♡BeaKami's Kingdom♡

He shrugs halfheartedly, and even though you narrow your gaze at him, you still step aside to let him in, watching as he takes off his shoes and sets them next to yours at the entrance. He can't tell you how you still make him nervous, how the thought of walking into your apartment unannounced gives him heart palpitations—even the simple intimacy of seeing your shoes sitting together sends an unspeakable feeling crawling up his throat.

"How's it feel to officially be done with your training?" you ask as you close the door. "Did Krauser cry?"

Leon rolls his eyes at the mention of his most… prolific instructor over the last two years. "Tears of joy, probably, if he can even feel such an emotion," he says sourly. "Apparently, they're going to be pairing us for missions for a while. He told me not to be dead weight and then just walked away."

You let out a bark of laughter as you turn your stereo down even more, though you keep humming along as you continue what you were doing before he knocked—tidying up, as if Leon cares at all if your apartment is a mess, which it never is. He watches as you fold the throw blanket that was in a bunch on the couch, and he imagines you curled up there watching TV last night.

"How was work?" he asks, lingering in your entryway. You make a face, giving him a side-eye that says everything he needs to know. "That bad, huh?"

"We have a new attending, and he's a fucking nightmare," you explain as you walk into your kitchen to stick your coffee cup from this morning into the dishwasher. "I was overseeing one of the med students doing a simple suture, and he walks in, takes one look at the stitches, and—right in front of the patient—goes, 'You suture like anatomy is a suggestion.' I thought the poor thing was going to cry."

Leon grimaces. "Yikes," he says. "At least you only have a few months left in your residency, right?" A sigh escapes you—it's forlorn, and his brows pinch together. "What's wrong?"

"They want me to pursue an infectious disease fellowship," you say as you come to a standstill, hands on your hips, a frown on your face.

He knows who 'they' are—STRATCOM—the same 'they' that he spent the last two years training under. A scowl of his own forms on his lips. "You love working in the E.R., though."

The look you give him is one of livid acceptance—your hands are, unfortunately, tied, and in the end, it does not matter what you want. Your service to your country would come first—they ensured your compliance after Raccoon City. "I'm more useful to them with that research under my belt than in the Emergency Department," you explain, pausing briefly. "I'm gonna go change, sit down, and stop standing near the door like a freak."

Leon suddenly becomes acutely aware that he's been loitering at the entrance to your apartment. As you disappear into your bedroom, he makes his way to the couch. He helped you haul it up four flights of stairs when you bought it—both of you too stubborn to ask anyone else for help, not that there was anyone else to ask. You just had each other. After you two finally got it into your apartment, you made Leon move it around the apartment several more times because of your indecision about where to place it, citing something about the living room's feng shui.

The TV is already on, playing reruns of The X-Files—every time you two watched the show together, you would argue about which of you is Scully.

"She's a medical doctor, obviously, I'm Scully," you disputed when he tried to lay claim to the fictional character.

"Yeah, but you believe in aliens," he retorted.

"So do you!" you said exasperatedly.

By the end of the back-and-forth, neither of you budged—a stalemate silently declared when you switched the channel to another TV show in a huff of indignation. Leon tried to hide his grin because he knew he was definitely Mulder—he just liked riling you up about it.

He plops onto the couch, his mind too busy to pay attention to the show as he glances around your apartment—it's pretty small, but certainly nicer than his, if only because you've taken the time over the last two years to make it into a home, while he only just got a box spring for his mattress a couple of months ago after you looked him dead in the eye and said, "A twenty-three-year-old man needs a box spring, Leon… and a headboard."

So now he has a box spring, a frame, and a headboard, all of which you helped him pick out. His cheeks burn at the memory of you dragging him to the furniture store and how domestic it had felt, as if you two were a normal couple—like you were a couple at all. Scrubbing a hand across his face, he sinks further into the couch, as if willing it to swallow him whole.

His gaze falls to the collection of photos you have hanging on the wall—the frames are mismatched, ones you picked up at a thrift store. Pictures of you and your brother from the holiday breaks he spends here, ones of you both with Sherry from your monthly visits, and a few of you together. They're all recent, from the last two years—you'd lost everything you owned in Raccoon City, except, of course, the picture of you and Jill that you'd found in the R.P.D.

It hangs on your wall now, and the picture still makes him smile—seeing how carefree and happy you'd been.

A month after you both were brought to D.C., you were settling into your new apartment after spending the better part of the last few weeks in a hotel. You'd started at the hospital only a week ago, and Leon was two weeks into his training—they'd barely given either of you time to recover from Raccoon City before throwing you to the wolves.

Sink or swim, they told you.

It was much more threadbare in here, with just two lawn chairs and a milk crate holding up your TV—you had only just gotten an actual bed to sleep in, and your refrigerator had two things in it—a half-empty six-pack of beer and leftover Chinese food you were living off of until you got your first paycheck.

You and Leon were sitting in the chairs, nursing the shitty, cheap beer, the beginnings of what would become your weekly lamentations about the state of your lives, when your phone rang. His eyes slid to you as yours stared at it with apprehension. Your brother was still at school until winter break the following week, and it wasn't your designated call time for Sherry. He could see the way anxiety coiled around you.

You were up in the next moment, hesitantly approaching the phone, and he followed after you—fearful and protective—leaning over your shoulder as you picked up the receiver and held it to your ear. "Hello?" you said.

"Hey," a female voice answered in a sigh, as if it were a relief to hear your voice. "You're a bit hard to track down now, did you know that?"

When he glanced down at you, he saw your brows rise in shock, and then he watched your lower lip quiver as realization dawned on you. "Jill?" you whispered into the phone, white-knuckle grip on it.

"Yeah," she confirmed, and he could hear the way her voice wobbled. "It's me."

Leon slid down the wall with you as you collapsed, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close as tears streaked down your face. "You're alive," you sobbed, your body shaking. As you covered your eyes with one hand, Leon pressed his lips to your temple.

"I'm alive," she repeated, voice hoarse like she was barely holding it together. "And, so are you."

She said it like a reminder—like she knew you needed it. He could feel you unraveling, the guilt you'd been carrying washing away with your tears. He stayed with you on the floor as you and Jill talked for hours, his cheek resting against the top of your head, taking in the lightness in your voice he hadn't heard before—another brief glimpse of who you used to be.

A person you would never be again.

The next time you spoke to her was the following month, to tell her Claire's whereabouts, after Leon received an e-mail from Claire about what was happening on Rockfort Island and Umbrella's surveillance on Chris. Jill called the next day to let you know that both Claire and Chris were all right, though they'd taken a short trip to Antarctica.

You and Leon had exchanged dumbfounded looks.

Jill has remained a steady part of your life since then—you would meet up with her every few months when she was stateside. With Chris, Jill has been trying to combat Umbrella across the globe, and they have recently been lobbying Congress to fund their efforts—or at least formally sanction their operation. Though Jill had told you they have no problem continuing their work without permission, "It's always easier to ask for forgiveness," she said.

In truth, Leon feels jealous of the freedom the two have—the leash that STRATCOM has kept him on, ever-present in his mind, especially now that his training has ended and his first mission looms on the horizon, only a few hours away. He runs his palms up and down his thighs, jaw clenching as he thinks about what tomorrow will bring—another change that will push him further from who he used to be.

When you emerge from your bedroom in comfortable lounge clothes—a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt—he straightens, eyes on the TV, nervous you'll see right through him. He juts his chin toward the plant on the end table, one he's sure wasn't there the last time he was here. "That new?" he asks.

"It's fake," you say as you pick up the remote and switch to a different channel, knowing full well that Leon isn't as engrossed in the show as he pretends to be, and maybe desperate to avoid the impending Scully or Mulder argument. As if sensing the words about to come out of his mouth, you quickly add, "The charge nurse gave it to me when I was complaining about how I kept killing plants."

"You know you could just remember to water them," he snorts.

You're about to retort with some smartass comment, no doubt on the tip of your tongue, when a knock on your door interrupts. "That's probably the food," you say before calling out, "One sec!" You snatch your purse off the coffee table, rummaging around until you come up with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.

You pad over to the door and swing it open.

"Hey, Ian," you greet the delivery driver—by name, Leon notes. He resists the need to glance over, instead resting his cheek against his hand as he idly watches the new show you put on, pretending he's not eavesdropping.

"Hey, doc," the man replies. There's far too much familiarity in his tone, and Leon's gaze flicks toward the door, realizing he doesn't have a good angle from here. "How's your night going?"

