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neoplatinum · 2 days

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can't remember to forget you - shakira | son chaeyoung

summary: is this love behind closed doors enough

pairing: guitarist!chaeyoung x fem!reader

themes: highschool au, weed, cigarettes, angst, fluff, music festival, rest of twice!, minor 2yeon, jooyeon and o.de from xdinary heroes

wc: 4.0k

a/n: FOR MY POOKIE WOOKIE CHAE'S POOKUMS (@nr1chaedickrider)

“do you know why she always carries that guitar?” momo’s watching chaeyoung walk across the field. that familiar brown guitar case strapped to the back of the girl’s back. like an attachment to her body. quick paces as she crosses the lawn with fishnets and platform boots on, layers of necklaces bouncing along in time with her steps.

that signature dark lipstick.

damn, she does look good.

you look away from her, trying your best to concentrate since the start of lunch.

“she told me it’s her soulmate.” sana says back, digging into her jacket for a sweet candy, continuing to watch as chaeyoung crosses the field towards the other end of the school. popping a small chocolate in her mouth. “don’t know what that means.”

then sana looks down at you.

“hey you’re friends with her right?”

you’ve been gripping your homework since momo spoke of her name. taking everything in you to stay still and not watch as your not-girlfriend walks past where you sat. and she knows exactly where you sit everyday for lunch, she knows this exact route like the back of her hand. but still she chooses to walk past it, she used to stop and wave to you discreetly before leaving. instead she’s plugged into her headphones and walking right into the building.

“yeah, chaeyoung.” you just respond, trying to read the biology homework in front of you. terms turning into characters when you try to re-read the same question. but you can’t focus when your not-girlfriend has been ignoring you lately.

“right, that’s her name!” momo exclaims. then sana and her are back to bickering like siblings, all the while you’re trying to read this question again.

the cell cycle?

sana and momo, god knows why, have managed to flip themselves onto the grass and have their hand in each other’s hair pulling at it. legs and arms all over the place like they’re stuck to each other. you watch them briefly, trying to scratch each other’s faces. without missing a beat you turn back to your paper.

trying to refocus on the homework. anaphase…anaphase?

writing a few more lines across the page and munching on momo’s apple slices. you find yourself thinking about that stupid fight a week ago. you visited chaeyoung in her room, strumming her black guitar in her living room. weed filling the air as she tried different chords for her latest piece. one that she was discreet about.

you had visited her after she called you asking for a smoke sesh. and who are you to deny yourself the wonders of that green bud.

more than anything, you love the haziness of watching her play her guitar. especially when she plays that electric one she keeps tucked away in her closet. the shine of that black and white electric over the body and her tattooed arms expertly bending notes. dark hair falling over her face, while she closes her eyes and just lets her hands play freely.

hand flowing along the neck of the guitar, landing fingers in different, other hand holding a lit joint between her fingers. the smoke rising to the air. you feel your eyelids heavier as you lean backwards in the loveseat.

watching the way the body is laid on her thigh, adjusting her playing every couple of seconds. sometimes playing the metal bar for some vibrato, the sounds ringing bending the sound through your ears. she knows how it sounds when she plays it, looking at you with a smirk as you take another hit.

her eyes are low too, she always felt like her musicality shines when she’s not in her head. letting the playing speak for herself. coupled with the blue LED in her room, you think she’s gorgeous. a sight reserved for yourself. exactly why you are stuck here nearly every night, out of your own will of course.

admiring the art that is son chaeyoung. even more of a treat you can listen to the art she produces.

“you smoke?” you stuff your hand into your pocket, looking up suddenly. seeing chaeyoung hiding out behind the back of the school. after ditching class you were looking to just relax away from school, rounding out the back of the school. trying to jump the gate out back. and here stood in front of you was son chaeyoung. the last girl you would want to talk to her.

she keeps to herself in class, usually doodling or plugged into her earbuds. never speaking up, but you didn’t judge. here she is behind the school, flicking the ash off the end of her cig, earbuds in and a lock necklace dangling as she continues to stare at you. crouched down and phone in hand. her guitar case propped against the brick wall.

she stares expectantly.

you don’t even know what to say, knowing her for barely a year and never speaking more than two words. she takes another puff, pushing her lips into a circle before aiming the smoke right into your face.

immediately you step backwards, eyes stinging a bit from the cloud. the grittiness hitting your eyes, making you rub them and then you’re coughing a bit. the smoke hitting the back of your throat. chaeyoung laughs a little, staring up at you. you finally look at her again after wiping your eyes.

“want to try?” she says pushing herself up, holding the cigarette out a bit. you stare at the lit bud, her painted nails, all black. and the way her hand is covered in silver rings. each one more intricate than the last. you nod lightly. looking back up at her.

her eyes are dazzling too, little browns under the sunlight. you completely forget what you said yes to. she brushes her hand through her hair, pushing it back. and then she pulls you towards her, hand around your neck, pulling you in like a magnet. other hand reaching towards herself, taking a breath in of the smoke. your eyes in a trance as the lit bud lights with orange and reds. then she takes it away.

her hand on your neck, snaking around to your chin, thumb pressed on your chin. until you drop your jaw. letting her move you like a puppeteer. eyes staring at your lips, blowing the smoke right into your mouth. letting that dark smell fill your mouth once more. the airiness of her breath makes your hair stand.

woah.

then she pushes her thumb up, closing your breath once more.

“breathe it out.”

you let it flow out of you, that putrid smell making you scrunch your nose. she watches you amusingly, like a newborn deer taking its first steps. you barely know what you’re doing, it’s kind of cute.

then she returns that hand back to your neck, dragging you in for a kiss. one that makes your body freeze all over. your senses are all failing when all you can feel is her tender lips on your own. a hand pulling you in closely, and the smell of that awful cigarette between you two. she lets go of you, amusement still filling her face.

you step back. she throws the case right over her shoulder and walks away from you, rounding the corner of the wall. you barely catch the sight of her guitar case when your body returns back to you. a curiosity building within you.

you’re trying your best to listen in, an ear pressed against the door. she’s always in this music room, room 202. every single lunch she’s here, using the school amp to play her music. you know this because you’re the only one she’s told you about this spot. made you swear to secrecy, if anyone else were to find out that she played here, it would ruin her charm as she says.

like an obedient dog, you agreed. she doesn’t let you inside though, she never does. feeling so dumb for waiting outside like a kicked puppy, you’re ready to leave when you hear her singing.

since when was she able to sing?

a soft voice pulling at your heart, how you long to hear her voice again. standing outside with your hands stuffed into your pockets. listening to the girl in your heart vocalize through the confined walls.

you walk away from the room, tucking a cigarette between your lips as you walk outside.

some days are better than others, good days are when you can visit chaeyoung in her garage. watching her slide her hands across her favorite guitar. admiring the artwork draping the walls, like a cavern of her mind. a constant reminder of her artistic style and creativity.

stepping into the garage you can already smell the weed that’s been circulating the air. taking a second to breathe in that familiar scent before closing the garage door right behind you. chaeyoung is sat on her favorite amp. littered in her own artwork and spray paint by the lovely artist herself.

her head tilted down as she continued to play through different chords, each one prettier than the last. a pick between her lips as she concentrates on nailing the next measure. she’s beautiful like this, her favorite bunny tucked right at the base of the amplifier.

tossing the backpack onto her worn couch, you plop right in front of her. watching the way her nail polish shines in the lowlight of an old studio light. she gives you a small nod as she continues to play. eyes never leaving yours, even as her hands move quickly along the guitar.

you grab the joint that’s been lying next to her, taking a deep hit as she watches you. red across the whites in her eyes.

you lean back, letting the smoke go up, watching the cloud in the air as she continues to play. until she stops. setting the guitar down on her stand. and grabbing your hand, pulling you up.

“i missed you.” she explains, grabbing ahold of your neck, pulling you against her.

you let your body fall against hers, laying your head against her shoulders. her arms moving to wrap around your. both of you slowly rocking in her garage.

“i missed you too chaeyoung.” you reply softly. letting the weight of today off your body. and she continues to sway you in her arms. it’s warm, her hugs are always so warm. and today more than anything you need her near.

“tell me about your day.” she says softly, letting you continue to lean against her.

“it was tiring, you know how work usually is.” you explain, pulling her against you as you wrap your arms around hers too. “oh you missed it, jeongyeon confessed to nayeon today.”

you stand back up, and chaeyoung stares at you, nodding slowly as she sits into the couch. grabbing her favorite strawberry glass cup as she drinks it.

“good for them.” she says, placing the cup back onto the coffee table. you watch the way she stares at her guitar. reddish eyes that don’t look at yours.

sitting down next to her she barely lifts an inch to look at you. busy grabbing her music papers off the ground. stuffing them into her folder as she leans back. and you do the same. letting your eyes watch the ceiling fan. a constant rotating, almost like it’s stuck in a loop. and really you can feel yourself feeling the same.

the way that all you can do is wave at chaeyoung at school. restricted to the confines of these four walls to showcase your affection to your girlfriend. a reminder that the relationship that you two have only exists in this small space.

“chaeyoung, i want to be official.” you say gently, head turned to the side as you watch her side profile.

“baby, we are official.” she says, taking a hit from her joint.

“not to other people we aren’t.” you say, looking at her folded hands and the light thumping of her foot. “you won’t hold my hand in public, you won’t kiss me in public. why’s that?”

chaeyoung stares at you, eyes more opened as she watches you.

“why won’t you let my friends know about us?” you say with a bite. watching the way she continues to stare at you. lost in her own thoughts to offer up a response.

“i thought what we had here is okay.”

“i want more chaeyoung, you knew this.”

you explain, watching the slight twitch in her eyebrows.

the fiddling of her hands on her shirt.

