystar @marvelous-maniac @nonbinary-disaster @selfmadender @animeismyhappyplace

@vampire-tr4mp @ana-dear @sidgethegamer @temnuk0 @starshineandbooks

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Shae’s heart is still beating hard in her chest. She can still feel the touch of Mammon’s shoulder against hers; the brief glances they stole at each other and the cheeky wink he gave her as they passed. Her freckled cheeks are flushed crimson, and she knows that Beel and Belphie can see this as she slips into the seat between them in their last class of the day. Surprisingly though, they don’t say anything about it. At least she doesn't think so. She’s not really paying attention at the moment.

She can’t remember when class actually started, completely blocking out the professor’s voice as he goes on about some sort of chemistry equation up on the board. Honestly, she’s got more important things on her mind right now. Her fingers twirl a strand of dark hair that frames her burning face as she thinks back to the brief moment they shared in the hallway. The Avatar of Greed tended to be completely oblivious to certain things…her feelings included. Suddenly, she’s not sitting in the classroom anymore. Instead, she finds that she’s landed back in that very corridor, other demons brushing past her in slow motion. She almost loses her balance as she suddenly finds herself surrounded. It wasn’t long before she felt the familiar sensation of a shoulder bumping into her. Quickly, she spins around to see Mammon continuing to make his way to his next class. Where is he going? Why didn’t he stop? Didn’t he see her? A pang of longing burns in her chest as she stares after him, trying to formulate her next step in her head.

You brush past me in the hallway and you don’t think I can see you, do you?

His tall frame disappears into the crowd, leaving her standing in place, clutching the strap of her bag hanging from her shoulder. Feeling frozen to her spot, Shae forces herself to take a step forward. Everything in her is screaming to go after him. To make her move. Finally, with a burst of courage, she pushes through the rush of RAD students. She begins following the direction that Mammon disappeared in, her eyes wide with anticipation of seeing him again. I’m not missing my chance with him this time, she thinks. When she makes her way out of the crowd, she spots him. He’s standing down at the end of the hall next to his locker. He’s fixated on his D.D.D., unaware of her piercing violet gaze on him. Her heart begins to beat fast again as he glances up from his phone, finally noticing her hesitation from down the hall. His golden gaze meets hers, and a slow smirk begins to form on his face. He slides his D.D.D into the pocket of his uniform pants, which are wrinkled and unkempt. She remembers Lucifer lecturing him about it before they left this morning, but she can’t help but adore that about him. He leans back against his locker, thumbs hooked into his pants pockets. His eyes never once left hers…almost like he was waiting for her.

I can see you, waiting down the hall from me.

Shae’s body seems to move on its own. She slowly approaches him and is taken aback when he gives her a quick wink before turning away and disappearing around the corner. Shae swallows hard, confusion and anger beginning to bubble in her chest in place of the nerves. What the hell is he doing? Was he not just waiting for me to come over here? Quickly, she sprints forward to chase him down. He always pulled shit like this. She rounds the corner when she bumps into something- no; someone. Someone who she can recognize by only the scent of his cologne; the half done up yellow tie and unbuttoned uniform shirt. She glances up at him, knowing her face has to be burning red. “H-Hey. Found you…finally.” She breathes nervously, her voice betraying her by trembling slightly. She waits for him to say something, but he only mumbles a brief, “Quick, come with me.” before grabbing her hand and pulling her with him into a nearby supply closet. Mammon closes the door quietly behind them, and finally turns around to face her. “Sorry, ya gotta be sneaky ‘round here. Never know who is watchin’ us.” He shoots her a smirk once more as he begins to move towards her. Shae’s hands are shaking as he gets closer. It’s not a very big closet, so he reaches her easily within a few strides. She’s face to face with him now, causing her to tip her head upwards to meet his gaze. Her hands are wavering as she finds them moving on their own, the deep desire to touch him taking over her thoughts.

What would you do if I went to touch you now?

Her hand reaches up to rest on his cheek. It’s warm and she watches as his tanned skin begins to redden. “Yo.” he mumbles, nuzzling his cheek into her hand. His eyes flutter shut briefly, relaxing into the sensation of her soft hand resting on his burning skin. Shae giggles, grazing her thumb across his lips. He opens his mouth to catch her thumb delicately between his teeth, causing her to blush again. “You’re just teasin’ me, yanno?” This time Shae smirks as she slowly moves her face closer to replace her thumb with her lips. Mammon inhales sharply at the impact, slowly wrapping his arms around her as he returns the kiss. Shae lets out a small moan as the kiss deepens, and Mammon begins to back her up further into the closet. His lips are moving fiercely against hers now, and his hands are roaming up and down her sides, where they finally fall and rest against her hips. “Damn, Shae. You drive me crazy.” He breathes in between kisses, feeling her moving her hips so they are pressed firmly against his own. “Then do something about it. I won't tell.” She teases, reaching up to run her fingers through his now sweaty, silver bangs.

I can see you up against the wall with me.

With a growl, Mammon hoists Shae up so her legs are wrapped around his hips and her back is resting against the wall. His hands are holding her up by the underside of her thighs and he continues to kiss her feverishly. Between breathless kisses and heavy panting, his jacket is thrown on the floor. At some point, his tie is also loosened by Shae’s shaky fingers and his uniform shirt is fully unbuttoned, exposing the flushed, tanned skin of his chest. Beads of sweat are pooling in his collarbones as the temperature in the closest seems to drastically increase. Shae’s jacket is also tossed aside, and Mammon has unbuttoned her shirt, exposing her lacey, purple bra. He moves down to kiss her chest, and nip at the exposed flesh of her cleavage, savoring the small gasps and sighs escaping her lips. As he licks and nips at her chest, she feels a hand run up underneath her skirt. The feeling of his rough fingertips grazing over the soft flesh of her thighs cause her breathing to grow heavier and heavier.

His white hair tickles her nose as he takes his time sucking purple bruises onto the pale skin of her breasts. Shae gasps, tightening her arms around his neck as she feels the sensation of his teeth grazing against her nipple. Apparently he had moved her bra out of the way at some point. She honestly didn’t care as he took the tiny bud into his mouth, sucking feverishly. “M-Mams…please…” she whines softly, running her fingers through his hair. He glances up at her briefly before finally releasing her nipple. “That good, babe?” he smirks, bringing his head up to rest his forehead against hers. Nodding, Shae takes the opportunity to place another kiss against his swollen, red lips. “Fuck yes, more than good.” Mammon chuckles, a mischievous glint shining in his half lidded golden gaze. “Just wait ‘till ya see half the things that haven’t happened yet. I’ve been waitin’ for eternity for ya to chase me down like this.” She can feel his hardness as he begins to grind into her, chasing the friction that they both desperately crave. Shae rolls her hips back into his, and gasps as he frantically ruts against her. Their soft moans fill the tiny closet, and Shae is almost sure they are being quiet enough. At least she thought so, until they were interrupted by hard knocks on the closet door.

“...s…hae…lynn”

“Shaelynn…” “SHAELYNN!”

Suddenly, Shae is staring point blank into the face of her professor. “U-Uh, y-yes?” She stammers, still feeling heat pooling in her cheeks as well as…other places. “You’ve managed to doze off for the entire class. Are you feeling alright?” The demon asked, a look of concern showing on his face. She couldn’t blame him for being worried, it wasn’t like her to just start daydreaming for an entire class period. “Y-Yes, i’m fine. I’m Sorry, I think I must be coming down with something…” she muttered, gathering up her bag. Thankfully, most of the class had already left, and weren’t there to witness her embarrassment. “Well please go home and get some rest. I won’t let it slide again.” Shae nodded harshly as she practically sped out of the classroom. “I promise it won’t happen again!”

As she left the classroom, she once again bumped into someone. She glanced up, her face still burning red from embarrassment - amongst other emotions. “M-Mammon?!” She squeaked, clutching her bag strap to her shoulder. This was the very last (and also the very first) person she really wanted to see right now while she was in this state. “Yo. I Heard from the twins that you were fallin’ asleep in class. I’m supposed to be lookin’ after ya and here you go causin’ all sorts of trouble!” As he stood there lecturing her, the only thing she could focus on was how she didn’t think her face could get any hotter. Of course the twins were in class with her, they witnessed the entire thing…and of course they would go blab to Mammon about it. “So, ya wanna tell me about what’s goin’ on with you today? Belphie would only give me a stupidly annoying smirk when I asked about it. ” Laughing nervously, Shae brushed her hand against his as they began to walk down the hallway together, ready to head home for the day. But she really didn’t want to go home just yet…this could finally be her chance. She let out a small chuckle, “You wouldn’t believe half the things I see inside my head.” Mammon glanced down at her, clearly confused. “Whaddya mean?” This time it was Shae’s turn to smirk as she began to pick up her pace. He gaped after her as she spun around to face him, “I’ll meet you down at the end of the hallway!”

#cass writes #my writing #obey me writing #obey me! one master to rule them all #obey me! shall we date?#obey me! nightbringer #obey me mammon #obey me mc #mc!shae #self insert #song fic #obey me #obey me boys #obey me fic #obey me fanfiction

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vampsickle · 1 year

Text

first time. ☆ (dmc3 ) dante

☆ tags - fem!reader, soft.., ur both in love fr, 3dante!! baby boy, oral (f!receiving), petnames, mushy gushy, porn with just a LITTLE bit of plot lol.

☆ wc - 2.9k

☆ a/n - anon ur crazy for this and im crazy im not ok ive been wanting to write this for so long. you must’ve read my mind or my messages. tbh 3dante is a filthy virgin and a nervous wreck and i love him! i did my best <3 also not proofread im sowiee

☆ synopsis - after being with dante for about a year, you finally want to take your relationship with him a step further.

You and Dante have been together for about half a year now, meeting at a small restaurant, where he would always order strawberry sundaes. Honestly, you thought it was cute. He was cute. His white hair was so pretty, falling over his eyes, and he always wore that signature crimson coat. Finally you found the courage to talk to him, but what you didn’t realize was that he also had his eye on you.

Still, Dante is just as infatuated with you as you are with him. Even when he’s away on a mission, just for a few days, you can’t help but yearn for him. The both of you are foolish teenagers in love, maybe making reckless decisions with each other, the biggest decision you made was moving out of your parent’s house to stay with Dante. At first you had felt homesick, not used to being away this long, but Dante always took good care of you. Or— He did the best he could.