You take the pizza box as he hands it to you, exchanging it for the cash in your hand, which he pockets when you tell him to keep the change. "Just got off work a bit ago," you reply, your tone polite but still friendly.

He tips his head back to get a better view and sees a lanky man leaning against your doorframe. He's smiling down at you; his interest is plain as day to any idiot with eyes. "No hot date?" His head tilts to the side as he asks playfully, inquiring, Leon realizes.

Leon feels his stomach roil, a foul feeling itching up his throat that he tries to swallow back down. It shouldn't surprise him that other people notice how pretty you are. There are moments when the light hits you just right, and it feels like he's been punched in the gut. He wonders if you know how breathless you leave him sometimes.

But even still, you're not his, he reminds himself.

After everything—surviving Raccoon City together and all that's come after; the late-night phone calls from nightmare-induced panic attacks, the hours upon hours spent together in this very apartment, the way his eyes have memorized the contours of your face and his hands the curves of your body.

You're still not his.

It's something he thinks about a lot. It's crossed his mind more times than he can count—to ask. He's done it before with high school girlfriends and with the girl he dated when he was in the academy, even though it feels like a lifetime ago now.

A part of him wants to feign ignorance, to pretend he doesn't know why he can't say something as simple as, "Will you be my girlfriend?" But he knows why it feels like a Sisyphean task.

He's never asked because if he did, it would give this feeling a name—a name he doesn't think he can say out loud, as if doing so would jinx it. Admitting everything would make the possibility of losing you even more real, and he's convinced himself he's far happier to stay in this maddening limbo than to risk losing you entirely.

"You're funny," you say with a snort, stepping back, one hand resting on the door while the other balances the pizza box. "No, just a movie night with my friend."

Like a knife straight to the heart. Friend, he thinks bitterly.

"Oh, you know," Ian starts, not as smooth as he thinks he is, and Leon narrows his eyes, not that the man could see him glowering from here. "I also like movies. Maybe one night you and I could go see one? A movie, that is."

You laugh, slowly closing your door, as if this isn't the first time the delivery boy has tried to ask you out. "Have a good night, Ian."

"You too, doc," he says, not at all deterred by your blatant dismissal, hands tucked into the front pockets of his hoodie as he steps back from the door, watching you until the very last second as you shut it, a dopey smile on his face.

When you turn back around, there's an amused smirk on your lips, but it drops when you see Leon staring at you. "What?" you ask cautiously.

"You on a first-name basis with the delivery boy?" he questions as you set the pizza box down on the coffee table in front of him. He tries to say it casually, quirking an eyebrow and resting an arm over the back of the couch.

He sees you toss him a sour expression over your shoulder as you head to the kitchen to grab plates. "I order from there like twice a week," you say, as if in defense of yourself. "They have really good pizza."

"You're a doctor," he says it like it's an accusation. "Aren't you supposed to be like super health-conscious?"

That makes you laugh. "Like you have room to talk, the most I've seen you do is microwave a cup of ramen," you reply with a roll of your eyes. "Do you want a beer?" you ask as you open the fridge.

"Yes," he answers, a frown on his face that definitely wouldn't be mistaken for a pout. After a beat, when he realizes how ridiculous he's being, he adds, "Please."

"So polite," you tease as you hand him the beer, then plop down on the couch as you both dig into the pizza, which is admittedly very good, though Leon only grunts a reply when you ask if he likes it.

Half an hour later, most of the pizza is gone, and you're both on your second beer. A scary movie that came out last year, which you both said you'd actually go to the theater to see but never did, plays on TV, though neither of you flinches at the jump scares. You make an idle comment, "If they had a shotgun, this movie would've been ten minutes long."

He almost chokes on his slice of pizza.

As you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, your feet are stretched out, barely touching Leon's thigh. He's far too aware of your presence, trying to resist the desire to reach out and touch you. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, switching the can of beer from one to the other, wiping the condensation gathering in his palm onto his jeans, and his leg bouncing all the while.

Like you can sense his nervous energy—or maybe just see how much his leg is shaking, you peek over. "You ready for dessert?" you ask.

His brows furrow. "Dessert?" he repeats. "There's dessert?"

A slow grin spreads on your face. "Of course there's dessert," you reply. "We're celebrating."

"I told you not to make a big deal about it," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You roll your eyes as you move across the couch, closer to him, and sit on your knees. "Listen," you start, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and he feels his skin warm under your touch. "We were dealt a pretty shitty hand with all of this—"

He goes to protest, to put on a brave front, but the words die in his throat as he recalls what Adam Benford said to him during his interrogation after Raccoon City. "To be clear, this isn't our first choice, but to ensure your compliance and discretion—" He slid two pictures across the table, one of Sherry and one of you, taken right after the three of you were hauled into unmarked vehicles and brought to a nondescript government facility in the Midwest. "—it would be in your best interest, and theirs, if you agree."

His gaze drops at the memory—one you don't know about, something he's never revealed to you. How could he? How awful would you feel if you knew you were used as leverage to get him to comply? Neither of you has been very willing to talk about those days following your escape from Raccoon City. Somehow, he doubts you ever will.

Your fingertips find his chin, angling it up for him to look at you. "—but you've worked really hard the last two years, and it's okay to celebrate these milestones… even if this isn't how you thought things were going to go." You pause, pursing your lips, and he sees the way your eyes get misty with tears. "We're still allowed to experience life, you know? They don't get to take that away."

He's quiet, softening under your touch—leaning into it—considering your words. As he breathes in, he stares at you, nodding. "Okay."

The corners of your lips twitch tentatively. "Okay?"

He reaches up, giving in to the urge to touch, grasping your wrist and pressing his lips to your palm. "Okay," he murmurs against your skin.

It's worth it to see the smile that lights up your face as you scramble up, but not before kissing the top of his head. "I worked really hard on it, so don't laugh, alright?" He watches as you walk into the kitchen, grabbing something from the fridge, but he can't see what from this angle. "Close your eyes," you instruct.

"Seriously?" he asks.

You pop around the corner, giving him a deadpan look. "Yes, Leon!"

He huffs out a laugh and closes his eyes. He can hear you rummaging around in your drawers, before the tch tch tch of a lighter. His brows raise with curiosity, but he resists the impulse to peek as you come back over, and he can feel the couch beside him dip down.

"Okay, open your eyes," you say.

When he does, you're sitting there holding a plate with a cake that is definitely lopsided—the frosting is a patchy baby pink, as if you didn't mix the food coloring in fully, and he can see crumbs mixed in, probably because you were impatient and didn't wait long enough for the cake to cool before decorating it.

It seems like you tried to cover up your poor frosting job with big, chunky rainbow sprinkles, and in bright red gel icing, you've written 'congrats leon' in barely legible cursive, complete with a crooked smiley face.

The cherry on top is the lit candles, which are starting to melt.

"It's not my birthday," he points out as his face dons a confused expression at the flickering flames.

Your eyes narrow, like you know he's baiting you. "Shut up and blow the candles out, Leon."

He tries to hide the smile spreading across his face. "Yes, ma'am," he says, about to blow them out, but you yank it away at the last second, sputtering a 'wait, wait, wait'. "What?" he asks.

"I have to get a picture for Sherry, hold on," you say as you shove the plate into his hands and dig through the drawer of your end table until you come out with a Polaroid camera. "Okay, say 'cheese!'"

"You're such a pain," he says through gritted teeth, grinning anyway.

You snap the picture, shaking the Polaroid as it comes out of the camera. Inspecting it as it starts to develop, and once you're sure you didn't catch him blinking, you gesture toward the cake. "Okay, blow them out now before wax gets on the cake," you say impatiently, as if you weren't holding this whole thing up.

"Probably would only make it more edible," he mutters, chuckling as you swat at him before blowing out the candles. "Happy?"

"Extremely," you muse as you take the plate from him to set it down on the coffee table. "Sherry picked out the flavor and color—it's strawberry, by the way."

Leon laughs. "Of course she did." He imagines that the little girl—well, teenager now—had given you specific instructions on the exact shade of pink to use for the cake and exactly how to decorate it. No doubt you did an abysmal job following her directions, and you would hear no end of it once she saw the picture.

It seems that isn't all you have planned, as you pluck a box from your bag and hold it out to him. It's nicely wrapped—like the kind of gift you get professionally wrapped at a fancy department store. "You didn't have to get me anything." When you gesture insistently for him to take it, he does, then carefully unwraps it, well aware of how eagerly you're watching.