“i don’t know.” you hear, and just like that you grab your backpack, tossing it over your shoulder as you exit the garage.

ignoring the pain in your chest as chaeyoung doesn’t bother to call out to you.

jeongyeon and nayeon are bickering like idiots in front of you. trying to step on each other’s calves to make each other fold over. you want to join in with them but lately, the fight with chaeyoung (if you can even call it that) has taken over your mind. instead you stand quietly next to mina. both of you watching the two girls, your arms folded over each other as you both walk in line for the music festival.

a little buzzing throughout your body.

the line continues to move forward and you can hear the distant music in the background. the loud chatter of everyone in line along with people lining the fields distracting you from the loneliness that’s been erupting in your heart.

drowning out the sounds like a muffled speaker, until your feet reach the front of the line. a fellow classmate staring at your student ID expectantly. a scanner in their hand, and you show it to them. taking a second to look at the enclosed festival space. with a quick scan, you move forward into the area. a large open field crowded with excited students buzzing at the talents that will be showcasing their skills on stage tonight.

the heat beating on your skin, a light layer of sweat setting. the smell of grilled foods enticing the senses of jeongyeon and nayeon. them waving you and mina as they stumble away to the food stands.

mina’s pulling you through the crowd, slotting you two in a small open space. eyes forwards towards the stage. the sight of the fellow classmates on stage, pushing and placing microphones around the stage. long metal pipes laid around the giant black stage, light strobes hung along the top facing the performers.

you keep picking at your skin, quickly grabbing a cigarette to slot between your lips. not lighting it but keeping it between your teeth as you roll it around. looking around hopefully for a head of blonde hair and that signature guitar case. instead you spot momo and sana in the back, giggling with each other before jumping to scare an unsuspecting jihyo.

you turn back around facing the stage. arms crossed as your eyes land on everyone huddled closely. tapping your finger against your phone as you beg for it to vibrate. anything for a sign of thought from chaeyoung. she hasn’t answered your message from days ago, a clear indication she was retreating back into her shell.

one that you often have to pull her out of, it’s just worse knowing that you are the reason why she’s retreating back.

you take another at the stage when you begin to notice the lights starting up, like a strobe light illuminating the dark stage. and out steps the administration, welcoming in the school spring festival.

you stare at your fellow classmates, some band members you can remember from your class. there’s jooyeon and o.de from english, along with their bandmates. eyes gleaming in the sun as they await their set.

the crowd shouts as they continue their set. and through all the pop rock songs the sun continues to set into the night. the low buzz of people talking and laughing filling the night air. jeongyeon, nayeon and jihyo promptly rejoining you in the crowd of people. softly singing along to the covers of the songs.

you watch as jeongyeon has her arms wrapped around nayeon. keeping her swaying in her arms. a deep feeling of longing in your heart as you stare at them. you even begin to feel a tear form before you snap out of it. the wind picking up as you continue to sing with mina. jooyeon and o.de giving their ending remarks and exiting offstage.

you turn to mina, offering her a light smile when she sees your distraught face all throughout the set.

while you’re busy reassuring mina that you’re okay, a head of blonde enters the stage. jihyo and jeongyeon are busy fussing and bumping into you. making you turn your sight to chaeyoung up on stage. the dark lipstick that she always sports on her face. along with that guitar pick necklace you gifted her as one of your first gifts.

the red of the mic in her hand and that guitar that she treasures most.

you wonder if she treasures you in the same way.

people have begun to notice her on stage. everyone knows of chaeyoung, but few knew her truly. they didn’t know how she liked to sleep with that exact bunny by her side every night. they didn’t know the way she liked her coffee. they certainly didn’t know about that tattoo on her back. they don’t know how hard she pours her heart into every song she makes.

they don’t know her like you do.

she takes center stage, eyes a little weary as she stares into the crowd. letting them sweep across the crowd. biting on her guitar pick as she stares out. and with a small huff she sits herself on the wooden stool. taking the time to adjust the mic stand. guitar laying on her body gently.

a reminder of every little ritual that you see when chaeyoung plays her guitar, all in front of your school to see.

staring at her as your body stills. not even the sight of jihyo and nayeon in your peripheral vision distracting you from your girlfriend.

“hello, i’m chaeyoung.” she scoots herself further back onto the stool. you can hear the cheers from the crowd. they’ve never seen her perform in public in all the years that she’s carried that guitar on her back.

everyone’s begging for a glimpse into what you admire so often.

“i know a lot of you have seen me with my guitar and wondered what i sing about? what i play about? who i play for?” she says, eyes continuing to stare into the crowd. she stutters a bit when her eyes land on you. hand gripping onto the red mic a little tighter.

“this song that i wrote, i wrote this based on my own feelings, and i wrote it for someone. please listen.” she says, taking a deep breath as she tucks a leg over another. letting the guitar rest it’s curve onto her thigh as she adjusts herself.

“this song is called ‘cant remember to forget you’, please enjoy.”

there’s light cheers and whistles as chaeyoung readies herself.

and I left a note on my bedpost

saying not to repeat yesterday's mistakes

what I tend to do when it comes to you

her voice rings out clearer than the sound of water drops. the speakers hitting your ears as if she’s singing it to you. like all things that remind you of chaeyoung, one thing is the constant sticky notes in her room. dedicated to remembering the things that she cherishes most, one of which was the first note that she wrote to you, asking you to be her girlfriend.

her eyes closed as she feels the music, hands moving along the guitar, and you can feel it, the emotions through her singing. a deep feeling as she nearly gets choked up. pushing through it to continue to sing. everyone around is swaying to her playing.

her eyes landing on yours once more.

she’s singing this to you.

only to you.

the way you make me feel, yeah

you got a hold on me, i never met someone so different

the way she continues to slide her hands over the different frets. standing up quickly when she feels the emotions running through her too. eyes ablaze as she pours into her emotions. people are getting into the song, everyone’s cheering loudly and staring at her. but she can only focus on you. the way tears are falling off your face. the way the lights shine on your face.

this song was made for you.

and only you.

the only memory is us kissing in the moonlight

oh-oh ooh oh, oh-oh ooh oh

i can't remember to forget you

the memories of running down the sidewalks. laughing loudly as her hands were in yours. a box of takeout in hand and flowers in another. the memory of her slowing you down to give you a kiss under the moonlight.

every memory of your love under the moonlight, or under studio lights. love that only you two knew. tucked away from the world and those around you two. she rocks into the beat of the song, letting her playing get her into the feeling.

the way you make me feel, yeah

you got a hold on me, I never met someone so different

her eyes are shining with tears too as she stares at you, you continue to stare at her. the way she can’t hold herself back when she’s singing. you’ve never heard her so vulnerable and open. a declaration of the feelings that she keeps away from others. and sometimes even you in turn.

there’s tears in her eyes but she keeps singing to you. like all great artists they need a muse, and for chaeyoung.

it’s you.

I can't remember to forget you.

she plays the last note, letting it fizzle out, and then the crowd erupts into a roar. everyone who ever thought she was strange for carrying her guitar everywhere is cheering in admiration. chaeyoung’s a talented artist. you knew this firsthand, but now everyone else knows it too.

the roaring in your ear feels like it’s muted, you can’t even hear them anymore. just the feeling of tears rolling freely, as she stares at you. her breath through the mic as she stares you down. that bunny hung onto the stand. she want you to know this song, it’s only for you.

only for you.

more people are cheering her on, begging for another song, erupting in chants of her name.

“i’m only performing this song. i hope it reached the person i wanted it to reach.” she says. grabbing ahold of her mic, guitar, and tucking the bunny under her arm. taking a short bow before exiting off the stage. using the sleeves of her shirt to wipe the tears off.

mina’s offering a tissue to you silently, and you wipe your tears away as she looks away. a sweet smile on her face as you excuse yourself to find chaeyoung.

eyes a little blurry from the tears as you head off the side of the stage. seeing her blonde hair in the crowd. she looks gorgeous. and then she spots you, running up to you. throwing her arms around you as she pulls you into a kiss.

taking the time to continue to kiss you even as you feel you nearly fall over. loud cheers and gasps as more people spot chaeyoung kissing you fiercely.

she leaves the kiss, eyes still filled with some tears but then she smiles at you.

“is this official enough?” chaeyoung smirks before pulling you into another kiss.

yeah, this is more than enough.

-- a/n: very late chae day fic hahaha !! sorry about that !! this is for my angst luver <33 angst4chaespookums lives on. stay safe and stay healthy everyone

#chaeyoung #chaeyoung x reader #twice chaeyoung #chaeyoung twice #son chaeyoung #twice x you #twice x reader #twice #kpop imagines #angst4chae'spookums #neoplatinum

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claymoresword · 3 days

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Fatal Attraction

Lagertha Lothbrok x Farmer Fem!Reader

Summary: After a long day of working on your farm, you have an accidental encounter with a gorgeous shield-maiden.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: smut, g!p reader, y/n could be transmasc, lust at first sight or whatever, y/n and lagertha are soulmates infact, porn no plot

Note: fairly certain no one's going to even read this silly thing but i've been rewatching vikings and something shifted.. that's all i have to say. (whenever there's a blonde milf trust claymoresword will be there)

gif cred: winnickdaily

You are forced to call it a day as you notice the sky dimming. Sundown is rapidly approaching and ypu recognize that it would not be productive to continue working through the night again.

Days at the farm have been long and tiring enough as it is while you prepare for winter.

You finally exit the stables after checking on the horses one last time. Slipping the hilt of your axe through your sword belt, you decide to head out into the forest to answer nature’s call once more before turning in for the night.

You relieve yourself upon a tree, subsequently clearing your throat whilst making a considerable amount of noise without much thought.

Once finished, you lace up your breeches in haste, anxious to return to the comfort and warmth of your farmhouse.

Then, a noise captures your attention, it is the crunching of leaves, a jarring snap of a twig just beside you.

Footsteps.

You reach for your axe, but before you can even attempt to retrieve it, the sensation of a pointed, cold object against the back of your neck causes you to freeze in place.

“Wait– don't harm me. I'm not here to cause trouble.” You declare in resignation, lifting your hands up as a gesture of surrender.

Today cannot be the day that you die.

“Who are you?” A woman's voice, edged and perilous, much like the blade that's being pressed up against your neck.

“I- I'm a farmer, I live just across the river.” You explain, and then, blessedly, you no longer feel the edged metal against your flesh.

You allow yourself a sigh of relief. However, just as suddenly, your breath hitches in your throat once more when you turn around to face the mystery woman– the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on.

Clad in armour, she bears a sword like she was born to it. Evidently, she is a shield-maiden, the most captivating one you have ever seen.

“State your name.” The blonde haired goddess demands. Her expression is taut and fierce and she has yet to lower her sword, strangely enough, it only makes you want to smile, but you possess enough wit to fight the urge.

“Y/n. My name is y/n.” You state, breathless, incapable of concealing the look on your face.

She is captivating. Now that your eyes have met, you can hardly find the strength to look away.

The shield-maiden remains silent as she continues to observe you. Once satisfied, she finally sheaths her steel.

“What's a farmer like you doing in the middle of a forest? This place is dangerous, full of bandits looking for an easy target.” The goddess asks, eyeing you once more.

Her seemingly impenetrable demeanor only intrigues you further. You find yourself actively fighting the desire to step closer to the shield-maiden.

"It- the truth, it's humiliating." You mutter, chuckling slightly, finally averting your gaze.