You took care of him as well, always there for him, listening when he explained his past and identity. Dante sharing his blood with the blood of a devil didn’t scare you and you stayed with him through and through. The both of you are practically obsessed with each other, Dante sometimes missing the phone because he’s too busy kissing you or cuddling you, but by cuddling, I mean laying on top of you.

He hasn’t been home in a few days, leaving you incredibly bored, as you don’t go out much. Even when he’s around, you’re too busy being glued to him. You’re lost in your thoughts when, suddenly, the doors to Devil May Cry swing open, and Dante steps in. Then you notice the stench of blood and guts on him.

“You must’ve had an exciting time, huh?” you smile at him, trying to ignore the smell of death.

“Pff— It’s no fun without you, babe.”

You swoon, blushing a bit at his words, he’s always so casual. Dante walks over to kiss you but you lean back, even if you so desperately want to kiss him, you can no longer ignore the strong smell. He’s aware of the smell too, yet he pouts, pleading silently.

“Shower first. Kay?”

“.. Fine.” he grumbles in response, his boots are so heavy, and so loud. He basically drags himself up the stairs— acting so dramatic. All you can do is laugh, waiting to hear the water run, before you make your way to his bedroom.

Tonight, you wanted to reward him, and.. Maybe take this relationship to the next level. Because— well, heavy kissing and dry humping wasn’t enough anymore. Your face flushes at the thought and you grab his pillow, holding it to your chest. After a good 10 minutes, Dante turns off the water, drying himself off. He shakes his head around as a dog would— then aggressively drying it.

He yawns and grabs some sweats that were already in the bathroom, along with his boxers. Dante remembers that you bought them for him, covered in small strawberries, and he smiles to himself.

Returning to his bedroom with the towel slung over his shoulders, he pauses in surprise, his eyes scanning your body. All you were wearing was a long white t-shirt and some pajama shorts. Dante can’t help looking at the exposed skin, hormones raging.

Diving onto the bed, you almost squeal, bouncing slightly. Dante scoots closer, wrapping his arms around your waist, and shoving his face into your stomach.

“Are you comfy?”

“Mm.”

A smile creeps onto your face and you run your fingers through his soft but still damp hair. He inhales you a few seconds longer before sitting up on his knees. He’s so much taller than you, even when he’s on his knees next to you, his baby blue eyes meeting your gaze. But your eyes are silently asking him to kiss you. He does.

It’s funny— how soft his lips are. He’s perfect. His skin is softer than yours. Dante’s so pretty. And he’s so warm. You reach up to card your fingers through his hair once again and Dante’s tongue swipes across your lower lip, so you open your mouth a little wider for him. You’ve noticed how he’s always so careful with you, so gentle, like he could break you. Goosebumps erupt over your skin when his tongue feels yours, sucking softly, exploring your mouth. His hand reaches to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel his heartbeat against your chest.

Then you have to pull away for air, eyes half lidded, and Dante’s looking right at you. His room is dimly lit, but his eyes are always so bright, so intense. You kiss him again, crawling onto his lap, arms wrapping themselves around his neck. His hands rest on your hips, head cocked to the side to deepen the kiss, and you slowly rock your hips on him. Dante blushes, grunting softly, eyes fluttering open slightly. He could kiss you forever, he doesn’t need air. But, you do. When you pull away from him, a string of saliva is connected to both of your lips, and you wipe it away.

“Dante.. I want— To, um..” you trail off, suddenly shying away from his gaze, but he follows you.

“Me too— I mean- If you mean, uh-“ maybe he answered too fast, but he sits up straighter, nuzzling his nose into your cheek so you don’t see his embarrassed face.

Then the both of you laugh softly together, knowing exactly what the other wants.

“We can take it slow though, baby.. Don’t wanna make you do anything. But— I mean it’d be pretty great to do it with you.” Dante rambles, scratching the back of his head, tilting it like a puppydog. He’s so cute, you think.

“There’s no one else I’d wanna do it with, Dante. It’s only you.”

His heart is racing, it’s so bad that he honestly thinks he’s having a heart attack, but he shakes away the nervousness. He kisses you again to ease his nervousness, your lips are so familiar, and you taste so sweet. You’re better than any strawberry sundae.

You feel lightheaded and so warm. So you pull off your shirt, forgetting you had no bra underneath, and Dante can’t even talk. Maybe he should feel bad for staring at your breasts for so long, his hands gripping the sheets so hard they may just rip. Instead, you gently grab his wrist and you bring it to rest on your chest. Butterflies flutter in your stomach again, feeling embarrassed at how intently he’s staring.

“You.. You can touch me, Dante. ‘s okay,” your voice soothes him, so he nods slowly, gently massaging your breast. Your breathing picks up, your heartbeat is so loud that you’re suddenly insecure that Dante could hear it, and the blood rushes to your ears.

He’s not doing anything with his other hand and he takes that one to cup your other boob. Both his thumbs brush over your hardened nubs, making circles, and you whimper quietly.

“Can you— ah, can you put.. Your mouth on it.. Please,” god, he can’t believe you’re finally letting him go this far. Actually, he can’t believe he’s going this far either. He’s never even had sex. There was never any time.

But he listens to your request, leaning in close to attach his mouth to your nipple, sucking gently. You moan quietly, sighing in relief, and he continues suckling. He does the same for the other one, shivering at how hot your skin feels, and Dante runs his hands down your sides.

“So pretty.. Can I— Can I take your shorts off?” honestly, you’re so surprised at how shy he sounds. He’s always saying corny one-liners, playfully flirting, and he never hesitates. But now you’ve realized it’s all a facade, keeping up that faux confidence just to intimidate others, so he can feel better. Inhale, then exhale. You can’t deny that you aren’t nervous as well. Instead you take off your shorts for him, now only in some plain underwear, and you kindly ask Dante if he could take off his sweats.

He scrambles up to push them down to his ankles and he kicks them off. Dante’s back on the bed again, cupping your cheek to kiss you, and you feel all the nervousness and hesitance melt away. It’s just you and him. You’re both so desperate for each other, so needy. Dante leans back, gently pulling you back into his chest. He’s massaging your tits once again, enjoying how they feel against his palms, and your neck strains as you attempt to kiss him once more.

Dante smiles a bit, leaning down to kiss you, his hand trailing down your stomach to the fabric of your underwear. You grip his wrist, whining softly, but you want him to touch you there.

“I’m gonna make you feel real good baby, I swear it..”

“Wanna make you feel good too, Dante,”

You both relish in each other’s embrace, lips locked, now your tongue in his mouth. He tastes like strawberries and smells like vanilla. How does he keep that up? Then you feel his hand slip under your panties, hovering over the heat you emit, gasping softly against your lips. Your hips jerk up slightly, desperate to be touched, for Dante to feel you. He’s swiping his index finger over your slit, feeling more of your wetness leaking onto his finger, and he begins to rub you so sensually.

“‘s this.. This okay, baby?” he murmurs, still rubbing his hand against your pussy, keeping up the slow movement of his hand.

“Yes— You can go a little faster,” it’s hard for you to even say that. But he wants to hear you. Even if you’re not talking. No one’s touched you down there besides yourself, and god, his hand is so big. But his hand movement is faster now, fingers rubbing in circles, and your legs instinctively squeeze together. Dante feels prideful, that he’s already making you feel so good despite his lack of experience.

But you can feel even better than how you do now. So you gently hold his wrist, then guide him towards your clit, urging him to touch you there. He gets what you need now, keeping that same pace as he rubs your clit in circles, which makes you writhe under him.

“Dante— Oh- I’m going to,” your breaths are fast and short, bucking up against his touch, clinging to him. He moans softly at how wet you feel, and you cum all over his fingers, moaning against his bicep. You gasp softly after as it’s become too much, so you grab him again, whining— quietly telling him to stop.

“Sorry— I- Are you okay, baby? Was it..”

“No, no, it’s fine..! Dante, that was so good.. I’ve never, ah.. Felt like that before.”

His eyes widen slightly, fireworks exploding in his head, and he can’t help but kissing you again. Giddy over the fact that he made you feel that way. He was the first.

“Can I touch you now..? Please?” Dante doesn’t say no, rubbing his clothed erection against your thigh, so you shakily pull his cock out from the confines of his boxers. The ones you bought him. He’s big. Well, you figured that he was, not only because he was your boyfriend but because.. Well, he is part devil. So that must be a factor in this.

His cock is warm against your palm, twitching, and leaking so much pre-come. You apologize to him in your head that you didn’t touch him sooner. But you start to wonder how many times he jerked off thinking about you. It makes you scream inwardly, hoping Dante knows that you’ve also gotten off thinking of him as well.

“Oh… Baby, touch me more,” he whines, a bit louder than he intended, his head hanging over your shoulder. Now you’re wrapping your hand around him, he’s so thick, the tip is a pretty pink. You pump his cock a few times, setting a steady rhythm, and Dante’s thigh muscles tighten, his breath hot against your ear.

You’re becoming more and more aroused at how he whines and moans into your hair, repeatedly saying your name, eyes shut so tightly. His jaw is clenched and he’s attempting to match your rhythm as his hips move with your hand.

“Damn—! I’m—“ but he can’t get anymore out, before cumming into your hand, some of it shooting out onto your stomach. You’re surprised that he came so fast, but then you blush, slowly bringing your hand to a stop. It’s amazing how he’s still half hard— he wants to be inside you, and then he won’t ask for anything else.

“Can we still.. Keep going? Please? I wanna be inside you so bad, baby. Waited so long..” he’s rutting against you, as though he were in heat, and you want it too. You’ve been waiting to feel him inside you, but you were always too nervous, backing out at the last second whenever you thought about it.

Dante gently lays you down, quickly opening his nightstand drawer, digging for a condom.

“Wait—! Um— Prep me first..! It’s gonna hurt more if you just put it in..”

He was so eager to just push himself inside of you that he hadn’t thought of it. Dante mumbles an apology to you, opening your legs and moving off the bed, onto his knees. You squeak in protest when his tongue is suddenly pressed flat against your pussy. God, you’ve only read about girls getting eaten out, and now here you are, with a beautiful boy between your legs. Dante’s licking you all over, slurping and sucking, he’s so messy. Despite his inexperience, he’s still making you feel good, his mouth suddenly wrapping around your entire pussy. You’re whining and moaning underneath him, grasping the sheets, just to hold something.