It's a watch—similar to the one you wear every day.

"Now we match," you say with a grin as you hold up your own to show him. "It's solar-powered, so you don't have to worry about it dying or having to change the batteries, and you can set timers, and there's a compass, oh, and—"

"I love it," he murmurs gently.

"Yeah?" you ask quietly, brows lifting in relief as if you'd been nervous he wouldn't like it.

He sets the watch down and reaches out before he loses his nerve, grabbing you and pulling you into his lap. You let out a surprised noise, bracing your hands against his shoulders as he caresses the line of your jaw. "Yeah," he confirms, his gaze meeting yours and catching the way your eyes dip down to his lips for just a second.

His chest pools with the unnameable feeling, but he knows he would gladly drown in it. It sets his veins on fire as he nuzzles his nose against yours, angling his head to slot your mouths together. He kisses you like he's a prisoner and you're his last meal.

You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows it down readily, dragging you closer to him.

This isn't something that happens often.

The sex.

And maybe that's why your relationship is so… muddled.

Maybe it's why he doesn't know where you two stand with each other—why he's afraid to ask.

Or maybe it's just another excuse he can tell himself.

But when you're so pliant under his touch, like right now, he can forget—he can pretend that, irrefutably, you are his, especially when you whisper his name against his lips like a confession. Your fingers weave through the hair at the base of his neck, deepening the kiss as your tongue glides along his lower lip.

He is reminded of how you'd grinned, tugging at his hair after his first week of training. "Glad they didn't make you shave your head," you teased. "You'd look weird bald." He scowled, face flushed, and waved your hand away, even as your laughter sent a swirl of butterflies through his stomach. He didn't know then how that feeling would grow, how it would consume him.

It feels like he can't get close enough to you, even as your tongues brush and his fingertips dig into the plush flesh of your thighs—it's still not enough. His breath catches in his throat as you nip at his bottom lip, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel it, a tingle shooting straight down his spine.

He briefly wonders if you can feel how hard he is beneath you already. Then, as if sensing his thoughts, you shift—he might even mistake it for you just readjusting, if not for the way you smile against his lips as he groans, canting his hips up against you.

Then you do it again, none too conspicuously, and his vision erupts with white dots as he moans your name. He can feel the heat of you through your shorts, and his fingers itch to dip beneath the waistband of them to discover how wet he hopes you are.

But then you pull away, breathless, face flushed, eyes half-lidded, and you can't help but lean in once more for a quick peck. "You want your other present?" you ask, fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt.

His brows furrow, his mind still hazy from the kiss. "What?" There's a mischievous glint in your eye as you slide off his lap, though he holds on to you until the very last second, watching with a slack jaw as you nestle between his legs. Heat spreads across his face, up to his ears, as he stares down at you. "You—" His voice cracks, pitching up, and he coughs. "You don't have to—"

You unfasten his belt and look up at him just before you undo his pants. "Feel free to stop me anytime," you say as you pop the button open. You pause, your eyebrows raised as if waiting for him to tell you to stop. When he opens his mouth and nothing comes out, you grin.

He's white-knuckle gripping the arm of the couch with one hand, his other hovering just at the side of your head like he doesn't know what to do with it. He shudders as you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it up and down a few times when you pull it out, as if he wasn't already rock hard from just a bit of kissing.

"So," you murmur as you bend down like you're about to take him into your mouth, but stop just shy, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes. "Do you want me to stop?"

He's shaking his head back and forth, stuttering out his answer in a desperate plea. "No, no, please don't stop."

You maintain unwavering eye contact as you stick your tongue out, pink and glistening, swiping it all the way from the base of his cock to the tip in one languid motion that makes him pant, hand instantly finding purchase on the back of your head. His fingers tangle into your messy bun way more roughly than he intends, and he realizes it right away, snatching it away like he's been burned.

"Sorry," he apologizes quickly.

You take his hand and put it back on your head. "You're allowed to touch," you say, and he doesn't know whether it's the low tone of your voice or the way you flatten your tongue against the leaking tip of his cock that makes his eyes roll back in his head.

He's more tender, though, only applying force when you slowly start to bob your head up and down. "Oh fuck," he moans, gasping your name. You take him inch by inch, your jaw relaxing to accommodate his thickness. One of your hands is on his thigh, keeping you steady while the other grips the base of his cock, a constant pressure that makes the pleasure begin to build deep in his core.

By the time he hits the back of your throat, his head is thrown back against your couch. When you gag, it only turns him on more as he peers down at you, watching the drool pool at the corners of your mouth as you bring your head back up, licking your lips once and blinking away the tears before diving back in.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out as you take him even deeper. His hips slant up just a bit, forcing himself down your throat even more, and when you only swallow him down, he grips your hair with both hands now. "Shit, you're so good."

You keep bobbing up and down, working what you can't fit in your mouth with your hand in a rhythm that makes his brain fuzzy. His stomach tightens, and when you hollow your cheeks and suck, if he were of a clearer mind, the noise he makes might cause a rush of embarrassment; it's a high-pitched whimper, your name leaving his lips like a prayer.

"Please, please," he begs as he feels himself teetering on the edge. "So close, please."

You clearly don't have any intention of stopping; instead, you double your efforts until Leon is thrusting up, nails biting into your scalp as more tears gather in your eyes while he fucks your throat raw. He can feel the way you moan around his cock as he does, and his head curves back again.

"Shit, shit," he moans. "Oh God, I'm—" The words get caught in his throat when he falls over the edge, his vision blackening around the edges, as he starts to cum. His hips stutter, face twisting up with pleasure as he finishes down your throat. You keep working his cock, and the world becomes a fishbowl around him—muffled and distant.

When he finally regains his senses, he's panting heavily—view hazy as he looks down at you; your hair is a mess from his fingers, and there are tear streaks trailing down your cheeks as you swallow the remnants of his cum. His brain is still foggy, heart racing in his chest as you beckons you up.

You rise to your feet just enough for him to gather you into his lap, straddling him, his softening cock between the two of you, rubbing against the smooth cotton of your sleep shorts in a way that's almost overstimulating. A small whine escapes the back of his throat.

"Did you like your present?" you ask, voice hoarse.

His hand hooks at the back of your neck, dragging you to him to slot his mouth against yours. The taste of himself on your lips makes his cock stir despite having just orgasmed. Fingertips trail up the smooth planes of your thighs before digging into your hips, tugging you insistently closer. Your arms drape over his shoulders as you let him do as he pleases.

As you both draw back to breath, you grin. "I'll take that as a yes," you whisper contentedly against his lips.

He brushes his nose against yours, pecking your lips once before trailing down to your neck. "Not done, yet," he murmurs against your skin, already feeling the telltale twitch of his cock with every tiny movement of you on top of him and soft sigh into his ear.

Then he slides his hands down to the underside of your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as he hauls himself and you up off the couch. You let out a shocked noise, arms wrapping around his neck as if he would let you fall, and then he's walking toward your bedroom with you in his arms.

"Smooth, rookie," you tease as he nudges your door open, carefully navigating through the door frame.

He can feel the way the heat spreads up his neck to his cheeks from the compliment, along with the way your hands seem to be admiring the way his biceps flex as he carries you. He kisses you once more before tossing you onto the bed, and you giggle, hand covering your mouth, though the amusement on your face quickly morphs into rapt interest as he strips.

Eyes trailing down his form with a hungry look in your eye that sends a wave of confidence through him. You hastily join him, your clothes forming a messy pile on your bedroom floor before you grasp his hand, yanking him onto the bed with you. Your mouths move together in a desperate collision; it's practically all teeth.

His cock is already half hard again, and when you push him so he's lying against your plush pillows, tossing a leg over his waist so you're straddling him, he's hit with the urge to bury himself deep inside of you. As you slide yourself up and down the shaft of his cock, he can finally feel how wet you are—practically dripping. "Oh god," he groans as you grind against him. The rough palms of his hands skirt up the length of your waist, cupping your breasts reverently, causing you to arch into his touch. "So pretty," he notes as his thumbs trace circles against your nipples, bringing them to peaks.

"Leon," you gasp.

He's compelled by your eagerness, tweaking lightly at them, enjoying the way you writhe on top of him when he does. Your hands find purchase on his wrists as you continue to rock back and forth, soaking his now completely hard cock. He can't help himself, sitting up to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it in a way that makes you buck against him.