"I came out here to take a piss, I don't like to do it infront of the animals.” You admit, and your heart sings as you catch a smile threatening to form upon the shield-maiden's lips.

Lagertha's eyebrows raise slightly with your confession but she forces an impartial stare.

"So.. you have chosen the most dangerous place in all of Hedeby to answer nature's call?" The shield-maiden asks, her tone sharp with judgment.

Her words don't graze you, in fact your grin only widens as you are filled with a stroke of confidence.

She is even more beautiful when she is trying not to smile at you.

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask boldly, and finally, it is the shield-maiden's turn to flush a light shade of pink. She bites her lip, focusing her attention on the ground for a moment.

“Tell me your name again.” She orders, and you catch her eyes, the colour of the ocean– you wonder what it would be like to get lost in them, to lose yourself in the depths of her.

You aim to find out.

“Y/n.” You repeat, finally inching closer, hypnotized.

The other woman fails to move, but she allows the proximity. A tantalizing smirk that pulls your gaze toward her lips once more.

"You know, y/n–" She begins, tilting her head gently to the side.

"You could have gone to take a piss in a bush near your farm. But you chose to go in the woods, alone, in danger, I wonder why..” The shield-maiden taunts.

You only shrug.

“Perhaps I enjoy the risk.” You claim in jest, taking another step. “What are you doing here all alone?” You redirect the question, and the other woman looks off into the distance for a beat.

“Hmm..” She hums, purposely taking ample time to conjure a response. Your bodies are now only an inch away from touching.

She enjoys this, leaving you wanting– like a pathetic, eager pup.

Finally, the other woman advances forward, you are close enough to smell the sweat on her skin.

A thrilling scent.

"I come out here to think, to clear my head, and–" She pauses to lean forward. "I also enjoy the risk.” The shield-maiden claims in a whisper, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

She is mocking you, and Gods do you enjoy it.

Your smile remains, as well as your stare upon her lips. “You never told me your name.”

“My name is Lagertha.” The shield-maiden answers, her hand leaves the hilt of her sword to carefully graze your chest, she traces the details on your tunic.

An action that takes you both by surprise, yet she fails to pull away, and you pray to Freya that she never does.

“Can I kiss you, Lagertha?” You ask. If this gorgeous woman before you aims to plunge her sword into you now, then so be it.

To your delight, Lagertha does nothing of the sort, instead, her hand clenched into a grip on your collar, she nods. “Kiss me.”

You regard her permission, leaning in to capture her lips for a passionate kiss. Subsequently pinning her up against the tree as she wraps her arms around the back of your neck.

Lagertha immediately parts her mouth wider, wanting your tongue. Once again you do not hesitate to do as she asks, your tongue meets her own, and she thanks you with a whimper and a slightly louder moan.

Your hand shifts further downwards to her rear, deliberately pulling her close until she is flush against your groin. You can already feel yourself growing painfully hard; kissing this woman you had just met mere moments ago.

“You are so beautiful..” You utter, earning another gasp of pleasure as your mouth finds Lagertha's neck.

“You are not so bad yourself.” She pants in return, pushing herself further against you. Her hand slips in between both your bodies, boldly palming your hardened cock over your breeches.

You poorly mask a moan with a strained chuckle, pulling away for a moment to look upon her flushed expression. Lagertha's mouth remains parted as she chases your lips. You grant her another deep kiss before separating once more to speak.

"Do you have a husband, Lagertha? Will he care that you are kissing strange women in the middle of the forest?" You remark with a certain playfulness, although secretly hoping she will admit that she is indeed unmarried.

Eventhough you knew that the chances of it are highly unlikely.

"I have no husband," Lagertha replies, her voice laced with desire as she pushes herself against your groin once more, well aware of how hard you had gotten for her.

Her answer is the sweetest there is– it is exactly what you want to hear. Yet, you don't believe her.

"A gorgeous woman such as yourself.. unwed?" You mutter skeptically before placing another open mouthed kiss against her throat. You swiftly begin sucking on the flesh, relishing in the desperate whimper you manage to pull from the shield-maiden.

Soon Lagertha finds strength enough to grip a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back so you are forced to look her in the eyes.

She appears delighted to watch you wince.

“My heart has not yet found its place.” The shield-maiden admits, and you accept it to be an earnest statement. Though the glimmer of doubt beneath her poised expression does not go unnoticed.

“Oh– then, perhaps..” You say, pausing to kiss her again.

“Your heart will find its place with me.” You declare brazenly, and it is met with a faint smile before Lagertha reacts with a feeble attempt to shove you away.

“You are incredibly arrogant..” She claims, and you kiss her neck again before leaving another deep bruise upon her milky white skin.

The shield maiden chokes out a moan as you repeated the action on another part of her neck.

“Presumptuous–” She tries to continue, but is ultimately overcome with pleasure as you move your mouth over a particularly tender spot.

“–ah, fuck.” Lagertha groans as you proceed to slip your hand underneath her bodice, soon your mouth finds the swell of her breasts.

“You are perfect.” You praise in retaliation to her insults.

Lagertha doesn't try to wound you with her words anymore, only guiding your face closer so she may kiss you again, hungry and anguished.

Now she is utterly lost within you– and you in turn are reduced to the simplest most vulnerable part of yourself.

There is nothing else; all you care to see, touch, and taste is her.

Lagertha eventually results in pulling you down onto the ground with her. Leaves rustling violently as you both fumbled to undress yourselves. You removed your sword belts, tossing your weapons aside. There is no time, you needed to have her now, and the shield-maiden wanted the same.

She hastily pulls down her breeches and smallclothes. Once they are off her body, she discards them heedlessly and without thought, while you do the exact same.

A grunt leaves you as Lagertha grasps the base of your shaft, she pumps the length of your cock, diligently guiding you closer.

In half a heartbeat you are sheathed inside of the other woman to the hilt. Lagertha moans aloud at the sensation of your large member impaling her. Her gasps of pleasure, bold enough to echo throughout the vast, open forest.

You begin a quick but steady pace with your thrusts, feeling every delicious inch of her cunt. With every movement of your hips, Lagertha squeezes desperately around your girth.

The feeling was utterly intoxicating, fucking her is what you intend to do; inside of her is where you intend to be for the rest of your life, if it was possible.

Your groans are continuously muffled in the crook of shield-maiden's neck as Lagertha's fingers dig into the flesh of your back. Her grip would no doubt have broken skin if it wasn't for the barrier provided by the fabric of your tunic.

Lagertha's noises of pleasure, in contrast, are unapologetic. She is whimpering and moaning with every thrust of your hips, her breathing shallow but loud.

If a bandit was indeed scouring the forest this evening, they are bound to stumble upon this display, and the thought excited you more than anything else.

“Oh, fuck, y/n– you are so good at that..” Lagertha manages just as you lean in to kiss her once again, you swallow her moans, tasting her.

“Gods– yes..” She says after your lips part.

Her hot breath against your ear, accompanied with the feeling of her warm and wet cunt clenching around your cock was overwhelming. You were nearing your peak already, far sooner than you had anticipated.

With a groan, you begin to pick up the pace. Although as it happens, Lagertha was much farther gone, it takes only one thrust, and then another for her to come completely undone. She comes hard around your cock like a wanton maiden, she screams out in ecstasy like a whore.

The sight of the shield-maiden writhing with pleasure underneath you was enough to coax you over the edge. You only manage a guttural noise as your entire body tenses, releasing thick spurts of warm seed inside of the other woman.

–

You have since climbed off the shield-maiden, Lagertha now laying beside you on a bed of dirt and dried leaves. A similar look of contentment highlights her delicate features as you both attempt to catch your breath.

Eventually, you turn to look at her properly. With an effort to make sure that you were definitely not dreaming, you reach out to gently brush a strand of her golden hair out of her face.

Lagertha glances at you with her bottom lip set in between her teeth, she is trying her hardest to conceal her grin.

“Come home with me.” You find yourself uttering, and the shield-maiden gazes at you in a similar manner.

It is not shock, she is only trying to decipher you in return.

“I would like that.” Lagertha simply replies, she lets herself smile then, her calloused yet tender hand upon your cheek.

#lagertha #lagertha lothbrok #lagertha x reader #lagertha lothbrok x reader #vikings #g!p reader #g!p #lagertha imagine #smut

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itsnotaphasemomitsanobsession · 2 days

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My favorite fics of all time

For my birthday this year (I'm turning 30!!!) I thought what better way to celebrate the day I was born but also ✨ the day all my favorite characters died ✨ by giving you all some good fics! Happy May 2nd!!!

Running on Air (T): An oldy but a goody! I remember reading this a couple years ago when I rediscovered my love for drarry! I had spent my formative years on fanfic dot net obsessing over drarry and this brought it all back in one fell swoop.

Way down we go (T): I stumbled upon this one 2 years ago and I've been rereading it ever since. It's silly and lovely and they are in Alabama. What more could be said about it? A fantastic and beautiful story and I love it so much.

A big black sky (M): if I had to pick only one fic to read for the rest of my life, it would be this one. I love everything about this fic. It's sweet and loving and kind and wholesome and so sad and just wretchedly the best thing I've read. I reread this at least 2 times a year. And every reread it just gets better and better!

A pulled down shade (M): this one is newer to my list but I can already say this is a great and phenomenal fic! The author put their soul into this fic you can really tell, the effort and the love and the hard work. Truly an amazing read and an amazing story!!!

Nice things (M): I'm a sucker for an eighth year fic and this one is very good. I love a pot smoking draco something about it really gives me the vibes I don't know why. This whole fic is wholesome and it deserves so much love!

You've got the antidote for me (M): listen. Soulmate fics. I need more of them okay? I need so many. I love them so much they make me physically ill. Read this it's so good and sweet with a touch of sad.

Burn the witch (E): big fan of the bodyguard trope! This one also has Scorpius in it and I love when Scorpius is in things it makes me happy every time! But a good fic, very interesting plot and the characterization is very good and the ocs are super good too!!

I was late (you were early) (E): one of those "if we both aren't married in 10 years" fics and it's so good! There's also one in draco's pov I'll find you again (I always do)! It's a very cute story and I loved it a whole lot!

Everything a word can mean (T): a short and sweet little ficlet! It's of course a soulmate fic where they have names that their soulmates call them written somewhere on their bodies. And Harry's just so happens to be savior.

10:37 PM on the Floor of the Seventh Floor Corridor Near the Dancing Trolls (G): another short and sweet ficlet! Takes place during 6th year outside of the room of requirement! Very good and I love the characterization and I enjoy the authors take on this part of the books!

Say anything (M): professors au is one of my favorite aus!!!! And mic it with a French speaking draco and a secretly French speaking Harry! It only gets better!!