He’s moaning against you as well, one hand moving down to stroke himself as he eats you out, tongue inserting itself inside you. You nearly choke on your moan, throwing your head back at the feeling of the muscle inside of you, attempting to push him away with your foot. But you don’t want to push him away.

Your arousal is smeared all over his chin, some of it on his cheeks, and his nose is pressed against your clit. It’s so much at once and you cry out when he inserts one finger inside you.

“Dante—! Fuck!” he moans in response, gently pumping his finger in and out, before inserting another.

“Wait— Stop-“ you desperately plead, so Dante pulls away, albeit rather hesitantly.

“You okay, baby? Did I do something wrong?” he’s worried, worried that he hurt you, and scared that you’d get up and leave.

But you simply shake your head, slowly sitting up, trying to control your shaking muscles.

“No— No, it’s not you.. But, I’m ready now, okay? If you kept that up I was going to cum again..”

Dante tilts his head, as though he were asking ‘what’s wrong with that?’, so you answer his question.

“I.. Wanna cum with you. Um, when you’re inside me…”

If Dante had a dog tail, it’d be wagging. He thinks you’re so romantic. Then he uses his teeth to rip the condom open, pushing you back so you’re resting on his pillows again, and he has room to rest on his knees. The plush bed feels more comfortable on his knees than the floor, anyway. You watch him slowly roll the condom on, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he does so.

“Alright.. I’m gonna put it in now, pretty.”

You take a deep breath in, heart hammering against your chest, and fuck— it hurts when he slowly makes his way in. He’s stretching you out so much and the stretching fucking burns. You swear something broke inside you.

“Dante— Stop,” so he stops. He pauses, only halfway in, eyebrows pinched together in worry. After another deep breath, you nod to him, so he slowly keeps going until he’s fully sheathed inside you. You’re both breathing so heavy and Dante’s leaning over you, his hair brushing against your forehead. He gently kisses you, lip quivering slightly, his breath faltering.

“Move,” you urge, and Dante begins to rock his hips against you. Your legs wrap around his wide waist, holding onto his wrists, and he uses his fists to keep himself upright.

“God— You feel so good, baby. Knew you would..” he moans, attempting to keep a steady rhythm, but his hips stutter at times, and then he’ll speed up, then slow down. But he finally finds a good pace to keep, and the pain has fully subsided, instead of pained whines slipping past your kissed swollen lips, it’s only sweet moans.

Dante carefully pushes himself up, just to watch himself move in and out of you, nearly salivating at the sight. Jesus, he’s already close, and so are you.

“I— I can’t-“ he stutters out, practically falling over you, just to kiss you again. So deeply, but so sloppy, and the movement of his hips are messy. Dante’s moving fast, moaning into your mouth, as well as swallowing all of your moans.

“Please, baby, cum with— with me,” Dante whines, and you moan loud ‘yes’s’ in response, as well as his name. Over and over. Your overwhelmed with him. All you can feel is him. How you feel so safe, so.. loved. Neither of you tell each other when you’re going to cum, but you both basically cry out together, and he pulls you into a loving kiss again, your arms wrapped around his neck.

Slowly his hips still, panting against your cheek, and you’re gasping quietly— attempting to catch your breath.

“Dante, I—“

“I love you.”

Tears form, you hadn’t been expecting him to say anything like that, so when they start to spill— he kisses them away.

“I love you too. Please.. Stay with me, Dante.”

“I’d never leave you.”

#cry cry cry #dante x reader smut #dmc x reader #devil may cry smut #dmc3 smut #devil may cry 3 smut #writing tag

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azures-bazar · 1 year

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Peculiar Scents

Let's be honest, almost everyone agrees that 1899!John rarely takes baths and is somewhat dirty all day long ! lol

And here is another very weird one-shot my brain managed to work with ! I wrote this between 2 coffees while on a break, please don't mind my awful mistakes ! :')

The gif can be explained later in this one-shot ! This is not a ship.

John Marston x GenderNeutral!reader

Word count : 2k

Short summary : You can’t stand it anymore. This smell is terrible ! John didn’t wash in three weeks... and you can't let him keep going.

A/note : This is NOT A SHIP ! The reader is having a very friendly/sibling-like relationship with John Marston. I’m too much into John x Abigail (or even John x Javier), sorry :’)

Tags : cute, John is terrified of water, ancient rubber duck, flowers, bath, good and bad scents, John is always dirty, chapter 3, siblings

"No !"

John’s voice sounded across camp. You and Sean had been chasing him for over an hour to convince him to wash himself. You had first attempted to be very nice to him, gently asking him to just rub a piece of wet cloth over his body, which did not seem to work much. Sean was more brutal, carrying ropes to lasso him while John kept walking around camp to get away from the two of you. However, despite giving your best effort to convince him to clean himself a little, John was not ready to accept your request. Abigail had begged you while Arthur had given up, you kindly obliged.

"Pa’ always stinks !" you heard Jack say almost twice a day

"I can’t walk by his tent no more." the girls had told you

"Sometimes I feel like there’s a rotting corpse in his tent !" Pearson often complained

"I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s peeing by his bed every morning to mark his territory…" Bill usually sighed when passing by John’s tent

In fact, you were one of the first victims of his terrible smell. Your tent was right next to his, and his horrible scent of sweat could only make you feel nauseous as soon as you would wake up and while he would open his tent flaps, unleashing his body odours for at least five minutes. The two of you were always paired to go on guard duty at the same time, so it meant that you were sharing the same schedule when it came to rest in your respective tents. Dutch had firmly refused to move your quarters away from John’s, believing it would certainly enrage Ms. Grimshaw and disturb her overall organisation. He also thought it would lead other members to actively start asking the girls and Arthur to move their tents depending on their moods… and Sean would have been the first to ask for his tent to be moved closer to Lenny’s.

As far as you could recall, John had always hated baths, and it was painfully hard to convince him otherwise. When you got inducted into the gang by Dutch, just five or six years after John, you could easily remember his smell and how bad you felt when he was too close to you, feeling nauseous most of the time. You adored him, he was the closest to a brother to you, you were always paired with him and hanged with him quite often, but his overall body odour could not make you stay near him for more than a hour without leading you to get some serious migraines. He would wash every once in a while, probably three times a month, which was a miracle considering his hatred for water in general.

Quite often, Arthur had to hogtie him and drop him into the nearest lake or river, or even go to the closest saloon to give him a proper bath. And, indeed, John hated that. He hated being hogtied and forced into water and would never miss the opportunity to complain whenever someone would do that to him.

"Get back here, Marston !" Sean shouted from behind you

"I said no !"

"Oi, ya ain’t gonna go far, we can track ya with yer bloody scent !"

Arthur watched you pass before him with a smirk, proceeding to draw a scene of you and Sean chasing Arthur in his journal. He could feel empathy for the two of you, despite this sight was probably the most delightful comedy he had ever watched so far. He had been at your place for years, and seeing someone else have to catch Marston to give him a bath was a very nice comedy to watch !

"John, please !" you shouted

"Leave me be !"

You kept walking around camp for a while as Sean was preparing his lasso. John’s quick walk was also quite comical to watch, the way he moved his hips and arms made him look like a real clown. A dirty clown. You grumbled as John started running away from camp, quickly getting on your horse as Sean followed you, climbing on Ennis. He was ready to lasso John, who was trying his best to get away from Clemens Point by running as fast as he could. What a surprising thing to watch, just a few weeks ago, he could barely walk due to his recent scars !

"C’mon Marston !" Sean laughed. "Some water ain’t gonna kill ya !"

"Leave me and my dirt alone !" Marston shouted

"Ain’t got a chance !" you laughed

John was not going to let anyone take him to take a bath. He hated water, he always had. Bessie had been the only one who had successfully convinced him to bathe, he would do it as soon as she would ask. However, since her passing, it had been overwhelmingly difficult to get Marston to take a bath. He was deadly scared of water, for some reason. Arthur did try his best to teach him to swim, but Marston never succeeded, nearly drowning more than once. It always took a few gang members to drag him into water by now, and you were often among these poor fellers that would be chosen to give him a bath.

After a very short time, Sean successfully lassoed John, you went down your horse, you tied his hands in his back. He started swearing, begging you to let go, wriggling as much as he could to set himself free. You had to pinch your nose, what a terrible smell ! Even Sean, who’s overall body odour was mix between whiskey and cigarettes, smelled better than John !

"Yer goin’ to take a bath, Marston !" MacGuire happily said, dragging John to Ennis

"Leave me alone !" he responded, wriggling his arms to get the rope away from his wrists

"I can’t stand your smell anymore, John." you grumbled. "I seriously can’t. So you’re going to take a bath or…-"

"Or what ?! I ain’t a kid no more, Y/N ! You can’t just scold me like a child ! I ain’t a…-"

"Next time, I’ll take our boat right here and throw you into the lake so you won’t ever reach the edge of Clemens Point."

John gasped and grumbled, nodding in shame as Sean dragged him on Ennis. You led the way to Rhodes, heading to the saloon in which MacGuire paid for John’s bath, but refused to come with you. You were going to deal with him alone, while Sean would certainly drink at the counter and probably pass out. All the work was on shoulders, but you agreed with that. You led John to the bathroom, quickly pulling his pants down. Indeed, you were going to have to get him naked, which would certainly be the hardest thing you would ever have to do.

"H-hey !" he blushed

"Wanna get wet clothes ?" you asked

"No, but do you really need to undress me ?"

"Unless you do it yourself."

John rolled eyes. You headed to the door and locked yourself in with him, he rose his hands for you to untie them. You obliged and turned around, giving him enough privacy to undress, grumbling a little while sliding into the bathtub. The water was foamy enough for you to avoid seeing his body parts, making you feel much more comfortable. Indeed, you did not want to see John bare body, so you would not dig your hands in the warm water. You turned back, John was keeping his knees close to his chest, giving you a death stare as you approached.

"You ain’t gonna drown here, John." you said. "Relax."

"I hate you, Y/N. I hate you and Sean."

"No need remind me, I already know that and love you too."

"I said I ha…-"

"Me too."

You walked around the bathtub, looking around the shelves, picking a very peculiar yellowish form into your hands. A rubber duck, you had seen many of these on the shelves of a variety of shops, they were relatively new in stores. John could not relax, you quickly threw the rubber duck in the tub, making him gasp as water got splashed over his grumpy face.