"Ah, shit, Leon," you moan.

He licks a trail up to your neck, then sucks just under your jawline. "Gonna let me fuck you?" he murmurs against your skin. Next thing he knows, he's flat on his back again, your hands on his chest as you slowly grind against him.

"What was that?" you ask lowly, not giving him the satisfaction of the sweet slide into your cunt. He's almost frustrated by the way he can feel the slow build of another organism just from the wet heat of your cunt. He wants to be inside of you, though, desperately.

"C'mon," he practically begs. "Please."

You slow to a crawl, hips canting back and forward at a snail's pace. "Please, what?" you ask teasingly.

He whines, tilting his hips up, trying to renew that delicious friction between you, but you don't give in, causing him to whimper. "Fuck me, please."

You don't let him flounder for long, reaching between the two of you to grab hold of him and press his tip to your entrance before sinking down. Your noises turn soft, slight gasps as you take him inch by inch, and he's moaning as the velvety walls of your cunt surround him. He doesn't know that he'll ever get tired of the feeling.

"God, you're so big," you breathe out.

His ears heat up, cock twitching inside of you. "You can't just say that," he pants.

"Don't pretend you don't like it when I stroke your ego," you say as you slide down the last inch, and Leon groans as he bottoms out in you.

"Shut up," he replies with no real bite, pinching the skin at your hip.

You grin in response, and then you start moving up and down, and he's whimpering your name. "Holy shit," he pants. This isn't an angle of you he's had the pleasure of witnessing very many times before, but it's definitely one of his favorites. His gaze focuses on the way your breasts bounce with your movement, how you arch your back. His hands grip the plush flesh of your ass, eyes gazing down to where you two are joined, watching as he disappears into you with each rock back and forth of your hips.

You moan with every drag of his cock in and out of you, your face twisted up with pleasure, and he can only watch you with reverence. You're so otherworldly, he thinks. He would gladly supplicate for the rest of his days and become a lamb for sacrificial slaughter if the suffering came from your pretty hands.

He takes one of your hands pressed to his chest, and holds it to his lips devotedly, staring at yours in the dim light of your bedroom. He wonders if you can see it in his eyes—the things he would do for you—what he's already done for you.

His tender murmured praises keep you going until he knows your legs are tiring, thighs straining from the movement. Then, when you start to falter, he guides you with his hands, feet planted into your bed so he can thrust up to meet you halfway, his end rapidly approaching.

"Touch yourself," he orders lowly.

He wants to feel you cum around him; it's the only thing his mind can focus on right now.

You comply instantly, and he can feel the way you clench around him, like you enjoyed him ordering you around. When you swirl two fingers around your clit, your pussy turns into a vice grip that makes his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Leon," you moan desperately. Your movement turns sloppy as you teeter close to the edge, your other hand barely keeping you upright on top of him as he continues to thrust up into you, harder now.

"C'mon," he groans. "Give it to me."

Your breath pitches up, gasping and panting as you cum around his cock, thighs tightening as your orgasm washes over you. Pleasure morphs your face into something sinful, and Leon doesn't give you even a second of reprieve before he's bucking up into you, desperately chasing his own end while fucking you through yours. You collapse against him as your muscles fail you, burying your nose into the crook of his neck.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close to his chest as he tumbles over the edge. His lips find your shoulder, kissing and biting at the delicate skin in between the carnal way he moans your name—it's almost animalistic, originating somewhere from deep in his chest. But, it's pure relief as he cums in you, hips tilting up again and again until he's sure he's emptied inside of you.

He keeps you there on top of him, even when your skin starts to stick together from the sweat, even as he feels himself leak out from you, and only when you finally seem to regain function of your body do you pull away, though he cradles your face before you can get too far. "Was that okay?" he asks.

He always does.

Your cheeks are flushed, and you nod, smiling down at him with a dazed look in your eye. "More than okay," you confirm tenderly, and he feels his heart stutter when you press a kiss to his lips. "Let me go get cleaned up."

And then you're slowly extricating yourself from him, wincing a bit, before heading out of your bedroom toward the bathroom. Leon watches you go, fixated on your backside until you disappear from view. He lies there, catching his breath as he listens to the toilet flush and the water run. When you return, your hair is a bit tidier, though your skin is still rosy. As you grab a new pair of underwear from your dresser and another t-shirt, he gets up and heads to the bathroom to wash up.

His gaze gets caught on the mirror as he's washing his hands, finding his own eyes in the mirror. There are moments when he doesn't recognize the person staring back at him, and it feels like it's happening more and more often. There's something in his eyes, he thinks, something that's broken, and he thinks sometimes you can see it, too.

He wonders if you feel this way—if there are days when you can't look at your own reflection because it's like seeing a stranger staring back at you. In the back of his mind, he contemplates whether part of him got left behind in Raccoon City, a part he'll never be able to get back.

Blinking, he turns the water off, rubbing at his face as he shakes his head. As he walks back in, you're already under the covers, and after finding his briefs that he tossed to the side earlier and putting them on, he slides in behind you.

"You staying?" you ask, muffled against your pillow.

You always ask, and he always stays.

"Yeah," he mutters as he gathers you up in his arms, tugging you closer to him, and inhaling the smell of your shampoo, dulled by the scent of antiseptic and hospital.

The bedroom is silent, but he can still hear the TV on in the living room—no doubt the movie you were watching has ended and the credits are rolling. Through the open window you must've cracked when you came back in, cars drive by on the street below, and he catches the gentle, fragmentary murmurs of conversations from random passersby.

His brain won't quiet—it hardly ever does late at night. From the way your thumb gently traces along his arm wrapped around your waist, you haven't given in to sleep either. He knows you have a hard time sleeping at night, too—there's a bottle of Ambien prescribed to you in your medicine cabinet. You only tried it once and had such horrible nightmares that you called him sobbing at two in the morning.

You didn't want to talk about it—you only wanted to hold his hand and listen to his heartbeat.

He thinks you dreamed about him dying.

He's dreamed of you dying, too—haunted by visions of falling down, down, down.

Tears gather in his eyes at the thought, and then he's speaking before he even realizes, like he physically can't take the silence any longer. "Do you think we would've met?" he whispers. "If… none of that happened?"

It's a question he's thought about a lot.

An entire world of what-ifs that constantly lives on the periphery of his mind.

What if the outbreak never happened?

What if he arrived in Raccoon City earlier?

What if he didn't find you in the police station?

What if, what if, what if…

He finds himself thinking about these different realities, imagining how they might play out—hoping that in every version, you would find each other. Praying that the two of you were as inevitable as the rising sun.

You don't answer right away, but the sharp way you inhale at the question means you heard him.

"I'm sure you would've landed yourself in the E.R. at some point," you say—lighthearted, as if you can sense the spiral his mind has set itself on. You hum as if you're deliberating before he can feel you nod slightly. "Yeah, the rookie gets brought in on his first day after accidentally tasing himself."

He snorts derisively. "What?"

You peer back over your shoulder at him, and he can see the beginnings of a smile spreading across your face. "That's what would've happened," you say, matter-of-factly. "You'd be so embarrassed, and I'd be like, 'Oh, this happens more than you think'—it doesn't, by the way. I'm just being nice and taking pity on the poor rookie."

He rolls his eyes, not that you can see, but his lips press to your temple as he draws you closer to him, tucking you just under his chin. "What else would happen?" he questions softly.

"I'd send you off with strict instructions to point the taser away from yourself next time," you explain, your tone tender, as if recalling a fond memory. "You'd make it a whole week before you're carted in again—hit-and-run."

He sputters, "Why am I so accident-prone in this hypothetical reality?"

"Because you're accident-prone in actual reality," you prod, drumming the tips of your fingers against his arm. "You fell through too many floors for me not to think otherwise—oh, and that ladder."

He scoffs dramatically. "Whatever." There's a brief pause before, "And then what?"

"Then I would ask Jill if you were a nepo baby, because there's no way you graduated from the same police academy as everyone else."

"Oh my God," he laughs into your hair.

You giggle along with him. "She would, of course, tell you this. You're mortified. I'm unaware. The entire Emergency Department starts to keep track of how long in between your trips to the E.R.—"

"Wait, you guys would do that?" he asks, scandalized.

"Oh yeah," you confirm with amusement. "There'd be a little whiteboard in the break room: 'It's Been 0 Days Since Officer Kennedy Did Something Stupid.'"