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) (T): I loved this fic a whole lot and really enjoyed the dynamic between Harry and Ginny in his oddly enough. I thought it was a very real and thought out fic that also at the same time was wholesome and sweet while going over sexuality and desire. I loved it a whole lot and it made my demisexual heart sing when I saw asexual rep.

Nearly lost things, carefully tended (E): antiques dealer draco and home owner Harry! Harry has some weird things for Draco to look at and he certainly doesn't pick the weirdest things he can find just for the blonde. Nah. Read it. It's great and silly and overall very fun!

I can't think of any more but make sure you leave comments and kudos if you like a fic!!

#drarry fic #drarry fic recs #drarry #hpdm fanfic #hpdm #drarry fanfiction

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ciaonicole85 · 14 hours

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Part 6: What Then?

It's over kids! The longest and final chapter is done. Chris Storer & Co. are probably going to put our beloveds through it in S3, but until then let's enjoy our low-key angst and romance. Post Season 2, Canon-Compliant, swoony, girly, fluffy. A happy-ending obviously.

After 10 years of grinding himself into dust Carm’s body began to surrender. About a month after The Bear’s opening, he came down with a cold that turned into a low-grade fever, a bitter cough with lime green mucus, night sweats, and mind-numbing exhaustion. After two days Sydney and Fak showed up to his apartment and dragged him to the emergency room. It was pneumonia and dehydration. The young male doctor muttered that his lungs sounded just like his father’s, a 40-year smoker. Yes, pneumonia was the primary reason, but a man Carmy’s age should be in better shape. He was out of commission for a whole week. The regret of letting down The Bear crew so soon after the Friends and Family fiasco motivated him to make a couple changes. First, he allowed himself only one emergency cigarette a day, which he needed less and less. Second, he went outside on Mondays, when the restaurant was closed. If the temperature was over 30℉, he took the train or walked to a park. His favorites were Humboldt and the Garfield Park Conservatory. Today he had come to the latter with his sketchbook and pencils in his backpack. Since the renovation he had continued drawing.

As he went towards to his favorite bench, he noticed a slender woman walking ahead of him. Her height, long swishing braids and jacket were identical to Syd’s. He compulsively began jogging towards her. Before he could call out her name, the woman pounced on a tall lanky man in front of her, wrapping her arms around his waist. Carmen had the sensation of being pushed off a diving board unexpectedly, his stomach pitching forward, unable to breathe much less scream before slamming into the water like a brick. The man turned and picked up Sydney up, planting a kiss on her mouth. He spun her around and…she wasn’t Syd. Thank God.

Carm made his way to the bench and hunched over, his head in his hands. She wasn’t Syd he recanted over and over until the feeling of relief gave way to self-reproach. This time it wasn’t her, but one day it would be. Would he be able to live with that? Uncle Jimmy’s warning not to be an overthinking manichino flashed in his mind. It was time to do something. He took out his sketchpad and began thumbing through it, an idea beginning to take shape. Hopefully, it wouldn’t scare Syd away.

The following Monday Sydney was in her cousin’s salon getting her entire life. Her microbraids were taken out, her hair was washed, deep conditioned, her scalp massaged, and now she was getting box braids put in. They were accented with delicate gold hair cuffs. She drowsed in the chair, with an almost empty to-go container of jollof rice in her lap, as her cousin and another hair stylist quietly discussed the latest season of Love is Blind.

“Sydney babe, would you ever go on Love is Blind?” her cousin, Ashley, asked in a louder tone.

Syd startled and rubbed her eyes.

“Never. That’s insane.”

“I got a message on IG that it’s coming to Chicago. You live and breathe your job so when are you going to meet somebody? Maybe your soulmate is in one of those pods!”

“Why don’t you apply then? You could find “love” and get more exposure for the salon.”

“Same for you and your restaurant ma’am, but I have a man.”

“Since when?”

“Since three months ago. His name is David, he’s a chemical engineer and the son of you know, Ms. Jumoke, she goes to the African church on Mackinaw…St. Paul.”

“Yeah, I remember her. Her sister used to watch me when my dad worked nights.”

“Anyways, back to you. Are you dating anyone, or should I send you the show application?”

“I don’t think love is blind. Have you seen the people they cast? Nobody too unfortunate-looking gets on. It’s so shallow.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk. You have a very distinct type…white boys with tats and muscles.”

“Ashley, there’s been two of them. Like, that’s not a pattern.”

“No, three! This boss, no “partner”, of yours, had Sydney written over him. The family never sees you anymore.”

“I came to lunch at uncle and auntie’s last month! Besides, opening a new business is like having a kid. You know this.”

“Sure, but when I had dinner at your restaurant and you introduced us, he complimented you for five minutes and then followed you to the kitchen like a whipped puppy.”

Sydney grinned biting her lower lip and covered her eyes. Her cousin stopped braiding and hugged her.

“Aww…my baby cousin is finally going to get some!”

“ASHLEY!” Sydney groaned pushing off her cousin’s arms.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but I am happy for you. He is sexy. That neck is thicker than a tree stump.”

Sydney who had just taken a sip of her sweet tea, spat it out all over the mirror.

“That’s on you, Ashley!” she choked out between laughing and coughing.

When she was able to contain herself, she tried to reel her cousin back in. Talking about romantic potential with Carmy gave her too much pleasure. If he was content with the status quo she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Nothing really is going on. We’re business partners and we’re pretty good friends and it’s probably best we keep it that way.”

“Yes, and he gave you an equal share in the restaurant out of the friendly kindness of his heart.”

“You know, I think he would do that, because I’ve put in so much work, but it did feel like it was something more, at least his Uncle Cicero or Jimmy seemed to think so.”

“Girl, watch out. His sister and an uncle like you!? Would you take his last name, hyphenate, or keep Adamu?”

“Ugh, I’m not going there with you! Shouldn’t you be done with my hair by now?”

“If you want it done right it’ll be 2 more hours. If you don’t…30 minutes?”

“Fine, take your time but please let me sleep.”

Sydney closed her eyes, admiring her self-control. She hadn’t told Ashley that Carmy asked her to come by The Bear this evening. He was reworking a few old dishes. The invite was made at the end of the night a few days ago while they were turning off the lights. She said yes as they pulled down the last switch and she couldn’t see his expression, but she heard him exhale loudly as if he feared she’d decline. Sometimes they meet up on Mondays to network with vendors or collaborate on menu ideas, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, she intuited he was hiding something again like when he and Nat surprised her with a share in the restaurant. This time she didn’t pester him for details, knowing that it was probably worth waiting for.

When Syd arrived home at 3:00 pm she could’ve folded laundry and watched an episode of Psych, but she decided to pretend this was a date; well, like she was preparing for a date. It was a long time since her last. She had entered the Convent of Failed Dreams after Sheridan. Then The Beef/The Bear became her world. The light blue cuffed jeans and stripped white and mint green button-down shirt she was wearing was more than appropriate for a food brainstorming session. However, Carmy’s mysterious attitude might be concealing more great news. She might as well look good when and if he had some.

She took a luxuriously long shower, shaved, and rubbed in her mandarin-scented body oil. Then she entered slowly sifted through her closet considering a red jumpsuit, or just nicer jeans and a blouse when her eyes fell on her marigold-colored shirt dress. It was knee length, comfortable, but chic and the color made her complexion pop. She paired it with a brown and gold oval buckle belt and brown flats because she might be standing in the kitchen for hours. After a short struggle she decided to keep the top two buttons of her shirt dress open. It was only a collar bone, not cleavage. Then she considered makeup. She hated wearing a lot of it; her skin felt suffocated with foundation. She did her brows, applied mascara, a little mineral powder, a smidge of highlighter on her cheekbones, and finished with the Fenty “Hot Choclit” gloss bomb her cousin had given her as part of a set for Christmas. Her new braids with the gold cuffs made the look even better and Sydney couldn’t help admiring herself more than usual in her floor-length mirror. She felt so delicious that she ordered an Uber rather than sit on the train. She would take it later or maybe Carm would give her a ride home.

Just before she could lock the door Emmanuel came up the stairwell, his face lighting up.

“My baby girl, you are stunning! Where are you headed?”

“Thanks, daddy. I’m just going to the restaurant. Felt like dressing up for once.”

“So, is it a staff meeting?”

“No, just working on some recipes. I gotta go. My Uber’s waiting.”

Emmanuel leaned against the door and nodded with a sly smile.

“Oh okay, I see. Tell Carmen I said hello. Have fun!”

Sydney’s eyes widened and she ran down the stairs waving goodbye. Her voice couldn’t be trusted.

When the car arrived at the restaurant, the sky was overcast, the evening darker than usual for the time of year. She let herself in and observed the layout. The lights were low, and the back center booth was set for dinner, with a single table candlelit. She could see Carmy in the kitchen already sautéing something. She was headed towards him when he looked up, seeing her through the window and rushed to meet her in the front.

“Syd don’t-” he began before he was immobilized by the vision before him.

Sydney was similarly taken with him and marveled at how often they were of the same mind. Carm was wearing a crisp button-down blue shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the shirt tucked into dark navy pants, and he had gotten a haircut. Somehow it made his eyes stand out more. The sides were moderately tapered, his hair on top remained almost as long as before, and one of his rogue curls was damp against his forehead. He was perspiring, apparently having been cooking for a while.

“Nice haircut”, “You look amazing” they began at the same time and laughed nervously.

Carmy started again, beating his trusty spoon against his palm.

“So, the food is almost done. Just have a seat over there and I’ll be right out.”

Sydney nodded, a little confused and excited for this change of plans. She sat in the booth and noticed the speakers were playing The Teskey Brothers’ “Take My Heart.” She leaned back and closed her eyes letting the lyrics wash over her, her emotions stirring with that sweet ache.

“Take the time to notice what you really need, 

You’ll find it’s a little more simple, than what you thought before,

But I can say for certain that I’ve got more than I ever had before,

By remembering the little things that make my heart warm.

So take my heart and cut it into two,

After all the only thing missing from me was you,

You’re all I want, you’re all I need, you’re the air I breathe,

Cause after all the only thing missing from me was you.”

“Hey, are you good?” Carmy asked approaching the booth with their plates.

Sydney sat up and cleared her throat.

“Yes, I’m good. I really like that song. Reminds me of-“

“Otis Redding?”

“Yeah.”

Carm carefully placed the plates on the table.

“Well, speaking of throwbacks, I made-”

“Pork confit with onions and rhubarb!”

“Yes, and after we’ll have Milk and Honey.