"What the hell is that ?!" he asked, rubbing his eyes

"It’s a rubber duck." you answered. "I think they got these to keep children entertained."

"Do I look like a child ?!"

You nodded with a large smile, causing John to turn shades darker. You had been aware about him being constantly belittled by Arthur, frequently being told he was a child… you even heard Hosea mention that even little Jack was far much docile !

"When you refuse to take a bath, I swear I feel like I’m having Jack right here. It’s funny, though." you laughed

"Damn."

"It ain't my fault if you can't behave better than your four-year-old boy."

"You can't be serious right now."

You laughed and shrugged, causing Marston to sigh. You watched John looking at this strange realistic looking rubber duck while washing his hair, calmly rubbing his scalp. He quickly became obsessed with this rather strange duck you have him, not even realising anything about his current situation. It gave you more space to wash him without a single complaint. You still allowed him to do clean the bottom parts of his body, not wanting to go any further than his chest. John sighed, still keeping the duck under his arm as MacGuire knocked at the door.

"Dead-Eye MacGuire here !" he shouted. "Open the door ! "

"Don’t let him in." John grumbled. "Please, don’t."

"If I make him stay outside, you can be sure this place will be on fire in a few minutes."

"Christ sake..."

Marston sighed and turned his down. You went to the door and opened, making Sean break into the room. While quickly looking at him, you noticed him carrying a broom in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"It’s cleaning time, Johnny !" MacGuire happily shouted

"Wait, what ?!"

"Let’s get this dirt out of your body, fella !"

"Get away from me you damn creep !"

"Sean, wait…-" you gasped

Sean happy sipped some whiskey and dropped an empty bottle on the nearby chair, allowing you to close the door behind him. John curled up into a ball as Sean started rubbing the broom on his soap-covered back. Marston groaned, painfully holding the rubber duck against him while his fists clenched on the sides of the bath. You watched Sean scrubbing John’s upper body until it was red, preparing a new set of clothes while John was screaming how much he hated you. Both of you.

"I want you to rot in hell !!"

Thankfully enough, Sean quickly stopped scrubbing John’s body, allowing him to leave the bath to get dressed while you were not watching. John refused to mount on Sean’s horse and decided to get on yours instead, grumbling all the way back to camp while holding your onto waist. Arthur came to greet you with a warm smile, John pushed him aside and quickly got into his tent, closing its flaps.

"Damn, he smells much better !" Arthur said, gently patting your shoulder. "How d'you do this ?"

"Well, we had to convince him in a rather kin…-"

"We had to use violence, English." Sean stopped you. "Bad business. Very bad business."

Sean walked away as Arthur looked at you with wide eyes. Violence ? What kind of violence did you use ? You gently shook your head, quickly explaining that the treatment you gave to John was not as violent as Sean depicted it to be.

"Violence ?" Arthur smiled. "You really used violence ?"

"Sort of." you shrugged

When the night came, you could finally rest. No more bad smell, you could breathe without feeling like a cow had just covered John’s tent with shit ! However, as the smell was gone, you could hear John groan, and Hosea’s voice sounding inside his tent. You had seen Matthews preparing a mixture to help John’s back to heal after being scrubbed so violently by Sean, and thinking about him applying his balm on Marston made you chuckle to yourself. You could hear how painful it was for him, he kept whining each time Hosea would touch his back.

"At least, you smell better !" Hosea said with a smile

Yes. At least, he did.

#john marston #john marston x reader #siblings #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #sean macguire #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston being dirty af #this man has rabbies I guess #no ships

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cozy-the-overlord · 6 months

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The Lighthouse

Summary: Stabbed by Kurse on Svartalfheim and fading away in his brother's arms, Loki expects to wake in Valhalla, having finally died in battle like a true Asgardian warrior. Instead, he finds himself drowning in a sea of inky black, the only light coming from the stoic tower guarding over the darkness. The woman who tends the lighthouse is as mysterious as she is caring, and Loki can't shake the feeling that she knows far more than she's telling …

Word Count: 10,141

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Summer before last I watched a video about a creepy old lighthouse and thought it make a fantastic location for a scary story. Two weeks ago I was going through my notes trying to find an idea for a spur-of-the-moment Halloween fic and I came across it again. This story ended up being quite different than I originally envisioned -- I'm not even sure you can even call it a Halloween fic anymore lol -- but I'm still very happy with it. Also huge thank you and shout out to @lokislittlesigyn, who both researched and beta read for me as well as just cheered me on throughout the whole process. I don't think this story would have come together as well as it did if not for her <3<3<3

Thanks for reading, and happy Halloween!!

Warnings: Injury, grief, death/afterlife

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“I’ll tell Father what you did here today.”

“I didn’t do it for him.”

There’s a light haloing his brother’s face, growing brighter and brighter until his silhouette has been washed away with the barren landscape as his own vision turns white behind his eyelids and even still it grows brighter, so bright it sears his retinas, so bright it hurts–

Loki gasps for air without realizing, breaking through the bitter cold of the water—water? There’s no chance to process it—another wave crashes over his head and thrusts him beneath the inky black of the sea. He thrashes against the current, fighting his way back to the surface even as the piercing pain in his chest explodes throughout his torso. It takes everything to keep himself from going under again. The light has moved—no longer on his face, it cuts through the starless void of the night sky, a glowing beacon in the dark, moving slowly across the horizon. Loki can’t breathe.

This isn’t Valhalla.

That much is clear, and the realization numbs him more than the cold. He died in battle. He died fighting for Asgard, for Thor, for her. She was supposed to be there to greet him. His eyes burn with salt and tears. It’s supposed to be over—he fought and died, why can’t he rest? Why is it not over? Norns, he just wants it to be over!

If not Valhalla, where am I?

He can’t think of any story that told of an ocean waiting beyond death, but he doesn’t have much time to try to remember either because yet another wave is cresting, and he barely has a moment to gulp a mouthful of air before he goes under yet again.

He must get out of this water. He can’t last like this. The light swoops across the ocean once more in the same steady movement. A lighthouse, he realizes suddenly, and curses himself for not making the connection sooner. A lighthouse means land, and people to tend to it. A lighthouse means safety. In this moment, nothing else could matter more.

Loki gasps a great heaving breath and begins kicking towards the light.

It’s a slow process. He has no way of knowing how long he’s been there, thrashing along the surface as best he can with what feeling he has left in his extremities. Between the waves slapping him back and the current tugging him every which way, it’s hard to believe he’s made any progress. The wound in his chest burns with every movement of his arms, a searing pain that zips up his spine and streaks all along his torso. His mouth is dry with blood. And all the while, the light flashes before him, soft and mocking as ever. Perhaps the lighthouse isn’t real, he wonders hazily; perhaps it exists only in his mind, and he’s condemned to suffer these waves until Ragnarok comes as penance for his failings in life.

He’s barely conscious enough to register when his feet scrape against sharp rock, his fingers almost too numb to grasp the stony shoreline. He collapses in a heap where the waves deposit him on the coast, his labored breathing drowning out all other sound. He knows he should crawl up, at least get his lower half out of the water, but his body is leaden and heavy, and Loki can feel himself drifting away.

I’m dead. Above him, the light flickers around a shape, a dark silhouette, a woman’s form. As weary as he is, his heart leaps in relief.

“Mother?” he calls out weakly.

There’s no response. The light is fading around him, and he’s fading with it. I’m dead, he thinks again. What an odd way to be dead…

…

He wakes gradually—so gradually that he doesn’t quite realize what it is he’s doing even as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. There’s the plush of mattress beneath his back, cotton blanket bunched around his waist. He’s in bed. For a brief moment it’s his bed, the one in his palace bedroom just down the hall from Thor’s, and he’s a child stirring awake after having fallen asleep atop the book he stayed up too late reading. But Loki blinks again, and the memory fades back into its place in a past life.

The room in which he wakes is no palatial chamber. It’s small, and quite barren—aside from the bed (which is more of a cot, now that he’s looking at it properly) there’s nothing more than a modest nightstand and a faded rug for furnishing. The stone walls are gray and dusted with age. A lantern flickers on its hook next to the door. The window to his right is draped with thick black fabric, with not the slightest hint of daylight peaking through.

Loki shivers, and it’s then that he realizes his chest is bare. Both his armor and his tunic have vanished, and his torso is wrapped in white cloth bandages. He presses his hand to the spot where the dark elf’s sword pierced his body. The pain is still there, but it’s muted ache rather than a biting hurt—the ache of a wound attended to briefly by a healer’s magic. Loki’s head is spinning. He presses harder and winces.

Is he dead? Alive? Surely a deceased soul would no longer require a healer’s touch, but in the same vein, if he had somehow been rescued from Svartalfheim, would he not have awoken in his Asgardian cell rather than … whatever this place is? And the ocean—had he dreamt that? Or had someone pulled him out? Who healed him? Where is he?

Loki pulls himself up with a groan. His body feels stiff, out of use, and he wonders how long he’s been laying here. Beneath the blanket, he finds that his boots have also been removed, although thankfully his mysterious guardian deigned to leave him his trousers. He sighs, bracing himself against the chill in the air, and staggers towards the door.

It leads him out into a cramped hallway, the right side ending in a wall and another covered window, the left twisting around what appeared to be the base of a staircase and disappearing into another room. Loki’s chest aches with a new vigor, and he leans against the doorframe to catch his breath, glaring daggers at his bandaged torso. It’s ridiculous that such a short distance would demand so much effort, he barely walked his own length—

But he’s distracted from his frustration by the sound that cuts through the silence—a lilting, feminine hum from somewhere down the corridor. Loki freezes.

He knows that melody. It’s a lullaby—a soft, gentle little tune that Frigga would sing to them as children to soothe them at night. The thought brings a lump to his throat. How long has it been since those days? All at once he remembers the woman on the beach.

Could it be?

Loki is too afraid to let himself hope. Instead, he rushes down the hallway with a new urgency.

The space he finds himself in is not much bigger than the room in which he awoke. It’s a small kitchen area, lined with cupboards and shelves and a meager counter space. A simple stovetop rests in the corner, a looming grandfather clock in the other. A table and a pair of chairs sit across from the large window on the left wall, a window covered, just as the ones that came before. On the right, a narrow staircase ascends into darkness.