"That's so mean," he practically whines at the imaginary scenario.

"We'd probably dress up Mort as you, too—make him hold the sign," you add.

His brows pinch together. "Mort?"

"The C.P.R. dummy."

He shouldn't have asked. "Jesus Christ," he mutters.

You laugh, but it mellows into something sentimental. "So, yeah, I think we would have met… regardless of everything."

"Yeah," he says, the anxiety that was starting to pool in his chest moments ago settling at your words. "I think so, too."

A more comfortable silence envelopes the two of you, and he can feel the way your breathing slows in unison with his. "Good night, Leon," you murmur.

"Night," he whispers back.

He wakes up before you—it's still dark out, and the digital alarm clock on your nightstand reads 4:27 AM. He needs to be at the airfield in an hour. With a dejected sigh, he leaves the warm comfort of your bed—of you. You're curled up under the covers, having rolled away from each other at some point during the night, still sound asleep.

As he picks his clothes up from the pile on the floor and shrugs them back on, there's a moment when he debates waking you up to properly say goodbye. He doesn't know why his throat constricts at the thought of doing so—like it would be harder to leave you if he did.

So as he finishes buttoning his pants, he leans over, kissing your forehead. "I'll see you when I get back, okay?"

You don't stir, and part of him is glad for it.

When he steps out into the living room, he spends a few minutes tidying up—turning off the TV, rinsing the plates that were piled on your coffee table and putting them in the dishwasher, and throwing the empty beer cans in the recycling. Just when he's about to put the cake back into the fridge, he pauses, grabs a fork from your drawer, and takes a bite out of it.

The cake itself is probably a little burnt, and the chunky sprinkles add a bit more crunch than he would normally care for, but it's at least edible. He breathes out a huff of laughter through his nose and takes another bite before putting the cake in the fridge and the fork in the dishwasher.

As he puts the watch on, a small smile tugs on his face as he thinks of you saying, 'Now we match!'

After putting on his shoes, he glances once more around your apartment. Swallowing thickly, he calls out tenderly once more, "Bye."

When you wake up, the spot beside you in bed is cold, but you put your hand out anyway, trying to find even a trace of warmth he might have left behind. There's a sting in your sinuses as you blink back tears; the world will keep moving, you remind yourself, as if that's meant to be a comfort.

What is more concerning for you than the specific items being stolen is that whoever it is has been able to avoid the security system. While the infirmary itself has no internal cameras, the cameras in the hall leading to the elevators are all in perfect working order. Fury had the tech support team check and recheck the security system but they couldn't find any glitches or issues. No one had been seen entering or exiting the infirmary on the nights when the inventory went missing.

Maybe the Tower has a ghost, you think to yourself as you finish the inventory checklist yet again. You double check your count and note that nothing is missing. Tossing the clipboard onto your desk, you pull your book out of the top drawer and settle in for what you assume will be another long, uneventful night.

About five minutes later, you hear something coming from the main section of the infirmary and get up from your seat. Holy crap! There's actually a thief, you think as you leave your office quickly.

You stop short when you see Loki rummaging through one of the metal cabinets, one that you know you had locked only minutes ago. "What are you doing?" you ask him. How the hell did he get in here? you wonder. You hadn't heard the door open.

The tall prince looks up a bit startled by your sudden appearance but he doesn't respond.

"I'm not allowed to let you take supplies," you tell him, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You hadn't been prepared to confront a god, you had hoped it was some young agent who didn't know the rules or an older one who was too cheap to buy band-aids.

He curses under his breath in what you assume is Asgardian and slams the cabinet closed. He glares at you and turns to leave.

"Wait, do you need help?" you ask noticing the items in his hand are for stitching a wound and there is a hastily wrapped bandage on his left forearm.

"No," he answers in a harsh tone.

You put your hand on your hips and say, "You can let me help you or you can leave. If you leave, you can't take the supplies. I'll have to report this as theft of SHIELD property to Director Fury."

"Fine," he grumbles and walks towards you slowly. You point him towards an exam table and roll over a stool then you take the items he gathered, setting them out on a tray next to you. He watches you intently while you work, you aren't sure if he is trying to make you uncomfortable but it is clear he doesn't trust you.

How the hell did he cut himself like this? you ask yourself as you open all the tools you will need. And what is he doing here anyways? He has accelerated healing, the same as his brother. He shouldn't be bleeding this-

"Thor is not my brother," he corrects you. "And the manner in which I was injured is none of your concern, mortal."

You sit back and look at him angrily, "Get out of my mind. You know you aren't allowed to use your telepathy on SHIELD employees." He shrugs at your outburst but sits quietly while you finish closing his wound.

"Done," you say when you add a bandage over the closure. You snap off your gloves and push your stool away from him. You can't imagine he will thank you for your assistance so you add, "You're welcome, now get out. I have to clean up."

You turn away to pick something up and suddenly feel as if you are alone. When you look back towards the exam table, he is gone. You shake your head in confusion and walk over to open the infirmary door, the hinges creak loudly as it swings open and closed.

A few days later you are completing the last of your paperwork just as someone knocks on your office door. You gasp in surprise and nearly drop your coffee, looking up to see Loki standing in your doorway. He is holding his right bicep and lowers his gaze to the ground in front of him to avoid eye contact with you. His demeanor is completely different then the last time he was here.

"Would you help me?" he asks almost as if he expects you to say no.

You sigh and nod, "Of course, it's literally my job... even if the person who needs my help is an ungrateful ass."

He flinches at your harsh tone and says, "I am sorry I was unkind to you last time I was here."

"You were a jerk," you tell him flatly, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back in your chair.

"I was," he says to your surprise. "I apologize for my behavior, it was uncalled for."

"Accepted," you say, not wanting to waste anymore time since you could now see blood begin to seep through his fingers.

He sits on the exam table you motion towards and begins to unbutton his dress shirt. You turn towards the cabinet to grab the things you need and when you look back you are struck by how annoyingly hot he is. You quickly remember that he can and will read your mind so you try to push the thoughts away but you are not fast enough. Loki looks down as he folds his shirt and places it next to him, the corner of his lip curling into a smile.

"Okay," you clear your throat. "Let's see what you did this time." He moves his hand and you see the long gash on his bicep. "Wow, you did a pretty good job on this."

"Yes, I thought the bleeding had stopped but it began again so I thought I should come here" he says.

"Good thing you did. It's going to need a lot of stiches, more than last time," you inform him. "Do you want anything for the pain?" you ask when to get up to grab a few more things from the cabinet.

"It doesn't hurt," he shakes his head.

"Really?" you ask, not sure if you believe him but you don't press the issue.

You sit close to him on your stool and begin to work on his arm quietly. Loki doesn't make a single sound or move an inch while you clean and stitch his wound. You reach for the tray to grab something and realize he is watching you again but this time he's studying you and not your work.

"So what happened?" you ask him. You are fairly certain he wasn't sent on a mission this week.

"Training with Thor," he says simply.

You nod, sensing that he won't give any more details even if you continue to ask him questions. You glance over at his right forearm and pause mid-stitch when you don't see the injury you treated last time.

"It healed," he answers before you can ask what happened.

"Stop reading my mind," you tell him and go back to what you were doing. He doesn't respond and you assume that means he doesn't intend to listen to you. You decide to search your mind for a song that can easily get stuck in a person's head, hoping that if he does go sifting through your thoughts he will at least be annoyed. It might be childish, but it's the best solution you can think of at the moment.

You look up at him when you are finished, sitting back on your stool you say, "I know the other day wasn't the first time you snuck in here." He tightens his jaw and gets up from the table, buttoning his shirt without saying a word.

"Are you the one who's been stealing supplies?" you ask him even though you know he is. He ignores your question but you don't think it is because he is being rude like last time. He almost seems distressed that you know his secret so you add, "I didn't tell anyone it was you."

"I know you didn't," he finally responds. "I assumed Fury would have spoken to me if you had." He is silent for a moment than he says, "Thank you," before turning to leave the exam room.

"Wait," you follow after him. "I can't keep hiding this from Dr. Palmer and Director Fury. They are going to want to know who was taking the supplies."

He turns to face you, "Why didn't you tell them it was me?" His curiosity seems genuine, as if he fully expected you to turn him in the first time you saw him here.

"I'm not sure," you shrug. "I guess I wanted to talk to you about why first you were doing it but then you pissed me off and I just wanted you out of here as soon as possible."