Sydney bit the inside of her mouth trying to absorb what seemed to be happening. Carm muttered something about getting their drinks and went to the bar for their club sodas. Sydney remained mute, not knowing if she should ask him what this meant now or let it play out. “Don’t get ahead of yourself”, she admonished her heart.

He returned to the booth with their drinks and encouraged her to start, rubbing his chin as she put the first bite in her mouth.

“That’s it Carmy. Maybe even better than the first time,” Syd purred the pork melting on her tongue and some of her anxiety with it.

He blushed and began eating too.

“It is pretty good. Eleven Madison Park taught me a lot.”

The meal was mostly silent except for the occasional ejaculation over some element of the dish. Carmy couldn’t help gazing at Syd, taking in each detail, and rejoicing in the whole. The dip above her collar bone that rose and fell whenever she swallowed, made his head swim. Her lovely face was absolutely regal framed by her new box braids. Syd’s brown skin glowed in the candlelight and a heavenly citrus scent emanated from her. Whenever her eyes caught his obvious staring, he was too filled with gratitude to look away. Sydney’s eyes were soft and filled with kindness for this dear, lovestruck man. He looked helpless. In moments like this she remembered her capacity to build or obliterate him at will. “Go with the flow” she reminded herself.

After they finished the main, Carmy took their plates and returned, with dessert, Milk and Honey. Syd lit up at the sight and when she tried it a wave of surprise flitted across her face.

"Is that mango? I didn't taste it at first, but then it like...bloomed at the back. Wow!" "I thought it could use a Sydney twist. You always grab the mango lollipops off Sug's desk." She resumed eating her dessert. Carm noticed everything about her. She'd played the Teskey Brothers, once or twice while they cleaned after a service, comparing them to Otis.

The Milk and Honey was devoured too soon and just as she wondered what else was on the agenda, Carmy took their bowls and returned with a package tied with twine. He set it in front of her, hands trembling, and sat a little further away than before. Syd perceiving his anxiety didn't raise any questions. She untied the string, removed the wrapping paper, revealing a red leather hand-bound notebook. The cover was engraved with her initials. On the first page was one of Carmy's drawings. It was a curbside view of The Bear. Several lined pages followed, then a drawing of the grapes in bone marrow broth. This alternating of lined pages and his pictures continued throughout the thick notebook. There were more pictures of their recipes, the various designs of her head scarves, and some were of her in different attitudes. In one she was leading expo with the confidence of Napoleon, and another was a portrait, her chin leaning on her hand, with a faraway expression in her large brown eyes. There were several others, so perceptive that Sydney felt naked. Adored. The final picture was surreal. It was a profile of Carmy's head the entirety of which was filled with Sydney wearing a hopeful smile and the scarf and shirt she'd worn her first day at The Beef. She couldn't stop looking at it, her index finger tracing the lines. "Sy-d" Carmen croaked his voice thick. Breaking. She looked up to find red-brimmed blue eyes searching hers. "Come here" she breathed and no sooner than she blinked he was at her side. "Syd" he tried again. Hyperventilating. "Say more", she gently commanded smoothing his hair back before taking his hand in her lap. This disarmed him, and he grinned in surprise. That was his line. "Okay." Breathe "I want you Syd. I want to be with you.”

Breathe

“I want to do everything with you or not at all."

Then for the first time he wanted to say the words that had been a weapon for most of his life. They either were forced on him or yanked from him. His mother thought those words meant meekly submitting to her abuse. For Mikey it was cutting him off, so he wasn't exposed to his self-destruction. He never got to say it all. Claire believed it was part of a script. If he would only play his role and ignore who they were underneath, those words would become true enough. Now, he had a new idea about those words, and they were wrapped up in this beautiful, talented, funny, tender, generous, stubborn, loyal, woman. His friend. Suddenly they didn't hurt. He continued leaning to rest his forehead on hers. "I love you." Sydney blinked slowly as if in a trance, tears dropping to their joined hands. Carm didn't move, but his face was filled with concern. 'Syd, are you-" he started to ask. Then he was spinning. Sydney was kissing him. His neurons habitually used to process grief, anxiety, and small doses of happiness, trembled with the unusual amount of joy coursing through him. Sydney was delirious. Her only thought was, he loves me. Carm pulled back to kiss her cheeks, her chin, and the hollow above her collar bone. He melted there. Sydney sighed, cradling his head. "I love you, too."

#the bear #Please schedule an intervention if I post any more fics this weekend #sydcarmy #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #sydney adamu #fan fiction #syd adamu #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto #sappy #slow burn

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taylortruther · 3 days

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Do people think loml is about Matty? I thought the "all at once" line seals it for me. Very direct callback to KOMH (and it tears me apart every time). Also the "get-love-quick scheme" seems like she's saying she was wrong bout Joe not being just like the others. She also has referenced themes of 'loss' with respect to him, so the fact that it changes to 'loss of my life' in the end is a pretty big deal.

Also;

you shit-talked me under the table//I talk shit with my friends, it's like I'm wasting your honor.

Talking rings and talking cradles // give you a wild, give you a child // I'd marry you with paper rings

When your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fakes // You paint dreamscapes on the wall

Still alive, killing time at the cemetery // Till we were too far gone to bring back to life

I know it mentions rekindled flames and the 'counterfeit' line is a reference to Glitch which might be about Matty, but there's too many callbacks to Joe which makes me think it's taking a page out of both relationships rather than one.

there are definitely shades of joe in it, because the donut hole in the entire album (ie, what is omitted but essential) is that she fell hard and fast for matty because she was leaving joe and was emotionally spiraling from that. she loved joe and they talked marriage, and kids, she was planning on a future with him, but their relationship fell apart. as they sometimes tend to do.

but my personal interpretation is that the "surface story" is more matty and explains how he got under her skin so fast. they rekindled the flame that burnt out for a reason last time - he said this time would be different, it wasn't. and at the end of it all she wanted to believe both were her fated soulmates, and they were not.

the subtext of the song (and many other songs on the album), though, is that she was trying to find what she'd spent a long time waiting for. oven -> microwave.

#loml

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sanjuwrites · 3 days

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wip wednesday

thanks to @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @heartstringsduet, @paperstorm

@honeybee-taskforce, @birdclowns and @carlos-in-glasses for the tags!

my man my man my man he's back! i finally finished finals (may my sophomore year of college rest in pieces that bitch hated me) agent reyes is back people

“I’ve talked to everybody here over the last couple hours, and they all told me how they ended up with TK. All of their stories end with the same thing — TK Strand saved their lives. Gracie and Judd lost their house, Paul couldn’t afford to finish his transition, and Nancy came in for you. The only story I don’t know is Mateo’s.”

Marjan sighs, “Mateo and TK got into this together — the duo that started the team. We don’t really know how they started either, to be honest. They never really did this without each other, I don’t think they know how to. They’d die for each other, Carlos. I don’t know how else to put it.”

Carlos lets this information wash over him, and he starts speaking again, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “In the thick of night, when I was sure no one was awake but me, I would sit there and wonder, and build what-if scenarios in my head for when I met my soulmate – and I was always so happy to meet him. My soulmate never held any resentment or anger toward me, and we met somewhere normal, far far away from anything that had to do with my job or crime or anything.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos.” Marjan sounds genuinely sympathetic, and for some reason, that stings more.

“Is it weird that I miss something that I never really had? He was so… God, Marjan, I thought maybe I had found someone that I was enough for, but maybe I’m never going to be enough for anyone. Not even my soulmate thinks I’m enough, why should anyone else?”

Marjan starts to speak before stopping a few times, before seeming to settle on something to say. “I don’t think it’s fair to yourself to tie your self-worth to anyone, even if that someone is your soulmate. And I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but you will find someone that loves you exactly how you are, even if that someone isn’t TK.”

He hears a little hurt sound come from behind, and Carlos turns around, eyes widening when he sees TK standing behind them on the pier, hands tucked into his pockets.

“TK, I…”

i'm gonna tag @theghostofashton, @fallout-mars, @reyesstrand,

@bonheur-cafe, @sugdenlovesdingle, @freneticfloetry, and @chaotictarlos

#agent reyes 👀

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fakeoutbf · 2 years

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#i went out to dinner with some friends last night #but unfortunately this place had live music so it was like being in a club all night which sucked bc i wanted to talk to them bc we haven’t #seen each other that recently and we text sometimes but not too often #and it just made me realize how fucking lonely i’ve been that i’ve just been talking to coworkers #and the one coworker i considered a friend got let go on friday #all this to say i want somebody i can trust and tell all my secrets to and who will hold me and help me put the pieces back together #i want someone to hold me with care and who tries to get my weird moods and likes and to respect my opinions even if they maybe disgree #and i want to trust that person so much that i can be that for them and do all the same things they need me to do to just make their life a #little easier #i want someone to have my back no questions asked and someone who will stand guard through any kind of weather #to love me because of all my quirks and not despite them #when will it be my turn to find my soulmate #ffs i’m so lonely

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lilyharvord · 5 months

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been thinking about AUs lately, mostly becuase I have had so little time to write due to craziness, and I got back on my bullshit about meeting your soulmate and their first word being tattooed on your skin. And just... the implications of that?

Mare with the word "thief" tattooed on her wrist and having to cover it so as to not give herself away in the Stilts, but when/if she gets caught by officers they see it while they detain her and even if she didn't do anything she ends up locked up for the night because of that word. So she comes to hate it with a passion and tried scrubbing it off, and mutilating it as she grew up to remove it, to hide herself better as she starts to steal more and more to survive. But she would wake up with it perfectly healed. And it is in such pretty penmanship, waaaaay too nice to be a Red's handwritting, or even an officer's in the Stilts. And that scares her, so she forces herself to hold onto the belief that maybe it belongs to some Red who assists a general or something and they have to write a lot and she will meet them at the Choke. When Kilorn sees it for the first time while he is helping clean her up after a particularly bad night in a cell, he realizes he can never be hers because it was no where near his first word to her.

Cal has the word "obviously", and it is so obviously the dumbest fucking word to have. It is literally the most common word. The amount of times he has heard the words "obviously" in his life and turned around only to realize it is someone he already knows? Stupid, absolutely ridiculous. And not to mention that the way it is written on his wrist is horrific and makes him question if this person ever really learned how to write properly. The good news? He can hide it underneath his flamemaker and forget about it if he needs to. And he does, pretty much decides that he'll probably just never meet whoever it is. Besides... he has to marry a lady of a High House, and he's already met all of them and none of them said that word to him on the first go. And it doesn't really matter... it is so rare for a future king to marry their soul mate through Queenstrial anyway. His father was just lucky with his mother, and his grandfather of course met his but got away with keeping him and marrying a Queen. And maybe it's for the best if he never meets this person, it would just be a twist of the knife if he is already married and meets the person who is meant to complete him.