The source of the humming stands at the stovetop, tending to a whistling kettle. Loki’s heart falls—it’s not his mother. No, this woman is much younger—a slender, almost ghostlike form in her creamy white dress, frayed hem brushing against the floor as she sways gently to the sound of her own voice. Her dark hair rests in a long braid down the length of her back. She wraps the kettle’s handle in a stained cloth as she moves it from the stove with the practiced motion of someone who’s done so a hundred times before. It’s then that she turns to see him standing at the room’s entrance and freezes with a gasp.

“Oh!” Her brown eyes wide, she stares at him as if he’s risen from the dead. Perhaps he has. Her expression turns hard. “What are you doing up?”

Loki stiffens. “Who are you?”

The woman ignores the question, dropping the kettle on the counter with a clang as she rushes towards him. Loki tenses, half expecting a struggle, but before she even reaches his side he finds himself whisked into one of the chairs, landing with a thud against the wood, head spinning.

He grunts. Seidr. It shouldn’t be a surprise—after all, he had known that his injuries must have been treated with magic—but he finds himself caught off guard just the same.

Loki moves to stand up, but the woman is in front of him now, gently but firmly pressing him back into the seat. Her hands are clammy on his bare shoulders.

“You’re not supposed to be up yet,” she frets. “You’ll hurt yourself—” She tips his chin up to peer at his eyes before pressing two fingers to his pulse. Loki flinches away instinctively. Her skin is cold, but it’s not just that—there’s something about her, the ease, the familiarity with which she touches him, that he finds disquieting.

“Who are you?” he demands again. “Why did you rescue me?”

She glances back at him, as if the question caught her off guard. “I-I’m Sigyn. I tend to the lighthouse.” She bites her lip. “You washed up on the beach.”

The lighthouse. Loki remembers the beam of light he had so frantically kicked through the waves towards. So that had been real after all. This ramshackle building must be it. Still, it explains very little of his predicament.

His eyes narrow at his rescuer. “You’re Asgardian.” Sigyn looks as though she is going to argue, but there’s no denying her accent. He continues without giving her the chance. “What is this place? It’s not Asgard.”

She hesitates. “It’s … it’s a kind of in-between.” Her gaze drifts to the covered window. “Not many find their way here.”

“In between what?” Loki asks. “The realms?”

Sigyn huffs a dry laugh, straightening to her feet. “The realms don’t exist here.” She returns to the kettle on the counter to pour a cup of steaming tea, a cup she then presses into his hands. “You should drink this. It will help with your healing.”

Loki eyes the tea suspiciously. The color is normal enough, but it has a medicinal stench about it that makes his eyes water. He has no intention of drinking it.

Instead, he glares back at her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She sighs, collapsing into the chair across from him. “This is a place in between life and death. Somewhere neither living nor dead.”

Loki frowns. “That’s impossible. There’s no such place.”

Sigyn laughs again, but the sound has a far more bitter edge than before. “I thought so too,” she says. “Then I woke up here. It’s not so bad, though. A bit lonely, but …” Her voice goes quiet. After a moment she smiles, but it seems more of a pained act than anything else. “It could be worse.”

His frown deepens. None of this makes any sense. “But … then … if that’s the case, how did I come to be here?” he asks. “Why am I not simply dead?” He strains to remember his last moments on Svartalfheim, strains to recall anything out of the ordinary that could have happened to cast him here, but there’s nothing. He fell to an Elven sword in battle. There’s no reason why he should be anything but dead.

Sigyn only shrugs. “I don’t know. I just found you.” She’s not looking at him, picking at a splinter on the side of the table. Loki’s gaze darkens, but he doesn’t show it in his voice.

“How did you come to be here, then?” he asks.

His hostess doesn’t answer. Instead, she shakes her head, closing her eyes and motioning towards the tea. “Please drink it.” Her voice is thick. “I promise it will help.”

Loki raises his eyebrows. “And I’m to trust the promise of a strange woman who claims to be neither living nor dead and won’t give a straight answer?”

Sigyn looks back at him, eyes wide. “I couldn’t kill you if I wanted to.” There’s a desperate tinge to her voice as she leans forward. “Death doesn’t exist here.”

“If that’s the case, why bother healing me?”

“I …” She stops, and Loki is stunned to realize there’s tears pooling in her eyes.

“I don’t like to see you in pain,” she whispers at last.

There’s a heaviness in the air that sends a shiver down his back. Loki opens his mouth to question further—who are you really?—but he’s cut off by the sudden ringing of the grandfather clock, a sinister, resonant tolling that seems to echo in his chest. Sigyn trembles, closing her eyes with a shaky inhale. A stray teardrop drips down her cheek. After a moment, she lets out a breath.

“Excuse me, I must tend to the light.” She stands and turns to start up the stairs. “Please stay here. This place—it’s quite a labyrinth, and you’re still injured. I’ll be back soon.”

He watches her disappear up into the darkness, the creaking of her steps echoing throughout the building for several minutes after she vanishes. Loki sets the tea down on the table. This place—it’s quite a labyrinth, and you’re still injured. Was it a threat? Maybe, maybe not, but Loki takes it as a challenge.

The first thing he examines are the many cabinets and drawers lining the walls of the kitchen. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find—evidence of spellwork, perhaps? Weapons?— but the contents turn out to be fairly ordinary. Really, there isn’t much at all. He’s surprised to find most of the cabinets are bare. It seems she’s prepared to serve a party of two—he finds two plates, two forks, two butter knives, two spoons, the matching teacup to the one he left on the table. Loki frowns. Sigyn had given the impression that she lived alone prior to his arrival. Had she expected him, he wonders?

The grandfather clock reveals little as well. It appears to be of Midgard, and it’s easily the most ornate item he has yet to see in the lighthouse—an intricately carved overlay of mahogany rests above the glimmering gold pendulum encased in glass. The pendulum swings with a soft tick, just as any normal clock would, but Loki is surprised to realize that the clock’s face is completely barren. There’s no numbers, no hands, no way to tell the time—just his own face reflected back at him in the pale slab of metal.

Odd.

Loki supposes that in a world beyond the bounds of life and death, the time would be irrelevant, but the clock’s rings had clearly signaled something for his strange rescuer. Perhaps it served as more of a timer? Regardless, it’s confusing.

He moves to the window, peering beneath the heavy black curtain. It doesn’t make much of a difference. The world outside is just as dark, the whole place smothered in the inky black of night. Even the sky is starless.

The only reprieve is the glowing beam of light from somewhere in the tower above him, slowly passing across the horizon with a steadfast resolve. Only through its reflection can Loki make out the choppy waves in the ocean below. He shivers despite himself and moves away from the window.

There’s not much else in the kitchen, so he goes back down the corridor through which he first came, returning to the little bedroom he awoke in to see if there was anything there he missed. There isn’t—the tiny room is just as barren as he remembers it. The ache in his chest is beginning to grow once more, and Loki sits down on the bed to rest a moment as he catches his breath and decides what to do next. He shivers again. Goodness, these old stone walls are so drafty, and here he is in nothing but his trousers. He had forgotten to ask Sigyn what she had done with his clothes. They certainly weren’t down here.

Come to think of it, there were several things that were missing from this level. There was no washroom anywhere to be found, and unless she had tucked him into her own bed to sleep off his injuries (a thought he finds too unsettling to accept as reality), she too must have a bedroom somewhere else in this tower. His thoughts return to the staircase—he had assumed it only went up to the light at the top of the spire, but perhaps it also led to a second level before that. It was a thought worth exploring. With a groan (his body seems reluctant to rise from the mattress), Loki pulls himself to his feet and hobbles back to the kitchen.

The spiraling staircase is steeper than he would have preferred, but Loki forces himself to ignore it. If he (seemingly) survived a sword to the chest, he can manage a few steps. By the time he comes to the second level he’s panting and out of breath, leaning against the wall for support, but he’s pleased to find that he was in fact correct in his assertion.

There’s a long hallway stretching before him, lit only by a flickering lantern dangling on the wall at its end. He can make out the outline of closed doors resting on either side. This is what he had intended to explore, but there’s another, far brighter light flickering above him, and Loki glances back up the spiraling staircase. Was it just his imagination, or did he hear a voice? His brow furrows. That hadn’t been Sigyn speaking—no, that had been a masculine sound. He thinks back to the pair of dishes in the cupboard, the pair of chairs resting on either side of the table.

There’s someone else here.

He can’t hear the voice anymore. Had he even heard it at all? Loki starts up the staircase again—perhaps if he gets closer, he’ll be able to better make out what is happening in this tower. The pain in his chest is almost masked by the rapid pounding of his heart.

To his horror, once he passes the second level, the spiral widens to be the full circumference of the tower. So many stairs. Loki peers up at the lantern room above him—the bright light makes it difficult to tell how high it is, but the staircase stretches nearly beyond his vision. He can make out the shadow of a person moving about the balcony, but if it’s Sigyn’s or another’s, he can’t tell. Loki gulps a breath and continues on.

Just a little farther, he tells himself, just so you can see better.

His head aches—it’s the flickering of the light, it’s straining his eyes and making his vision all spotty. He tries to ignore it, but then his chest sears in pain, so potent that for a moment everything goes white. With a soft cry, Loki leans against the stone wall. His hands are trembling.

It’s alright. It’s alright. He presses his back against the wall, trying to keep his legs from buckling under his weight. It’s alright. He just needs a moment to rest. His legs give out anyway, and he slides to the floor with a hard thump. The stairs are spinning. The whole tower is spinning. His chest is beyond just pain now, it burns, stinging with every heaving inhale he gasps.He gulps, but he can’t seem to find a breath.

“Loki?” The sound is one of shock and terror, and for a moment it pulls him free of his dizziness. Sigyn is standing a few steps above him; even silhouetted by the glow of the lighthouse, the look of horror on her face is clear as day. He’s barely processed the realization that she said his name before she does it again.

“Loki– oh Norns—” She rushes down the stairs to kneel in front of him, hands fluttering to his chest. He follows her frightened eyes and realizes dimly that his bandages have soaked through with blood. “Loki, I told you to stay—”

Loki tries to respond, but his tongue doesn’t seem to be working, and the words turn to mush in his mouth. Sigyn doesn’t seem to be looking for a reply anyways. She presses a hand to where his shoulder meets his neck, and for once the coolness of her skin feels pleasant against his—when did this tower become so unbearably hot? She’s murmuring something, words he can’t quite hear, but the pain in his chest is slowly melting to a dull ache, the fuzziness in his vision fading away. When she looks up at him again, he’s struck by how her brown eyes sparkle in the eerie light.