He nods, "Again, I apologize for how I spoke to you. I was not expecting anyone to be here but that is not an excuse."

You are stunned by the second apology and the abrupt change in his attitude since last time. Maybe I'll have a better chance of finding out why he is clearly not healing well now.

"I would rather not discuss that tonight," he says as he walks away from you and you know he read your mind again.

"Loki, I can't pretend I don't know it's you for much longer. Fury is going to want to know why the supplies are missing. It's the whole reason I'm here this late," you tell him.

He puts his hand on the door to leave and looks back at you, "I know you do not owe me this but please, do not tell anyone... at least not yet."

You sigh, "Fine, but this is the last time."

He nods and you watch in awe as he simply vanishes from sight. So that's how he gets passed all the cameras, he can just disappear?

It's been a week since you've seen Loki and after the fourth day you had decided he wasn't going to come back. You hope you will be able to finish out the next few weeks without any additional discrepancies in the inventory and things would go back to normal. Just as you are about to open your book, you hear him call your name and you roll your eyes. Of course he's back, nothing ever works out simply for me.

You walk out of your office to meet him, expecting to find the God of Being Annoying and Evasive needing a handful stitches like he has the last two times he visited but he appears fine. "Hi again," you greet him with the least excited tone you can manage.

He grimaces and takes a few steps towards you but falls, grabbing his side tightly as he collapses onto one knee. You move quickly to grab him but don't see anything wrong until he moves his hand and his illusion flickers. There's blood on his hand but it vanishes then appears again when his magic gives out. His shirt is covered in blood and you hold onto him, helping ease him to the floor.

"What the hell happened?" you ask trying not to panic. You remember your training and move his shirt to the side so you can see the injury clearer. He flinches when you press his hand on the open wound and tell him to keep it there. "Shit," you mumble a curse then get up to grab everything you need.

You kneel next to him and take care of his wound as quickly and cleanly as possible, stitching the long, deep cut closed. Thankfully it wasn't any deeper or you might have needed to call for help, the wound was too close to his lung to not be taken seriously. When you finish you help him sit up slowly and he uses his magic to clean the blood off his clothing.

"You need to stay here and rest," you urge but he shakes his head no.

"It will heal," he says and he tries to get up. You help him so he doesn't hurt himself further but you keep your hands on his arm. "Thank you," he tells you then takes a step away from you but you don't let go.

"Stop," you get his attention. "You can't leave, this wasn't just some little cut. You were stabbed really close to your lung. This isn't okay Loki, you're not fine."

He takes a deep breath as if to prove his lungs are clear and says, "I appreciate your concern, Y/N, I truly do but I need to deal with this on my own."

"No you don't," you argue. "Just tell me what's wrong, maybe I can help."

He shakes his head, "You are an excellent healer but this is beyond you."

"I don't get it, why are you getting so badly hurt. I thought you had accelerated healing abilities like you bro- like Thor," you correct yourself before he has the chance.

He gently rests his hand over the wound on his side and tries to reassure you. "I will heal, it just takes a bit longer than it used to. Thank you once again for your help Y/N," he says before he vanishes.

Three nights later, you are sitting at your desk looking down at your tablet while you drink your second cup of coffee. You've clicked on Loki's file but haven't opened it yet, your fingers drumming on the desk rhythmically as you think. You have treated him several times now so it isn't a violation of his privacy to view his chart but for some reason it feels like it is. You sigh and open his file, maybe whatever he is hiding from me is in here.

You intend to skim his chart then log his recent visits like you should have been doing but you pause completely confused. His file is almost blank, his name and general information has been filled out but there is not a single visit to the infirmary listed. How is that possible? He must have been able to heal at one point but he doesn't seem to be able to anymore.

You exit his file without adding anything, determined to talk to him the next time you see him. You only need to wait fifteen minutes before he knocks softly on your office door.

"Loki, are you okay?" you ask, your voice has more concern than you meant.

He nods and holds out his hand when you walk towards him, "It is only a small wound tonight."

You look closely at the back of his hand and agree, he will only need a butterfly bandage or two and some gauze. You hold his wrist gently and lead him into one of the exam rooms. Loki sits on the table and you roll your stool close to him with your tray of supplies next to you.

"What happened?" you ask, reaching for the tape and he hands it to you, "Thanks."

"A training accident," he says and you nod, unsurprised.

"I need to log this into your file," you say as you throw out the garbage. "The other injuries too," you add.

"I would rather you didn't," he says.

"I know but I need to, it's proper procedure. I could get in trouble if I don't," you explain. "I could lose my job."

He sighs and remains seated on the table. You sit on the stool again and move closer to him. "I'm sorry, I never meant to cause you trouble," he says.

"Well... maybe if you tell me what's going on, I can keep it out of the record," you suggest. He looks up at you as you can tell he is thinking about your suggestion. "I can't tell anyone what we talk about, if that's what you're worried about, doctor - patient privilege and all," you explain with a smile.

"You're a nurse," he says, but his tone isn't condescending like it is when some people call you a nurse, it is as if he is simply clarifying a fact.

"Yeah... it's the same concept," you sigh. "Loki, you can trust me. I don't want to see you keep getting hurt like this," you tell him honestly, touching his hand lightly and he looks into your eyes.

You aren't sure if he is reading your mind or not but finally he says, "You must promise me, no one will know what I am going to tell you."

"I swear," you agree.

Loki shifts uncomfortably on the lightly padded table and looks down at your hand over his. He sighs deeply then says, "I cannot heal the same way Thor does, I have never been able to."

"What!?" you ask unable to hide your shock. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that but... I don't understand."

He says, "Accelerated healing is an Asgardian trait and I am not a full Asgardian, I am half frost giant. When I was a child, I thought I healed slowly simply because I was smaller and weaker than Thor but now my lack of abilities makes sense."

"But how did you hide it all this time?" you ask. "Someone must have noticed you were always getting hurt."

"My mother helped me," he explains. "She taught me to use my magic to create illusions to hide my injuries and dull my pain. When I was alone, I would use my spells and potions to heal myself."

"And no one knows, not even your brother?" you ask in disbelief.

"Not even Thor," he shakes his head.

"But wait... so this was obviously working fine for the last thousand or so years, why isn't it working now?" you ask confused.

"There is something wrong with my magic," he tells you and your heart sinks. "It has been fading since I was taken by the Mind Stone."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

The following morning you were still on cloud 9. Even though it was the morning of Alarian’s sentencing. You can’t help but look at the ring on your finger, it’s hard to believe that a little over a month ago you thought you would be getting ready for Jane and Thor’s wedding. You were so lost in thought, you didn’t realize that Loki had woken up until you feel his hand brushing through your hair.

You look up to his face, “good morning.”

“Good morning darling. Did you sleep well?”

You nod, “yup..”, you look back to your ring.

“Hehe..I take it you approve of my creation then?”, he asks noticing your line of sight.

You look back to him and kiss him, “I love it. It’s so beautiful. I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

“I have.”, his eyes never leaving yours.

You laugh, “oh please. You have been surrounded by beautiful ladies, goddesses, princes and princesses…”

“You are right, I have been surrounded by many beautiful beings in my life but you my darling are by far the most beautiful. You have shown me the true beauty of. I love you endlessly.”

“I love you too.”, Loki leans down and gives you a deep kiss which you reciprocate but Loki can tell you’re holding back slightly.

He pulls back and looks down at your face, “are you alright darling?”

“Yea..I’m just…a little nervous about..everything..”

“Everything?”

You sit up, wrapping your blanket around your chest. “I’m just..I’m nervous about the sentencing..I’m nervous about planning this wedding…becoming a princess..it’s just all so much.”

Loki sits up with you and wraps his arms around you, brining your back against his chest. “Everything will be well my heart, you will see. Alarian will be sentenced today and you will never have to see him again..and as far as the wedding, my mother swore she is going to be there every step of the way. Knowing her she has been planning this wedding since Odin brought me to her and called me her son.”

He kisses your cheek, “and for the princess part..my girl..you are already loved by all of Asgard. You just need to remain the wonderful person that you are and everything will be fine. You have already accomplished the one thing that everyone on this realm thought was impossible.”

You look back to him, “oh yea? What’s that?”

“You have tamed the God of Mischief himself!”

“Ha! Tamed? You really consider yourself tamed?”

“More like domesticated. Like one of your feline breeds from Midgard.”

“Cats? Have you been studying things from earth?”