And then, one night, on a dirt road, in the hours before night and dawn, when the stars are still out and the world is dreaming, a thief sticks her hand into the pocket of prince, who catches her wrist, and accuses her with a surprised and confused tone: "thief", and she tilts her head to the side, her eyes sparking as she replies "Obviously". And it takes everything for him not to flip her wrist over and look for the word he just uttered, but he lets go instead, terrified that this is the girl who is meant to come into his life and complete him. And she backs up a step, her eyes darkening as she looks him over anew. Neither comments, neither admits to anything. And Mare is glad for it, because the next day she learns he is a prince, and not just any prince, he is The Prince, and she immediately is relieved because there is no way in all of heaven and earth that she is paired with this man. She didn't see her reply on his wrist... she forces herself to believe that there is a different word tattooed there. That if she were to lift up his sleeve she would see something else, some meaningless word to her, that means everything to him. She never looks though, and he never takes off his flamemaker, so she never has the chance to see.

Then, one evening, in a soldiers barrack, on a Piedmont base in the middle of a summer shower, complete with the distant growl of thunder: Mare glances at his bare arm, wrapped around her bare waist. It would be so easy for her to just, gently turn it and look, to answer the question that has haunted her since a Blackrun fell from the sky, and he held her like they were going to die. She shivers subconsciously and gently reaches down to slide her fingers through his, her heart pounding against her ribs. She can't decide if she wants to see the word there, or if she doesn't. She doesn't know which way would be better, whether it would break her heart if it wasn't, or if she were be terrified if it were. He sighs against her neck and pulls her a little closer when she first goes to rotate his wrist, she freezes, tensing for a heartbeat. He's a soldier, they sleep lightly, and this feels like an invasion even though she has now seen and touched every part of him. For some reason this one spot of skin feels forbidden. Inhaling, she slowly rotates his wrist to face up, and her entire skin erupts in goosebumps as lightning illuminates the room and thunder crashes a heartbeat later. There is her hand writing, her ugly, horrific handwriting, and there is the word she said to him with such tenacity on a dirt road and changed their lives forever. She flips his hand back over and pressed it to her stomach, knots her fingers with his as she tries to slow her breathing back to a sleeping rate. It's no use though, his sigh against her neck is no longer a gentle whisper, but is instead one of relief. "I wanted you to look first." He murmurs against the vertebrae at the base of her skull, before lightly running his lips up to her ear. "I think knew in my heart since the Bowl of Bones." He squeezes her fingers softly, and they never speak of it.

Then he choses a crown, a crown over what those words on their wrists' mean. And that betrayal is so much worse than it ever could have been.

#red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #marecal #aus #soul mate AUs #listen I think about AUs for them almost daily #but this one is haunting me #imagine.... imagine the BETRAYAL #her finding out he is her soulmate #and and thinking that it means they will survive this together #that his ideals are her own #that his heart shares what her heart does #AND THEN IT IS NOT TRUE #oh my god I wanna climb the walls over this #the way her world would shatter worse than it did in the actual canon #the way he would be DEVESTATED when she turns and leaves him #oh my god how they would both feel like the other betrayed them #god I love --#i Love them so much your honor #my writing #my ideas #my AUs #god I would write this as a bunch of small snippits if only to write the moment on the balcony at the end of kings cage #and the dinner scene but Mare tugs her sleeve down when Carmadon looks at the two of them to hide that word like it is some horrible thing #and when they are standing under the wing and she is telling him goodbye and not to wait?#oh my god the agony he would feel

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starlooove · 7 days

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“There is no fanfic on Stephs treatment I have checked” that’s like the whole point.

#I’m not saying ur wrong bc it’s not canon #I’m saying ur wrong bc ur perpetuating the misogyny that got u there in the first place #and yeah imma take it there it IS that deep to me sorry #like this isn’t like a diff in opinion on an arc or smth #this is quite literally the bigotry that fandoms supposed to be an escape from manifesting itself again with a rainbow flag over it it’s so #like first of all not that serious but concerning to me is getting into smth without knowing the source material #u don’t need to know the exact timeline of events and which specific Batmobile Bruce had in every era duh #that’d be hypocritical to say I read character to character screw the timeline lmao #but it’s like. ur telling me u adore Dick Grayson and have never picked up NTT?#u wanna analyze the queer coding in Tim’s character but you’ve never read his og robin run?#u wanna talk about Damian’s character growth but you’ve only read Batman and Robin 2020s?#u ADORRRRE steph and cass and you haven’t even read batgirls #and that’s like nonissues #my issues are u wanna discuss how Barbara is actually so cold and cruel to dick for how she handled Catalina and you’ve never read birds of #prey and actually dick never cheated so (this isn’t me being hypocritical if you’ve seen that post I just lowk changed my mind)#or if he did it was justified or whatever #you wanna talk about how Jason and Roy are soulmates and you can’t tell me a single thing besides he’s an archer a father and an addict #it’s like ur putting shit out there about these characters and their relationships and you don’t know them #and more people who don’t know them see ur shit and do the same thing #and that’s mid level issue #the BIG issue is that y’all have not unpacked ur racism misogyny or classism enough to do this and then turn around and say ur fixing dc or #whatever. u have not done enough work to speak on Jason or Damian and say they deserve better whilst u water down their anger into smth #palatable and sweet on ur white faves. u don’t get to complain about how there’s not enough about steph and all u do is spread more made up #shit to infantilize tim. and I’m not saying I’ll never read a tim centric fic that’s ooc and stupid and have fun #I do that and I don’t talk about it bc that shit should not be the main writing you find when you look for BATMAN lmao #and even then they HIGHEST problem is that even when people make more content centering the woc poc and yes even WW it still doesn’t get any #traction bc y’all haven’t unpacked as much of ur racism and misogyny as u think u have #making hcs about tim being a Barbie and Jason being a feminist and dick painting his nails is not progressive when Steph and cass are #cardboard cutouts or the vehicles through which the white men discover feminity is ok actually and nothing else #and then Duke and Damian are the token straights or allies. like y’all are so sick lmao

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cutemeat · 1 year

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charlie kelly in s15 was like... finally back to core charlie.. like s1-s3 charlie thats HIM!!!

#lol when charlie day on the podcast was like 'we cant only lean into one side too much..' abt dennis i just Felt this undercurrent #he was talkin abt charlie too LOLOLOL #again charlie kelly saying 'snowflake' in s15 that was real that was for Me i loved it #THATS my charlie kelly thats my fuckin GUY right there!!!!#yes hes still BEEN there but i love him most when hes not playing dumb #charlie kelly is at his best when hes a god-complex having resentful spiteful thief n bastard and i saw that flare up in s15 its everything #thats him #i need him at full arrogance again next szn plssss rcg pls #bring back the bad room... again theres no Way hes just OVER the events of the ireland arc. theres just no fuckin way #i have a pitch for an arc where he pulls a DDL n disappears in the finale like... to go to Ireland n run his dad's business #he leaves a note n steals some of frank's money for travel expenses #but next season he comes back cuz ofc. n it turns out his dad was a member/leader of a cult like his whole fucking family was in it #n the gang have to deal with a 'brainwashed' charlie cuz they dont realize yet that charlie was RUNNING th cult when he went back to irelan #n when they find out they like check him into rehab LMAO #some good charlie/dee parallels 'soulmates of pain' coming full circle moment for ya there. thats it thats my dream #parker texts

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rsmrymnt-tea · 2 years

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thinking about solomon having perfected that powder that lets anyone see who their soulmate/s through red string then trying it out on dola after she agrees to, the both of them thinking it’ll just connect her and satan… then when they use the powder, it shows the two of them connected too

just leaves them stunned, because theyd never seen each other that way before. it gets awkward—what now? dola wonders if she has to tell satan; solomon wonders if he’s made a mistake in doing this experiment in the first place. what of their friendship? how do they move forward from this?

in the end they choose to forget about it and to never talk about it again—it’s for the better, they agree. and if something were actually meant to happen, then they’ll just let it unfold without forcing it. they werent even supposed to know that they were soulmates to begin with, after all.

but sometimes, during the times they’re alone together, it’s clear from how one glances at the other that the thought lingers in their minds. how does it happen? why does it happen? and what will satan think?

even after theyre finally together, they still cant help but wonder sometimes if the incident had any say in their feelings. but they’re happy, so does it truly matter?

#dolasach #stella florens #in a mood… just thinking about dola/sol a lot and turning them around in my head #not sure if canon in their thing but just a thought >.<#like thinking about soulmates and knowing your soulmate and what youll do about it #finding out who your soulmates are when youre not supposed to… ah #idk normally i dont really care for the trope but this thought just happened

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faexoxoxoxo · 4 months

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My Love Mine All Mine...

Pairing : Alpha!Gojo Satoru x fem!Omega reader

Warning : 18+, breeding kink,...

Alpha! Satoru who always laughed at the idea of soulmates and destined lovers, considered himself too free-spirited to ever get saddled down with such a domestic way of life.

Alpha! Satoru who's famously known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, "not my fault they get attached..." Was the response he'd give whenever asked about the way he treated the woman who fell for him.

Alpha! Satoru who gets annoyed every time the clan elders force him to attend the yearly moon festival, where unmated members of different clans would gather in hopes of finding their mate, a tradition he has no interest in, but regardless is made to partake in every year.

Alpha! Satoru who stands in a corner alone trying to avoid all the desperate omegas who usually swarm towards him, each attempting to convince him they were meant to be his mate.

Alpha! Satoru who feels his whole body tense up when he catches a whiff of an intoxicating smell in the air, one that causes the logical part of his brain to shut down as a more predatory side of him surfaces.

Alpha! Satoru whose eyes frantically searches the area as he makes his way around the large room, shoving and passing the people in his way, heart pounding furiously in his chest while he tries to pinpoint the location of the scent.

Alpha! Satoru who gets a rush of excitement when he finally finds the source of the delectable aroma, you.

Alpha! Satoru who approaches slowly, scanning you from head to toe, taking in every little detail.

Alpha! Satoru who knows you're his mate, the other half of his soul, he doesn't know what to feel, never having wanted this, yet can't bring himself to turn away from you as the surge of desire to claim you on the spot washes over him.

Alpha! Satoru who lets out a low warning growl, as he sees you take a step back, standing behind your friends, his eyes narrowed as if to say, "Don't even think about running away from me." Striding forward, his presence was enough for your friends to back down, giving you an apologetic look before leaving you alone with Satoru.