“Can you walk if you hold me?” she asks, and he can only nod, gripping her shoulder as she guides him with an arm around his torso back down the staircase. It’s slow work, but she’s gentle and steady, her earlier admonishments replaced with soft words of encouragement as he stumbles along.

He’s expecting her to take him back to his original room, but instead Sigyn leads him to the unexplored second level, and he’s grateful to not have to walk as far. The door on the right opens to a bedroom almost as threadbare as the first, although Loki does catch a glimpse of his tunic hanging on a clothesline to the side along with other various articles of laundry. He huffs a laugh to himself as she lays him down on the bed. At least that’s one mystery solved.

Sigyn wastes no time getting to work on his wound, cutting away the soiled bandages with a surgical precision and dabbing the blood with a damp rag. Loki watches in silence as she begins to redress the injury. He’s skilled enough in emergency care—after all, knowing such can mean life or death on the battlefield— but these are the movements of someone who’s been trained with far more proficiency.

She’s a healer.

Loki had already suspected as much, but this seems to be confirmation. However, that doesn’t explain everything.

“You know my name,” he says at last.

Sigyn jerks her head up. “What?”

“You called me Loki. I never told you my name.” He studies her with an exhausted sort of suspicion. She confuses him. There’s clearly much that she’s not divulging, but she seems so sincere in her actions. “Who are you, really?”

She inhales, her gaze planted firmly on his bandages. “I told you already. I’m Sigyn.”

Loki huffs. This woman is a terrible liar. “You also told me that you didn’t know me, and yet here we are.”

She bites her lip. “I never said that …”

“So you do know me?”

“It’s …” The bed creaks as she shifts her weight against it. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How? It’s a yes or no question.” Loki jerks himself up into a sitting position with a grunt. She lets out a soft cry, but when she moves to push him back down he grabs her wrists and holds them still. He’s had enough of this.

“I don’t know you,” he growls. “Before today, I have never once seen your face. And yet you know me by name. Who are you?”

She’s squirming, still avoiding his gaze. “You’re going to hurt yourself again—”

“Tell me what’s going on here!”

A tense beat of silence passes, but then she sighs, her arms going limp. When she tries to pull away, Loki doesn’t stop her. There’s a shift in the air that tells him he’s won.

Sigyn walks over to the window, runs her hand down the dark fabric of the curtain as if in a trance. She stands there for several moments, immobile and silent. He’s wondering if she’s going to say anything at all when she turns back towards him, an anxious look on her face. “Do you … are you familiar with the concept of … alternate lives?

“The concept of – what?” Loki’s thoughts stutter – he’s not sure what he had been preparing for her to say, but that’s definitely not it.

“I mean – goodness, I’ve never explained this out loud before.” She lets out a nervous laugh and comes back to sit beside him on the bed. “I mean … you’re you,” she says, gesturing towards him, “as you are here today, because you made a series of specific choices, and the people in your life made a series of specific choices, and all the generations of people who came before you made a series of specific choices, and that all lead to you, with your specific set of experiences and feelings and beliefs. Yes?”

She’s looking directly at him, her gaze as intense as it is apprehensive, and Loki swallows. He almost wishes she would go back to being afraid to make eye contact. But he nods.

She studies him a moment, as if deciding whether to believe him. “But if any one of those choices were different,” she says finally, “If you did something different, or your parents did something different, or a person in the distant past you don’t even realize you’re connected to did something different—if anything changed—your life would look different to how it is now. Perhaps it would be a small change, or perhaps it would be such a drastic alteration that it doesn’t look remotely the same. Are you still following me?”

“I believe so …” Loki says, although his voice sounds less certain. He pauses for a moment. “It sounds like Skuld’s Net.”

He’s not sure if it’s a fair connection to make— the matrix-esque symbol is meant to represent the web of fate’s possibilities past, present, and future, but he is very aware that he’s grasping for something familiar to cling on to in this sea of strangeness.

But Sigyn’s eyes light up. “Yes, that’s a good way of thinking about it!” she exclaims. “So now, imagine if every different choice, every variation, every individual thread, exists in its own separate reality.” She interlocks her fingers together, then slowly pulls her hands apart to demonstrate.

Loki’s frowns. “But if that were true – if every infinitesimal difference created a different universe—” Norns, his head is spinning “—that would be impossible to quantify. There would be infinite possibilities.”

She gives a wane smile. “Precisely.”

He’s lost in thought for a while, grappling with her words. A separate reality for every individual thread. It’s too fantastic, too absolutely ridiculous, to be believed. And yet …

“And you mean to tell me that you knew me in an alternate universe?” he asks finally. “That’s what you’re trying to get at?”

“Oh!” Sigyn is clearly caught off guard by the question. She swallows, glancing up at the ceiling. It seems her eyes are misting over again. “A … a version of you, yes.”

Loki is quiet. Does he believe her? Can he believe her? He’s not sure himself.

“How?” His voice feels thick.

“What?”

“How did you know me? What was I to you?”

“You—” She’s definitely fighting tears now, furiously trying to blink them away. Her words come out strained. “My husband. You were my husband.”

Loki feels as though he’s been doused in cold water.

“What?” He can barely dislodge the sound from his throat.

Sigyn gives a jittery nod. “Yes. I, uh –” She reaches under her collar to pull out an oval locket on a gold chain—it’s an Asgardian style, a trinket he remembers as being a popular gift between courting lovers after their first solstice together. Sigyn unlatches the mechanism to open it. It projects a holographic image in her hand, soft and warm in the dismal shadows of the candlelit room. Loki’s heart stops.

It’s him, unmistakably him, gentle curls resting against his shoulders as he beams down at the woman he’s cradling against his chest—Sigyn, he realizes dimly, although it takes a moment to recognize her smiling visage, lively and joyful in a way that seems lost to the haggard woman who sits across from him. Loki stares, unable to take his eyes off of it. It’s me. His chest feels empty. His hologram’s face is crinkled with a jubilance that Loki’s not sure he’s ever experienced in his life. Sigyn watches the projection in silence for a moment before clicking the locket closed once more. She looks over at him, waiting for him to speak. His mouth has gone quite dry.

Loki doesn’t know what to say. He can’t meet her gaze. He swallows. “How did we meet?” he croaks at last. “Or … you and him, how did you meet?”

She lets out a soft little breath—surprise, perhaps? Or was she upset? “I was a novice, in the healing ward. You – him – he was always getting into trouble, always needing something patched up … we just got to talking a lot.” Her voice is drifting away, into something lighter, dreamier, and she lets out a small giggle. “There was this one time, on Alfheim, you took an arrow to the shoulder—it had been dipped in something, so healing spells didn’t work properly, and we had to give you a sedative for the pain, and you completely out of it, just saying the most ridiculous things—”

“Hold on—” Loki reaches out without knowing what he’s reaching for. Alfheim … shoulder … poisoned arrow … Words and images click together in his mind, leaving behind only confusion. Is this what it’s like to go insane? “I remember that – happening to me, I mean.” He gulps a breath. “Thor had gotten into a row with an Elven militia … you weren’t there, though. Eir handled it …”

Sigyn hums—it’s a soft noise, with only just a hint of sadness. “That makes sense. I … I don’t think I exist in your universe.”

He furrows his brow. “How’s that?”

“I don’t know. The circumstances necessary for my birth just didn’t happen.” She shrugs. Her smile seems tired. “Infinite possibilities, remember.”

Infinite possibilities … He’s struck by a sudden thought. “Is my mother alive in your universe?”

“Frigga?” Sigyn sounds surprised. “Yes, of course – or at least she was when I was there.” She lets out an awkward laugh. “I’ve not exactly kept up with current events since landing here.”

Loki stares into space. He feels rather like he’s falling again. There’s a world where she’s alive. Where I’m happily married. Where everything is different. What is reality anymore? Does any of it matter? Is any of this real?

Sigyn reaches forward, resting a cautious hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry – I know this is a lot to take in, all at once. I really didn’t want to just drop it on you—”

“How do you know all this?” he interrupts. “With the different universes, and all the rest? Is this common knowledge in your world?”

“Oh …” she stutters, glancing away again. “Well … no, not exactly. I … I sort of stumbled into that knowledge on my own.”

His suspicions are roused again instantly. “What does that mean?”

“I was …” Sigyn gulps. “I was studying. I was looking for something else, a different kind of magic, and I … I inadvertently discovered all this.” She motions distractedly to the air, and it reminds Loki of their surroundings.

“Is that how you ended up here?” he asks. “Because of your studies?”

“Essentially …” her smile seems anxious, uncomfortable. “I … I disrupted things.”

“What things?”

Sigyn stands abruptly. “It’s … it’s probably better if we don’t talk about it.”

“Why?” Loki stands too, perhaps a bit too fast given the ache in his temples, but he ignores it in favor of maintaining his questioning glare. “Don’t I deserve to know? As your husband?”

She flinches, and he can’t help but feel a bit guilty—he didn’t mean to sound so mocking. But he pushes the thought from his mind. Remember the voice in the lighthouse tower. There are things she’s not telling you.

“What if you get dressed first?” she asks finally. “Get dressed and eat something? Then we can talk more.”

It’s tempting to refuse, to insist that he will not be moved until every secret has been revealed to him, but her words make it difficult to ignore the chill running down his spine.

“Very well,” he relents.

…

Loki never would have expected dinner in a land between life and death to be so delicious.

“What did you call this again?” he asks as he scrapes the last bits of tartly sweet scarlet sauce from the plate. When they had sat down to eat, he had insisted that Sigyn eat a bit from both plates first, to alleviate his instinct to expect poisoning (she had done so without arguing, a slight amusement on her lips, and he found himself wondering if his interdimensional counterpart was similarly prone to suspicion), but now he was almost sorry that he had given up even the smallest portion.

“Kompe with lingonberry compote.” Sigyn grins at him from across the table—it’s the first time he’s seen her truly smile, and he has to admit, there’s something endearing to the sight. “Have you not had it before?”

“I don’t think so.” He licks his lips, chasing a final taste of compote. “I feel I’d remember if I had.”

“In my universe, it was your favorite.” She’s still smiling, but it’s fading into something dreamier, more reflective. “I actually learned to make it because you liked it so much. I surprised you with it once.”