He looks a little bashful when he responds, “maybe a little. I wish to know more about your home. And eventually when our family grows..I wish for our children to know every part of their history. I want nothing hidden from them.”

You turn around, straddle his hips and bring your arms around his neck, “we won’t hide anything from them. They'll know everything about where they came from.”

Loki looks downs and starts rubbing his hands up and down your waist, “I never want our children to feel what I felt when I found out about my heritage. I was so angry and betrayed. I hated my family for it. I don’t want them to hate me.”

You put your hands on his face and force him to look into your eyes, “they will not hate you. I promise.” You give him a sweet kiss that with your current position turns into a heated one. You can feel him get hard underneath you and with a minor adjustment he was slowly pushes himself into your pussy.

You ride him slowly, the only sounds being your breathy moans and pleases. Eventually, Loki takes the lead and flips you over so you are on your back. He keeps the same slow pace, giving you deep kisses along the way.

His hands are constantly touching you everywhere on your body. Grabbing and massaging your breasts, rubbing circles on your clit which brings about your first orgasm.

He looks into your eyes as you fall apart under him. Mesmerized by your dazed look he can’t help but whisper sweet praises to you. “You take me so well darling. This is only the beginning of our passionate life together. I fear there will never be a moment when I will not want to be inside of you. I feel myself become impossibly hard throughout most of my day..you truly were made for no one but me.”

His words and his cock bring you to your second orgasm and it’s so intense you’re not sure if you can take much more. Soon you’re begging him to fill you.

“Loki…Loki…Lo…please..”

“Please what my heart? Tell me what you desire and it is yours.”

“I want your come Loki…please. It’s too much! I..I can’t..”

He slams into you as you scream his name, “I’m right there fated one…right…there..”.

He comes hard and you immediately feel relaxed. It was like someone took a firehose to a burning building. All of your anxieties you woke with this morning slowly disappearing.

He looks down at your breathlessly, “I am a very fortunate god. To have a minx like you all to myself for eternity. I will have to offer the Norns something truly magical as a thank you for this blessing.”

To blissed out to speak you just hum and give him a sweet kiss.

All too soon there is a knock on your chamber doors indicating the maids were there to get you ready for the sentencing. Loki quickly magics a nightgown on you and fixes your crazy hair. He gets out of bed and magics some clothing of his own. He opens to the doors for the awaiting maids and gives them a bright smile, “good morning ladies.”

They all giggle and walk to your massive closet to choose your gown for the day. Loki walks over to you and gives you a kiss, “I’m going to meet with my father for a moment and then I will be back to retrieve you. Shall I send for your sister and Darcy?”

You nod, “yes please. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I should be back shortly.”

Not long after he leaves, Jane arrives with Darcy.

“Good morning.”, Jane greets you. Darcy also gives you a quick greeting but is distracted by the breakfast spread the maids have put out.

“Good morning.”, you greet as one maid is currently working on your hair while another one is putting your make up on.

“Ready?”, Jane asks you.

You nod, “I think so. The hard part is over..I just need to sit there while Odin hands out the sentencing.”

Jane places her hand on your shoulder, “yup, it will be over quick. I think Loki did everything within his power to make sure it was.”

“Thank goodness for that man. When do you plan on going back home?”

Jane shrugs, “I guess it depends on Erik and the wedding planning…also I…I think I met someone..”

You snap your head to her, “oh yea? Here or?..”

“No, back on Earth. He’s a doctor. Very handsome. Very normal.”

You smile, “normal is good Jane.”

“I know. I just…I still miss Thor sometimes..”

The ladies were finished with you so you stand and take her hands in yours, “I know you do. I know he misses you too. You know you guys can still..be with each other..”

“I know, it’s for the best though.”, she says sadly.

You bring her into a hug, as you do there’s a light knock on the door. Loki pokes his head in.

“Ladies..if you are ready. It is time.”

You look at Jane and she gives you a confident smile, “everything is going to be fine. Odin is going to say a few words and then that will be the end of it.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. You turn to look to Loki who has fully stepped into the room. “I’m ready.”

“You are glorious.”, he says as he walks up to you and gives you a kiss. He pulls away and gives you a wink, holding out his arm for you to take. He then looks to Jane and holds out his other arm. She smiles and takes it.

Darcy says her goodbyes to go and find Erik while and the three of you walk to the throne room where everyone is already waiting. Minus Alarian, who you assume would be brought in shortly after you three.

After being announced, the three of you walk down the walkway to the bottom of Odin’s throne steps. You and Jane curtsey, while Loki gives his father and mother a bow. Loki then walks you and Jane over to a bench set on the side of the steps where you will wait for the proceedings to begin. You sit down and Loki stands behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. Thor makes his way over and stands behind Jane, next to his brother.

“Bring in the prisoner.”, Odin orders.

You hear the clanking of chains and the shuffle of feet. You turn your head to the sounds from across the way and see the guards bringing in Alarian in chains. He stands directly in front of Odin at the bottom of the steps.

“Alarian. Such a shame it has all come to this. All because you could not accept the Norn’s will.”

“This union will destroy us Odin! She will be the end of Asgard as we know it! I thought we would be rid of the Midgardian whelps once we knew Prince Thor and the Lady Jane were not to receive an apple! But then she had to ruin everything!”, he points to you and Loki’s hold on your shoulders tightens.

“Alarian, if you cannot see the blessing the Lady y/n has already been to this realm then you must be as daft as you are blind. Already realms from the nine of extending their well wishes for my sons good fortune. For our good fortune. The Norns only create so many of the fated and I am proud my son is one of them. I believe it has been one of my greatest failures that Midgard has not been a bigger part of our lives. We have brought many customs from different realms over my rule. And I am ashamed to say that I never thought to consider bringing some Midgardian culture to us here as well.”

Odin looks over to you and Jane, “for that I am sorry. And it is something I know we will remedy in the coming years.”

Odin looks back to Alarian, “but you will not be here to see it. I will not execute you Alarian. But you will spend the rest of your days in the dungeons. For the poisoning of Lady y/n, our future princess and for smuggling it into this very realm, knowing it is forbidden and illegal to do so…you will never see the light of day again. Take him away.”

The guards begin to drag him away but he pulls at their hold, “you will see! You will all see! Midgardian are nothing but poison. All they know is corruption, greed and war! Your future princess will be no different. And when she reveals her true self I will be there for your groveling!”

He continues to scream nonsense until you cannot hear him any longer. Loki must’ve been calling your name because he steps into your line of vision and kneels down in front of you. Placing his hands on your face to get your attention, “y/n…y/n…come back to me.”

You focus on his eyes, finally tuning in to what he’s saying and do as he says.

His worried stare turns into a happy one, “there you are. You’re alright. It’s done. He’s gone.”

You nod and put your hands over his, “I’m here. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Loki. Is your lady well?”, Odin asks from his throne.

Loki stands to address his father, “yes father, thank you. If the sentencing has concluded I wish to excuse myself and Lady y/n. This has been very trying for her and I wish to remedy that.”

Odin nods, “of course. Lady y/n, thank you again for what you have done for not only my family but for all of Asgard.”

You stand with Loki’s hand in yours and Jane’s hand on your shoulder. Once you feel steady enough you give Odin and Frigga a curtsey, then leave the hall with your two most treasured people.

Once you exit the throne room and the doors close behind you, you finally release the breath you had been holding. Loki quickly moves in front of you and takes you by the shoulders, “breathe for me. It’s alright. This is the last you will hear of this I promise you.”

You put your hands on his chest, “it’s ok. I’m ok. I’m just relieved it’s over.”

“Did you want to do something the keep your mind off of it?”, Jane asks.

You think for a moment and there was only one thing you could really think of doing. “I think I’m gonna go to my workshop and paint for a while if that’s ok.”

Loki smiles, “of course. I shall reclaim you myself in about an hour or so? I have some business with Thor and my father.”

You nod and look to Jane, “I’m sure you’re going to want to find Erik and Darcy to get some research done before you guys have to get home.”

“That can wait, I don’t believe we’ll leave for another few days.”

“I think I want to be alone for a little bit. If you don’t mind.”

“I understand. I hear they’re having another feast tonight to celebrate the demise of Lord Alarian so I’ll meet you at your rooms to get ready later?”

You smile and give her a hug, promising to see her later. You squeeze Loki’s hand and give him a kiss on the cheek before you walk in the direction of your workshop. It looks like guards have been posted outside and you politely asked them that you wanted to be alone and to only allow Jane and Loki to pass if and when they came by.