Alpha! Satoru who noticed the change in your scent, how it went from sweet to sour, making him regret how aggressively he behaved. The last thing he ever wanted was to spook his little mate away. "No need to be afraid, princess," he attempted to ease your worries. "Promise I won't bite, unless you want me to..." he adds playfully, hoping to make you see he wasn't a threat.

Alpha! Satoru who sighs in relief when you nod, accepting his apology, a soft smile on your face as you agree to let him court you. "You won't regret this, princess !" He grinned, pulling you close and nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Alpha! Satoru who goes above and beyond to prove he's the perfect mate for you, pulling out all the stops by sending you flowers and presents, taking you on little dates whenever he's free, and showering you with affection. His gentle attitude towards you, shocking everyone who'd known the old him. No one could've imagined a day would come when the Gojo Satoru would behave like a lovesick teenager.

Alpha! Satoru whose love for you, grows deeper and deeper with each passing day, and with it, so does his possessiveness. Every once in a while, his instincts scream at him to rip out the throats of anyone other than him who gets close to you.

Alpha! Satoru who gets even more clingy when your heat approaches, finding it harder to keep his hands to himself, especially when you smell so damn good, it's like you're begging him to fuck his pups into you.

Alpha! Satoru who forgets all restraint the moment he gets a call from you begging for him to come home as your heat started earlier than expected, "please...please...please alpha need you in me so bad it h..hurts..." The words had him racing back home, business could wait, right now; he needed to be balls deep inside his precious mate.

Alpha! Satoru who walked into your bedroom and saw you, curled into the sheets, humping a pillow, trying to get some relief, but the moment you see him, you'd abandoned that instead getting up to pull him into your nest.

Alpha! Satoru who planned to take it nice and slow knowing this was your first time ever having cock inside you, but before he could get to prepping your virgin cunt, you'd unbuckled his belt, taking out his throbbing shaft, and slipped him inside your sopping pussy, but then bursting into tears at the feeling of getting stretched out, droplets of blood staining his cock.

Alpha! Satoru who hushes you, "Told you not to be impatient, princess...see what happens when you don't listen to daddy...It's okay, I got you..." he takes over, flipping you on your back, his hands working around your body, trailing kisses down your neck to distract you from the pain as he's slowly rocking back and forth, trying to get you used to the feeling of his cock.

Alpha! Satoru who loses himself to the sensation of your tight warm hole sucking him in, the feeling of his tip bullying your sweet spot with his rough thrusts, making you moan, once pain now turned to pleasure, your hips moving up to meet his, legs wrapped around his waist as your fingers dug into his back, drawing blood, earning a grunt from Satoru, who loved it whenever you played a little rough with him.

Alpha! Satoru who's lost count of how many times he had you creaming around his cock, not planning on stopping until he's given you every last drop of his cum in his balls, the image of you swollen heavy with his pups making him pound into you with a ruthless pace, watching the mixture of your juice and his seed dribbling on to the bed.

Alpha! Satoru who doesn't pull out even after you're both done, "good girl...gotta keep daddy's load inside to make sure it takes..." he coos, wrapping his arms around your exhausted frame as you drift into sleep, his fingers rubbing your swollen cum filled tummy, silently promising to forever keep you and your future pups safe...

A/N - it's 3am and I'm done lol not sure how well i worded all the words but it was my first time writing for gojo so hope everyone who reads enjoys this !

Thinking of maybe writing something something for geto soon soooo stay tuned...

Vampire Suguru fic

Likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

#fae.xoxo #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #yandere #gojo satoru headcanons #alpha x omega #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse

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cleo-fox · 9 months

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Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky.

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core.

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature.

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter.

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long.

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss. He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki x yn #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki fanfiction

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suugarbabe · 8 months

Text

Unexpected | m.r x reader

prompt: Hii! How are you? This is my first time sending an ask and I just wanted to say that I love your writings! May I ask for a enemies to lovers with Mattheo Riddle? The reader is from the golden trio and they get into an argument with a lot of chemistry and tension. Thank you and I'm sorry for my bad english.

maybe enemies to lovers, like they hate each other and then realize that they are soulmates and then have to figure out what to do. some angst but ends i fluff please

word count: ~3.8k

warnings: slight angst feeling, fluff, e2l, soulmate trope, some heavy petting

an: so there's no argument like the prompt asks (sorry) but when I started writing it just kind of flowed out this way so hopefully it's still okay.

“Go on, show us again,” Ron Weasley was shaking a turkey leg in your general direction, asking to see the words that appeared on your arm this morning. In the wizarding world, on the day you were going to properly meet your soulmate, the first sentence they speak to you, excluding their name, will appear on your forearm in their handwriting.

It was incredibly annoying to you that Ron and Hermione got this mess out of the way the first day on the bloody train. To your and Harry’s amusement, neither were originally excited about the match, but after the chaos that ensued for the four of you by the end of that year they were inseparable. Nothing brings two people closer than tragedy.

Things got even more frustrating for you when Harry and Ginny realized they were soulmates, leaving you the lone wolf in your foursome. Entering your sixth year this year you were hopeful that maybe you would finally be able to find out who your soulmate was, roughly three fourths of those leave Hogwarts knowing who they’re intended to be with, and you would rather Avada Kadavera yourself then leave your seventh year soulmateless.

You grabbed the sleeve of your jumper, tugging it up to your elbow, sticking your arm out in the middle of the table for your three friends to view. There on your arm read a singular sentence, do I intimidate you, love?

Hermione sat back on the bench, “His handwriting really is awful, whoever he is.” You scoffed at your friend, “Not exactly my biggest concern, Mione. More worried about why he thinks he would intimidate me? Who would even think that? By this point in our school life you’d think any of us were more intimidating than the majority of the student body.”

“Yeah, except Slytherin,” Harry snorted, Ron following with his own round of laughter. But you weren’t laughing, you were looking at Hermione who was sporting the same grimace and worried eyes that you were sure your face looked like.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then looked at the two of you. “It was a joke, y/n/n,” Harry tried to ease the tension that was building. “Yeah, I mean, y’don't really think your soulmate might be…one of them,” Ron was anything but subtle with his tone of disgust, as well as his entire body turning around to face the Slytherin table.

Ron’s actions didn’t go unnoticed by a particular group of Slytherin boys. “Staring problem, Weasley? Got a crush?” Malfoy shouted across the dining hall, earning laughs and teasing hollars from his friends.

“Oi, Malfoy, got a present for you,” you stuck your hand in your school bag, pretending to roam around before pulling your hand back out and lifting it high in the air, giving Malfoy the middle finger. His face immediately turned into a scowl. The boy next to him, however, pretended to catch your gesture in the air and put it in his pocket, winking at you in the process.

You rolled your eyes, turning to Hermione who had a look of disgust on her face, “Riddle’s ego really is massive innit.” All three of your friends' heads began to nod. “I swear if he didn’t verbalize how much he bloody hated us I would think he was flirting with you y/n/n.”

“Shut it, Weasley, don’t you put that on me,” you pointed your finger at him, tone joking but words serious. He put his hands up in defense, laughing along with the rest of your friends as you all gathered your things and headed towards your first class.

Unbeknownst to you, a similar conversation was being had at the Slytherin table. “Glad to see meeting your soulmate hasn’t deterred you from trying to flirt with anything that breathes,” Pansy took a sip of her pumpkin juice, teasing the curly haired boy across from her.

“Dunno what you mean, Pans,” the dimples on Mattheo’s cheeks popping out as he smirked.

“Show us your arm again, cousin,” Draco’s words causing everyone to look at Mattheo now. The younger boy scowled, rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt. There on his arm, in beautiful loopy script were the words you’ve got to be fucking joking.

Theo couldn’t help but laugh, “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a foul word in such pretty handwriting.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, pulling his sleeve back down, “Yeah, well let’s just hope the bird is someone I can tolerate.”

You let out a long groan, hands rubbing up and down your face as you leaned your elbows on your knees . Hermione was sat next to you in the common room, rubbing up and down your back, “The day’s not over quite yet, y/n/n. It wouldn’t appear if you weren’t gonna meet them today.”

“Yeah,” Ron put on his best attempt at an encouraging smile, “maybe they’re another Gryffindor and you’ll meet them before we go to bed.” Harry nodded next to him in agreement.

You stood up, grabbing your jumper off the arm of the couch and throwing it on, “M’gonna go for a walk.”

Hermione’s lips downturned, “It’s nearly curfew.” You sighed, looking over at Harry. “I’ll go get my cloak,” he sighed, standing and walking quickly to his dorm room.

After Harry’s return you thanked him, spending an extra twenty minutes convincing Hermione that you would be the utmost cautious and affirmed to Ron that you would stash the cloak if you were to be caught.

Now you were quietly climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower. When you got to the top, you did a quick look over the railing. With no sign of Filch anywhere you dropped the cloak, laying it on the floor so you didn’t have to sit on the bare ground.

As you got comfortable you dug in your shirt, pulling out a spliff. Hermione would murder you if she found out you smoked, however the year you all had to study for your O.W.L’s, you were so stressed you ended up buying from Theo Nott.

He promised to keep it to himself and you promised it was a one time thing, but you found yourself buying from him every couple months. You weren't sure if she would be more disappointed in your smoking, or you interacting with someone in the forbidden Slytherin group.

You mumbled a short incendio before taking a long drag. You blew the smoke out slowly, watching it ripple through the air and up into the night sky. You looked up at the stars, knowing the day was likely to be over soon and wondering if you were the only witch that was destined to not run into their soulmate like everyone else.

You were lost in your thoughts and self pity. So much so you didn’t even hear someone come up the tower steps until they hit the top. You scrambled to your feet, ready to cover yourself with the cloak when you realized it wasn’t Filch, but a boy instead.

The dark of the night made it difficult for you to see exactly who it was at first, that and the fact that every time he took a step forward you seemed to take a step back until your back was against the stone wall. When he finally stepped into the light, your breath caught in your throat. Standing in front of you, signature smirk adoring his face was Mattheo Riddle.

You stayed rigid against the wall as he got closer to you. His fingers brushed yours as he took the spliff, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling. His eyes never left yours as he turned his head slightly, blowing the smoke into the night. His eyes traveled over you, taking in your black sleep shorts and house jumper. When he looked at your face again he locked eyes with you, almost like he was trying to read what was going on in your brain.

“Do I intimidate you, love?” The words seemed to leave his lips without a second thought and you felt like your chest was going to cave in. There was just no way, absolutely bloody not that he said those words, the words you had been anticipating someone to say all day. Him of all people that could’ve spoken them.