Loki sits back in his seat, gaze drifting to the covered window. It’s strange—how she knows him without actually knowing him, how she has all this history with him, and yet simultaneously not with him. It’s a bit like talking to an omniscient being. He wonders what his interdimensional counterpart is doing right now.

“So we’re very similar, I presume?” he says. “Him and I?”

Sigyn is quiet as she clears the table of dishes. “Yes. It’s … it’s a bit uncanny, to be honest.” She huffs a fond laugh to herself. “He was about as terrible at following my medical advice as you are—never wanted to stay still.” Smirking, she adds, “I threatened to tie him to the bed once.”

“Oh.” How am I supposed to respond to that? “… did you?”

She seems to realize all at once what it was she just said, and her cheeks flush crimson red. “Oh goodness, no, not – no, definitely not.”

He chuckles at her awkwardness, but this train of thought leads another sudden station, and he goes quiet for a moment. “Did … did you and him, did you have children?”

Goodness, what a strange thought. Somehow Loki has never been able to picture himself as a father—even when he was younger, before he knew the truth of his existence, when he thought he would have to produce heirs like any normal prince might, the idea felt like something that would happen to a faceless stranger in some sterile future that didn’t belong to him. Knowing what he knows now, it’s a relief he never had the chance to pass his biological baggage on to an unsuspecting child.

Sigyn places the dishes into the washbasin with a soft sigh. “No … we had been talking about it though.” She pauses. “You—he was nervous. Which was fair—I was nervous too. But I think it would have worked out.” She smiles fondly. “Your poor mother—she never wanted to push, but she was so eager for grandchildren, and with Thor off traveling most of the time she had basically given up on any from him—”

“Thor traveling?” Loki interrupts, frowning. “How’s that?” He can’t imagine a world where Odin would take lightly to his firstborn spending most of the time away from the realm.

“Oh yes, he had a huge falling out with your father several years back.” She leans back with a huff as she recounts the tale. “Odin banished him to Midgard, then changed his mind and said he could come back but Thor was too stubborn to return unless Odin said that Thor had been right all along, and Odin was too stubborn to ever do that, and it just turned into a whole mess.” Sigyn turns back towards him, her brow furrowed slightly at the memory. “It was hard. You got caught up in the middle of it all, trying to be the mediator, and it was just overwhelming.”

“Huh.” Loki’s head feels a bit odd. “Something similar happened in my world but … but that’s not how it ended at all.” He shivers, but for once it has nothing to with the cold. He can feel Sigyn’s quizzical eyes on him, and so he clears his throat before she has the chance to question him further. “If Thor’s not there, then does that make me the crown prince?”

“Oh no, that’s Hela. The crown princess, I mean.” She’s turned back to the washbasin, so she doesn’t see the look of utter confusion on Loki’s face.

“Who?”

“Hela. Odin’s firstborn.” Sigyn glances back, eyes widening. “Does she not exist for you either?”

“I—” Loki’s voice doesn’t seem to be working properly. “She – he – Odin has another child?”

Sigyn nods, leaning against the counter. “At least for us. She was his first wife’s daughter. She’s quite a bit older than you and Thor – I don’t think you and her were ever particularly close.” She lets out an anxious huff of a laugh. “She always rather frightened me, to be honest.”

“Goodness …” is all Loki can manage.

Sigyn looks thoughtful as she dries the plates and puts them away. “I’m really surprised she’s not in your timeline,” she says. “I would have thought – because I don’t think yours is that different to mine? – but I suppose so.”

“Yes …” Despite everything—the overwhelming, mindboggling cascade of sudden information—Loki finds himself chuckling. “It seems my version received the short end of the stick. I don’t have you, I don’t have Hela, and I don’t have kompe.”

Leaning back against the counter, Sigyn cackles. “The most painful loss of them all!” She cocks her head to the side, still laughing. “Norns, do you not have harvest festivals? That’s always one of the main dishes for us!”

“Oh, we do—in fact I think we may serve every possible dish at them except for kompe.” He shakes his head, grinning. It feels good to laugh. “Although usually the food comes second to the mead. I remember once I was dancing with a young lady who had had far too much to drink, and she ended up losing the contents of her stomach all down my front.”

He’s not sure where the memory comes from, why it’s bubbling to his mind now. He hadn’t thought of it in years but … Norns, that seems a lifetime ago. He had been so young, a boy still, his hand trembling as he held his hand out to her—it had been the first time he had found the courage to ask a girl to dance. Funny how he can’t remember her name now, or even her face. No, when he thinks of her, all he can remember is standing frozen on the dance floor, dripping in vomit, as somewhere to the side Thor howled with such laughter that he nearly made himself sick as well.

Sigyn looks absolutely horrified. “Oh goodness, that’s terrible!” she cries with wide eyes. “Was she alright? Were you?”

Her concern is a baffling thing. “Oh yes, we were both fine,” Loki says slowly. “She was very embarrassed, if I remember correctly. And I was uninjured—I just needed to change.” He chuckles dryly. “Needless to say, it put me off dancing for a bit.”

“Not permanently, I hope?” There’s a sadness to her that he doesn’t quite understand. “Do you not care for it still?”

“I’m not sure I would say that.” Loki shrugs. “I never had any particular talent for it to begin with. And I was never a very coveted partner.”

“Really?” Sigyn bites her lip, crestfallen. “I remember you dancing so beautifully in my universe. The first time you asked – I felt so unworthy of your hand. I remember the other ladies were quite jealous.”

Jealous. He snorts at the very idea. “I’m afraid we’ve stumbled on to another interdimensional difference.”

“I’m sure you’re better than you say …” Her hesitation is a palpable thing, hovering by the counter as she gazes back at him with unsure eyes. “I’d love to dance with you.”

“What?”

“I’d love to dance with you.” As if to emphasize, she crosses the room and offers him her hand. “Now, even, if you’d like.”

He stares at her hand, unsure how to respond. Is she joking? She must be …

“I appreciate it, but …” he glances up at her. “I’m not your husband.”

Sigyn inhales softly but doesn’t move. “I know,” she says. “I’m not asking my husband.”

Loki raises his eyebrows. Norns, she’s serious. “There’s no music,” he says cautiously.

“We don’t need music.” Her smile is affectionate. “I want to give you a nice dance.”

He huffs. This is absolutely ridiculous, and yet … there’s something almost comforting about the way her fingers close around his when he takes her hand. Sigyn grins as she pulls him to his feet.

“You know how to waltz, don’t you?”

Loki smirks. “I did at one point, at least.” His free hand comes to rest on her hip, some long dormant instinct flickering back to life. She’s the right size to dance with, he thinks suddenly. She fits perfectly into his arms. It’s an odd feeling.

Sigyn reaches out to stroke a loose bit of hair from his face, her fingers lingering on his cheek for a moment before placing her hand on his shoulder. “Think you can follow my lead?”

He inhales. “I’ll do my best.”

It’s hardly a proper waltz—there’s not enough room in the small kitchen for a full dance floor, it’s hard to keep a rhythm without any sort of music, and besides, he’s woefully out of practice, but … there’s something freeing about it. They stumble about the room, Sigyn giggling as she tries to count out the beats as he bumps into the chair again, chuckling through his apologies – “You’re doing fine, just keep going, just like this—”

He smirks. “Still think you’d be jealous of my partner?”

She laughs. “Immensely so.”

He bumps her arm as he tries to twirl her and makes a face. “See, I told you—”

“No, no, you’re doing wonderfully, just like this—” Sigyn tries to spin around, but trips and nearly loses her balance. Loki grabs at her in an attempt to hold her steady, but any semblance of balance has been lost and they both go stumbling into the counter, giggling hysterically.

“Oh goodness!” She manages to gasp between fits of laughter, reaching for his chest. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

He shakes his head, bracing himself against the countertop as he tries to catch his breath. “Are you sure all the ladies wanted to dance with me, darling?” he teases. “Perhaps it was you they coveted, with your unique dancing techniques.”

Sigyn collapses into giggles again. “No, I swear, I—”

But she’s cut off by a somber tolling from the corner, rattling the window beneath its cover. Through the course of the after-dinner pleasantries, Loki had forgotten the faceless grandfather clock, forgotten the flickering tower room above them, forgotten everything he had aimed to uncover. How had he let himself become so thoroughly distracted? He glances at his dance partner, who has gone very still beside the counter. The room seems to have dropped in temperature.

“What does that indicate?”

“It …” Sigyn inhales. She looks quite pale. “It means I have to tend to the light.”

“And that means?” When she doesn’t answer, he huffs in irritation. “I want to go with you.”

She shakes her head. “No … no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Again, she’s silent, staring up at the heavy darkness of the staircase. Loki grips her arm, and she flinches. “You promised to tell me everything, remember?”

“I … it’s too many steps. You’ll reopen your wound again.” She won’t look directly at him, not even to try to free herself from his grasp.

“What is up there that you don’t want me to see?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not that, it’s just – it’s best if you stay down here.” There’s a desperate tinge to her voice. “Please, just believe me—”

“Why should I?” he snaps. “What are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything, I swear—”

He lets out a puff of air, lets go of her arm. This is getting him nowhere. “I suppose I’ll have to see for myself.”

Her eyes widen. “No—Loki—” She’s grabbing at him, but he brushes her off as easily as a fly and heads towards the staircase. Her pleas are frantic, wild behind him, but he doesn’t turn. She won’t look at him, why should he look at her? “Loki please, just listen to me—” All at once, her voice hardens. “Loki, STOP.”

And then the world goes black.

…

He comes to gradually, the flickering candlelight seeping back through the corners of his vision. Something doesn’t feel right – it’s as if he’s floating. His limbs are numb.

Where am I?

Loki blinks groggily, taking in his surroundings. Stone walls, plush mattress, modest nightstand … didn’t this happen already? He blinks again. No, he’s not dreaming – he’s back in his original bedroom, the one he woke up in earlier. How did he get here? Images and words come trickling back through his mind, memories of the dance, the clock, the staircase …

She used seidr.

His gaze darkens. Of course she had—how could he have been such a fool to think she wouldn’t? He had known she was capable of it, known that she was hiding something, and yet somehow she had managed to bat her pretty little eyelashes and fill his head with stories of an alternate world – imbecile, he hisses under his breath as he rushes to the door. He knows better than this. He is better than this.

The door is locked tight. Of course it is. She isn’t pretending he’s anything but her prisoner anymore. He bangs with his fists, yelling at her to open it, but there’s no answer. Letting out a frustrated howl, he slams the door with his side. Pain explodes across his shoulder. The wood bends but doesn’t break. Loki huffs. So, she didn’t seal it with magic. An odd choice, but one that would work to his benefit. Still, there must be a better way to go about doing this. He glances around the room for something to use as a battering ram.

His eyes land on the nightstand.

A resounding crash later, and Loki is storming down the hall into the kitchen. He hasn’t much of a plan – finding Sigyn is the goal, but what is he going to do when he does? Force her to reveal her secrets to him? Yes, because that worked so well last time. He grimaces, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. At least this time he’s prepared for her tricks.

But it all comes to nothing, because the kitchen is empty – their dinner dishes still untouched on the counter where she had left them. The grandfather clock looms menacingly in the corner. Loki bites his lip, staring at its faceless visage.

How much time has passed since he lost consciousness? He has no way of knowing. Still, he thinks, his gaze drifting to the shrouded staircase, it’s no mystery as to where she’s gone.

The steps seem less steep this time – perhaps it’s the adrenaline pounding in his ears, or perhaps Sigyn’s talent for healing is really that incredible, but he passes the second level far more quickly this time, climbing into the tower without skipping a beat.

The lighthouse chamber is just as eerie as he remembers it, the flickering lantern casting shadows that dance on the stone walls like spindly spider creatures. There’s another shadow too, a figure moving methodically around the light at the top. Sigyn? Or perhaps someone else? Loki slows his pace as he nears the top to hide his approach.

There’s that voice again—Loki cranes his ears to try to make out what he’s saying, but the words escape him. There’s something familiar to it, something he can’t quite place. Is that … are there multiple voices? He frowns. Yes, there’s definitely more than one person speaking, and not in unison—they’re all talking over each other, yelling over each other, goodness, how had he not heard this before? How had he not heard this panic? It’s clearer and clearer as he climbs closer to the top. Someone, multiple someones, are being tortured. His heart jumps to his throat.

Some of them are breathless, gasping, shaky voices weak with injury as they struggle to gulp a last bit of air.

Some of them are calling out, begging, wailing, howling in pain and screaming for help, piercing shrieks that make his hair stand on end.

Some are just screaming.

What is she doing to them?

Sigyn is up there—he can barely make out the sound of her footsteps on the wooden platform through the sounds of agony. Loki kneels on the steps just beneath, hidden out of sight. His knees are shaking. Because there’s something else. Something lingering in the back of his mind, something that’s been there ever the first time he entered this chamber but that he hadn’t been able to recognize, didn’t want to recognize—he presses his palms to the step in front of him, as familiar words break through the cacophony

“I’ll tell Father what you did here today.”

“I didn’t do it for him.”

It’s him.

It’s all him.

All of the voices, all of the pain, all of the horror, it’s all him.

Loki feels as though he’s going to be sick.

He’s not what he’s expecting to see when he stands. The light burns his retinas but he doesn’t waver in his gaze. It’s white, whiter than anything he’s ever seen in his life, searing deep into his skull, but the more he looks, the more he sees the flashing images flickering past his vision. It’s him—they’re all him—different versions of himself that he’s never seen before, drowning, dying, bleeding out in a prison cell, chests crushed, limbs broken, lips shown shut, all strangers to him except one, a gray body on a gray planet, fading away in his brother’s arms …

He doesn’t see Sigyn until she’s practically upon him, grabbing his wrist and yanking him back down into the staircase. He’s too stunned to fight back.

“I didn’t want you to have to see it,” she whispers hoarsely. She’s crying, he realizes suddenly, her eyes puffy and red. “It’s bad enough for me, I didn’t – I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for you—”

Loki gulps, a great heaving gasp as he collapses against the wall. His cheeks are wet – it seems he’s been crying too. “Why – what is it? What are they?”

“Different timelines. Things that have happened, or are happening, or have yet to happen.” Another Loki shriek breaks through the air, and she shudders. “We should go back downstairs.”

“No—” Loki grabs her wrist. As desperately as he wants to leave this place and never come back, he can’t let her avoid her explanations any longer. “Why are they here? What is this place?”

Sigyn swallows, and another tear drips down her cheek. “They’re connected to the light,” she says at last. “You are too—every Loki is. I have to keep the light burning, or else—” her voice breaks. “Please, can we go downstairs?”

He doesn’t let go. “Or else what?”

She draws a shaky breath. Her voice is barely audible. “Or else you’re all erased.”

Erased. The word hits him like a bucket of cold water. His whole existence, every version of his existence, dependent on the burning of this lantern … He stares at her with wide eyes. “Why?”

“It’s … it’s my fault.” Sigyn is trembling, pressing a hand to her eyes as if to block the tears from coming. “The Norns had to do it, to keep everything stable. They made the light show the worst parts of every timeline. They know—” she hiccups a sob “—they know with those stakes I’d never let it go out.”

There’s something in her eyes, something grey and dead that Loki hasn’t seen before. All at once, he realizes the truth.

“This is a punishment. It has nothing to do with me—it’s your own personal agony.” He’s confused – the Norns do not act as judge and jury, nor do they interfere with the lives of those beneath them. To earn their ire … “What did you do?”

“I … I messed with things I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t trying to, I just … I thought I could—” she inhales again, barely suppressing another sob. “I ripped through reality. Destroyed … several timelines. Once it started, I couldn’t stop it.” She lets out a sigh. “So they put me here. To control me. Connected all the universes to fix what I had done, and left me here to tend to it.”

“Oh …” He believes her – there’s a truth in her face that he hasn’t seen before – but he still doesn’t quite understand. “But … what of your universe? Surely it would be changed by the loss of you? Your Loki, is he not affected?”

“He isn’t. He can’t be.” Her tone is uncharacteristically short. It catches him off guard. “He – he’s gone. My Loki, he’s gone.”

“Gone—” Oh. Loki inhales. All at once, the pieces click into place. Her protective urges towards him, the soft air of sadness that always seems to follow her … Loki’s chest is aching, but it has nothing to do with his wound.

Sigyn continues in halting sentences. “That’s why … I thought – I thought I could save him. Reverse time, start it over again, stop it from happening … Because I couldn’t … without him, I couldn’t—” She gulps a shuddering breath, as if shaking away the memory. “But I couldn’t. I just ended up breaking everything. And the Norns put me here. They made it especially for me.” She laughs, but it’s a humorless sound, broken and bitter. “Keeps me out of trouble, and reminds me … reminds me of what I lost.”

“What you lost?” Loki’s voice is soft.

Sigyn laughs again, tears freely streaming down her face now. “There’s two of everything. They made sure of it—two plates, two chairs, two bedrooms. But it’s just me. It’s only ever just me …” she gulps, then nods in the direction of the great lantern. “Then there’s that … I see every version of you, every awful thing that’s happened to you, all of it, every time I come up these steps. I have to look—” her voice breaks. “I have to watch it all, I have to keep the light going, I can’t lose any more of you—”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and desperate. “I wasn’t trying to pull you here.” Her voice is thick with emotion. “I really wasn’t. I didn’t think it was possible. I just saw you, on Svartalfheim, drifting away … you weren’t dead yet, but you were so close, and I, I just – I’m so lonely—”

And then she collapses in on herself, shaking with the weight of centuries-old sobs. Loki gingerly reaches towards her – this feels like something private, something not meant for his eyes, but once he touches her she melts into his arms, clinging to him like a life raft as she bawls into his chest. It’s a bit unnerving – he’s never been one skilled at providing comfort. But he holds her firmly, cradling her head against his tunic, and it must be right because she tightens her grip, and it’s just the two of them, two broken souls alone together in a broken world.

“It’s alright,” he hears himself whisper, so low he’s not sure she can even hear him. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

…

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is the dust.

Svartalfheim is as dark and barren as he left it, the dirt like ash beneath his fingers as he stretches and twitches, feeling slowly returning to his extremities. His armor is still stained with blood, but the wound beneath has vanished. He’s alone – Sigyn had told him he’d be alone.

“Thor and Jane go off to find a way off world,” she had said. “They think you’re dead, and they can’t afford to take your body with them.” She didn’t know what happened to them after. The light only shows her him.

They had decided to spend one last meal together – she knew that if she didn’t send him back, it wouldn’t be long before someone came to force him to return, but they wanted to take their time with it. She made kompe once more, since he wouldn’t get to taste it again.

“What were you going to do if I hadn’t found out?” he asked her. “Surely you didn’t expect to keep me here forever.”

Sigyn had sighed. She seemed to have aged a century since their moment in the tower, but there was something beautiful to it – an invisible tension that had melted away. “No … I didn’t really have a plan. I just … I didn’t want to lose you again.”

She wasn’t sure what he would remember when he awoke in his own world once more. Would it be as though no time had passed? Would the lighthouse seem like a hazy dream? “That might be for the best, honestly,” she said with a slight smile. “You won’t have anything to grapple with.”

“Perhaps,” he had hummed, but secretly he hoped she was wrong. He didn’t want to forget.

Waking up on the dark planet’s blood splattered soil, Loki’s relieved to find he still can picture her sparkling brown eyes clear as day.

They had danced, too, one last time before he entered into the light. “We can’t let whatever happened with that first one be our dancing legacy,” he had teased. Sigyn laughed and took his hand.

He wondered about her, as they swept across the room in perfect harmony. Perhaps there’s a reason no one else had ever clicked, no one else fit into his arms like the final piece to his puzzle. Maybe she was right – maybe his Sigyn doesn’t exist, through some cruel twist of fate he had no say in. Or maybe she is out there, somewhere in the world, waiting for something she doesn’t realize she’s been waiting for, just as he’s been his whole life. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but perhaps not.

He had kissed her hand at the end, when they were saying goodbye – it was a gesture that might have seemed oddly formal, but he wasn’t sure how to put his cocktail of emotion into words. Her eyes misted up.

“Thank you,” he had whispered – for the food, for the healing, for keeping him alive in a way he couldn’t put into words. It was a meager thanks, but she seemed to understand. She stroked his cheek with cold fingertips.

“No … thank you,” she whispered back. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

And I you.

Loki sighs, sits up. There’s an emptiness in his chest, but he exhales it away. His stint at death has lasted long enough.

Now, it’s time to live.

#loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki x sigyn #logyn #loki angst #angst #angst with a bittersweet ending #halloween fic #cozy writes #the lighthouse

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