He raised his eyebrows at you, clearly looking for you to answer. Instead of some sputtering response of nervousness like Mattheo was expecting, your face just dropped.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.” Mattheo’s face went white after you responded, and that was all the evidence you needed to confirm that Mattheo fucking Riddle was your soulmate. He hated you. You hated him. How could two people that despise each other be destined to be soulmates?

"What are you even doing up here?" You crossed your arms over your chest, sitting into your hip. His smirk only seemed to grow, "I think the better question is what are you doing up here, partaking in drugs no less? Little miss golden girl."

You rolled your eyes, "What's that supposed to mean, Riddle?" Mattheo's jaw clenched, "It's Mattheo. And you know what it means. Wonder what everyone would think if they knew little miss perfect liked to come up to the astronomy tower to get high."

"Why would anyone believe you over me?" You were acting a little cocky now, but Mattheo was right in the aspect that you and your friends were seen in an overall more positive light than he and his.

However the look on Mattheo's face made you think he knew something you didn't, "I guess I could just have your dealer tell everyone, or are you buying from someone besides Nott these days?"

He was irritating you on purpose now. You grabbed the spliff back from Mattheo, going to sit where you were before but now leaning your forehead against the railing, “This is got to be some kind of mistake.”

Mattheo could only snicker as he went to sit next to you, hanging his arms over the raining as he looked over the grounds, “S’destiny love, no mistake about it.”

“Thanks so much, you’re being really encouraging about this whole thing,” you rolled your eyes, holding your hand out to him. He took it from you, filling his lungs with smoke again, passing it back and forth throughout the conversation.

Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, “At least we’re both fit.” You snorted at this, “Who said I thought you were fit?” He scoffed, “Please, I’ve seen the way you ogle me.” You found yourself laughing, a true full belly head thrown back laugh before you looked at him and he thought the smile you were wearing was actually kind of cute, “How would you know that unless you were ogling me, hmm?”

Mattheo opened his mouth to respond, but found he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse before you were speaking again. The sigh you let out let him know how stressed you really were, “Our friends are not going to like this.”

He nodded, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke, “Merlin, no. They’re going to bloody hate it. But s’not like it was really our choice.” You knew he was right, and you knew he was trying to be comforting, but the tone in his voice let you know that he was just as worried to let his group of friends know as much as you were.

You opened your mouth to respond to him when you heard the all too familiar jingle of Mrs. Norris’ collar sounding like she was ascending the stairs. Your eyes grew wide as you and Mattheo both jumped to your feet. It looked like Mattheo is contemplating jumping over the tower railing when you grab his arm to push him flat against the stone wall.

He looked at you with utter confusion as you grabbed the cloak before turning around and pushing your back flush against his chest. “What are you-”

“Shut it,” you cut him off, indicating to him to wrap his arms around your waist as you threw the cloak over the pair of you. As the cat walked on to the tower landing you felt Mattheo’s arms tighten around you, doing his best to pull you impossibly closer.

He was decently taller than you, having to duck down slightly so the cloak covered you both properly. His face was tucked in close to your neck. His breath warm and tickling your skin as Filch followed after his beloved pet, glancing around for anything out of place.

When he was satisfied, Filch turned around to leave, letting his cat lead the way. You waited a few beats, making sure they were nearly to the bottom of the staircase before pulling the cloak off the two of you and pushing Mattheo’s hands off of your body.

“Thing comes in handy, that,” he pointed to the cloth in your hand. You chucked, “Yeah, m’sure your lot would get a lot less detentions if you had one.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we can’t all be like the golden quartet.”

You scoffed slightly at this as you headed down the stairs, Mattheo close behind you, “We didn’t give ourselves that nickname, you know.” He couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah but m’sure you all don’t mind it. Definitely gets you some favoritism.”

You stopped at the end of the corridor, Mattheo running into your back at the action and cursing. You turned to face him, “You know, my friends and I have endured a hell of a lot of shite over the last couple years, maybe we deserve a little break when we’re actually able to do normal bloody teenage things.”

As much as you were trying to be harsh with him, be the slightest bit intimidating, his height gave him all the advantage. Mattheo knew what you meant, what you were saying without saying the words themselves. “I’m not like him. Don’t clump me in your same category of hatred. He’s done things to me too,” his eyes reflected a bit of hurt as he spoke and you knew he was telling the truth.

Everyone in school assumed Mattheo was just like his father, held the same ideals and wanted the same things for the wizarding world. The look you were seeing on his face told you otherwise. Your frustration quickly fizzled, instead turning into something closer to pity, “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he deadpanned, “Let’s just get back to our common rooms.” You walked together in silence until you had no choice but to split off. You agreed to meet each other in the courtyard during lunch the next day and you were racking your brain on how you were going to break this news to Harry, Hermione and Ron.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. When you broke the news to your friends about who your soulmate ended up being it wasn’t exactly well received. Hermione was worried, but understanding of the fact that you had no choice in the matter. Harry was upset, but again was trying his best to be mature and said he wouldn’t interfere with you spending some time with Mattheo to get to know him better. Ron took it the worst, which you wished surprised you but he did have a flair for the dramatics.

You were first waiting for Mattheo on a bench in the courtyard, but you couldn’t stop your legs from bouncing, therefore you found a place beneath a tree, attempting to read the same three lines of a book Hermione had loaned you the other day.

When Mattheo found you and finally sat down next to you, you shut your book immediately, letting out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank Godric, you’re here.” It didn’t go unnoticed by you the way a pair of dimples christened his cheeks, “Miss me already, pretty girl? S’barely been twelve hours.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying to resist the pink that tinted your cheeks at the nickname he used, “Not at all, I’ve been sitting here for the better part of twenty minutes, mind you. Thought maybe you decided to ditch me.” Mattheo shrugged, “M’always late. You’re gonna have to get used to that. And I would never ditch you, we’re soulmates, love. You’re stuck with me for life.”

He had a childlike grin on his face when he said that latter part and you couldn’t help the slight notion of butterflies that seemed to flutter in your stomach or the smile that appeared on your face.

All last night you thought it was going to be difficult to fall for Mattheo, but maybe the universe knew something when it paired you two together.

“So how did your friends take the news?” You tried to keep voice neutral, but you really were worried about their responses. Mattheo leaned back against the tree, “They were shocked for sure, Draco took it the hardest. He was more worried about having to spend more time with Potter than me being with you though. Told him that would probably be more rare than he anticipated. W’bout yours?”

You nodded, “Not as bad as I thought, actually. Mione was understanding, as always. Harry was actually pretty good about it, but very skeptical. Ron actually took it the worst, but he’s just protective. Basically like me brother.”

“How d’ya mean?”

You leaned back against the tree yourself, shoulder to shoulder now with Mattheo. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and you wondered if his skin was always warm to the touch, “Both my parents are aurors so they travel a lot. They didn’t think it was safe for me to go with them, so Ron’s mum offered for me to stay at theirs whenever it was needed. Turns out it was needed more times than not growing up.”

Mattheo nodded, listening intently as you spoke. You both started asking surface questions about each other; favorite color (he said black), favorite hobby (quidditch), favorite class (free period).

When both your friend groups came looking for you after lunch period Mattheo asked if you would go to Hogsmead with him over the weekend. You agreed, finding yourself wanting to get to know more about him. Over the next two months you went to Hogsmead with Mattheo at least one day during each weekend.

You slowly learned that his favorite candy was fizzing whizbees, having to stop at Honeydukes every trip for him to grab some. You learned that he was actually very intelligent even though he tried to seem like he wasn't, as he was passing all of his classes even though he skipped half of them. You learned that even though Draco was older than him, he felt like an older brother to his cousin. And maybe your favorite thing that you learned, purely on accident, was that if you squeeze just above his hip that he was incredibly ticklish.

Throughout all of this you still hadn’t kissed. You kept telling yourself (and your friends) that you didn’t want to, but the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself yearning for it. There were times of lingering touches; his hand on your lower back as he guided you into a building, his fingertips brushing yours as you walked, his leg pressing against yours while you sat next to each other in the courtyard or at the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione, the ever observant friend that she was, noticed your shift in attitude towards Mattheo even before you did. So when she cornered you in the common room, demanding you tell her your true feelings it was almost a relief to let it all out.

“I think I might actually like him, Mione. Like, I know that sounds like something an insane person would say, that they like Mattheo Riddle, like romantically, like someone who isn’t just some daft bimbo, but there's just so much more to him that he lets people see.”

Hermione can’t help but laugh, “I get what you mean. Harry and Ron are coming around, you know. They see how happy you look when you’re with him.”

You tilt your head slightly at this, “What do you mean how happy I look?”

Hermione just shakes her head with a smile, “Like you’re with your person.” You can’t escape the blush that creeps up your neck and covers your cheeks. Hermione’s giggling at you now, “Have you still not kissed him yet?”

You scoffed, “Godric, no.” She pushed your shoulder playfully, “Well why not, y/n/n? Don’t you want to?”

You looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers, “I mean…I think so? But he just hasn’t really…gone for it, you know?”

She nodded in solidarity, “Oh I know, trust me. I had to make the first move with Ronald. Maybe you have to do the same thing?”

You contemplated her words. They invaded a space in your brain for the rest of the night, then the rest of the next morning, and through dinner, and even now as you stood leaning against the railing in the astronomy tower waiting for Mattheo to meet you.

When you heard him coming up the steps you turned only to see him with the sweetest smile on his face. “Hey pretty girl,” he greeted as he enveloped you in a hug. “Hi, Teo,” you had donned the nickname on him your third or so time at Hogsmead. He gave you a good squeeze before letting go, his arms still lingering on your waist with yours around his neck, “What’d you wanna talk about?”

His question was innocent, no implications in his voice that he expected anything beyond you wanting to see him. With Hermione’s advice in the back of your head you knew you needed to just act, as any more talking might lead to you psyching yourself out.

You slid your hands down from his neck, grasping lightly to the lapel of his blazer. He raised his eyebrows slightly at the action, the smallest of smirks on his face.

Without giving yourself time to overthink you pull him into you, lips crashing against yours. He’s shocked at first, but just for a moment before he responds, walking you back until you’re pressed against the stone wall.

One of his hands slides up your body, ghosting over your stomach and the valley of your breasts before settling lightly on your neck. The implication of the hand gesture makes you whimper slightly and Mattheo takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly at the curls.

When he finally pulls away you find yourself chasing his lips and he smiled at the reaction. “I think I could kiss you forever,” his forehead is resting against yours, lips still so close you can feel his breath on your own. “Yeah?” you laugh a little, smile only increasing when he presses a kiss to your cheek, “Yeah, pretty girl. Forever.”

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