You walk into your workshop and see empty canvases and some paintings in progress left by the group from this morning. You walk over to the side room where all of the drying artwork and some other works in progress are kept. You look for and find the one in particular you were working on but never finished. It was the one you painted of Loki’s and your hands holding Idunn’s golden apple. The apple still remaining the color of the canvas as you couldn’t figure out how to properly get the colors of your skin tone and Loki’s Jotun blue to reflect on the gold of the apple.

You bring the canvas out to the main room and place it on an empty easel. You think about the colors you need and they appear next to you as usual, along with your brushes. You stare at the painting for a moment and think long and hard about how the colors would reflect on the apple. How much blue? How much of your tone? How much gold?

You start with painting it gold as a base and then you figured you would figure it out from there. After about an hour or so you finish painting the gold in the apple and are currently blending some of the hand colors together. Gently stroking your brush on the canvas, your movements slow and methodical.

Once again, you were so lost in what you were doing you didn’t notice Loki walk in. He clears his throat lightly so he doesn’t startle you and ruin you work. “Ahem..”

You look over to him and smile, “has it been an hour already?”

“It’s been almost two actually. Forgive me, after my meeting with Thor and father I decided to go to the cells and make sure Alarian was properly detained.”

“Did you think he wouldn’t be?”

“No, I just need to assure your safety. I had to see him behind a cell myself. I anticipate this will be the last time I ever see him.”

He walks over to you to see what you’re working on and is surprised to see what it is.

“I remember this one. I must admit it doesn’t hold the fondest memory for me.”

You look back at him with a concerned look, “it’s awful isn’t it? I was trying so hard to get the colors right.”

“No darling, the painting is beautiful. It’s just…this was what you were working on the day you were poisoned. It’s a moment in my long life I wish to forget.”

You put your brush down and give him a hug, “I don’t want you to think about that moment when you look at this. Is that why you haven’t been coming around to use the workshop? I feel like I stole this place from you.”

“It is a memory I wish to forget, seeing you that way…it haunts me. I sometimes wake in the middle of the night just to be sure you are still in my arms.”

You hug him tighter and reach up to whisper in his ear, “well then maybe..we make some better memories in here.”

Loki looks down at you, “oh? And what type of memory do you believe will help me replace such a terrible one?”

You push him slightly on his chest so that he plops down on the small stool not far behind him. You walk backwards to the door, not breaking eye contact with him and lock it. Once locked, you walk back to him and wrap your arms around his neck. You give him a deep kiss and kneel down to your knees in front of him. Never breaking eye contact, you open his pants and pull his very hard cock out.

You look down and see his tip is already glistening and he looks painfully hard. You take your tongue and gently start to lick the tip. His head tilts back and his eyes close, a huffed breath leaving his lips.

After your light touches, you wrap your lips around him, still just the tip and suck. Pleasure makes him almost jump off the stool you have to put your hands on his thighs to stop him.

When he settles back down you take him completely in our mouth and the moan that leaves him is downright sinful.

“Oh..oh Norns…y/n..my love…I can’t….

You look up at him and take him out of your mouth, “will you change for me? I want to be sure I got the blue right.”

Loki doesn’t even hesitate, he is confident in knowing that his Jotun form won’t scare you away. You are his fated love, nothing about him will disgust you like it has so many others before you.

When you finally see his true form completely, you give him a smile. Until now, you have only seen the evidence of his Jotun form from seeing his hands all those weeks ago.

You love his red eyes. They remind you of rubies you have read about in so many stories. You lift yourself up slightly and give him another deep kiss. The cold from his lips helping cool down your heated skin and you can’t help but let out your own little moan.

You break apart and look into those beautiful red eyes, “I’m so lucky. You are not only handsome in your Asgardian form but in your Jotun form as well.”

“Just you wait darling. You haven’t seen me in all of my forms yet.”

You smile simply because his smile makes you smile.

You’re happy that he can be completely himself around you and you are very excited about seeing all of his forms.

After giving him another quick kiss you go back to your lowered kneeling position and continue your exploration of his cock with your tongue. Mapping out all of his Jotun markings and pulsing veins. You start to take him deeper into your mouth, switching back and forth between sucking and licking.

He was ready to come. You could feel it.

“Do you want to come Loki?”

“Yes..darling..yes..please…please…I beg of you.”

“Mmm..but you taste so good my fated. I don’t know if I want to stop.”

“Please my love…please?…”

“Will you let me suck you like this again?”

“Yes! Gods! Whenever. However you wish…anywhere…any day…Jotun…Asgardian..”

“Promise?”, you deep throat him after you ask your question almost taking his breath away.

“Yes! Woman! Yes! Fuck!”. Loki comes with a roar. He has been sucked many times in his life but he never had anyone make him beg the way you just did. It was so intense he almost fell out of the stool.

Once again, you place your hands on his thighs to steady him and stand up. His face is aligned with yours, his eyes are still closed and he is breathing heavy.

You wrap your arms around him and close your eyes yourself. The feeling of the chill from his body seeping through his robes. You rub your nose up and down his neck, “I love you. You whisper to him.

He leans his head against yours and whispers back, “I love you too.”

*************************************************

**3 Months Later***

“Jane you have to stop crying.”

“I can’t help it. You look so beautiful.”, she says through sniffles.

“It’s alright dear, come I will place and enchantment on your face so the ladies will not have to keep refreshing your makeup.”, Frigga calls Jane over to her.

You look in the mirror and are still amazed by your wedding dress. The ladies just finished your hair and make up and Frigga was assisting the royal jeweler with placing your adornments on before she stepped away to help your sister.

Darcy steps forward, “wow..you guys take these royal weddings seriously huh?”

Frigga returns after casting her enchantment on Jane’s face, “very. Especially since we only have two sons.”

Frigga places a bracelet on your wrist, it was a combination of diamonds and sapphires, just like your gown. Blue pieces of fabric were mixed in with the white, the sweet heart neck line was covered tastefully with the same stones. The fitted bodice showing off your shape with a tule bottom that had a beautiful floral design, a high slit showing off your leg. A little addition you knew would drive Loki nuts.

Frigga turns you around and reaches out to the tiara the royal jeweler was holding out on a green pillow behind her. “Kneel just a bit for me my girl.”

You curtsey low enough for Frigga to place the tiara on your brow. “This is the same piece I wore for my wedding. It happens to have the same jewels as the rest of your beautiful jewelry, you honor me by wearing it today as you marry my son.”

After she secures it to your brow you stand up, “thank you.”

She smiles and takes your hands, “you’re welcome. Are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically, more than ready.

You all make your way to the royal hall where you can already hear the bustling crowd awaiting your arrival. Normally there were no bridesmaids or maid of honors in Asgardian weddings but you insisted. You wanted your sister to walk you down the aisle.

The ceremony starts and when the doors open you are shocked at the sight. Your favorite flowers lined the aisle and were also beautifully wrapped around every column. Frigga walks in first wearing a light blue gown and Darcy follows behind her, wearing a pretty flowing dress of a slightly darker blue. They were both holding bouquets full of the same beautiful flowers around the hall .

Before you take a step forward, you look at Jane one more time. She’s wearing a dress similar to Darcy’s, except it is an even darker blue. You also had the seamstress add a few diamonds to the bodice to really make her sparkle. But unlike Frigga and Darcy, her hands remain empty as she will be taking your bouquet once she hands you to Loki.

Jane looks over to you and gives your hand a squeeze. Almost like she was trying to squeeze away all of your nerves or even transfer them to herself. You give her a confident smile and squeeze back. You look forward, take a deep breath and start your walk down the aisle.

When you get closer, you see Frigga move to the right and up the steps to stand next to Odin and Thor while Darcy walks to the left to stand on the side of the bottom of the steps along with Sif and the Warriors Three.

Once they are in their places you’re finally able to see Loki. He’s dressed in his royal ceremonial outfit. Including the horns…requested by you.

As soon as he sees you he smirks, clearly the slit in the bottom of the dress and your sweetheart neckline are having the wanted effect already.

Before you and Jane reach the bottom of the steps, something catches your eye. When you look to the side, you see paintings. Your paintings to be exact. Every one you have painted since you started in your workshop are placed at the sides at the very front. Enough out of the way to not obstruct anyone’s view but enough for you to know they were there.

You look to Loki in surprise and you see a sweet smile on his face. You return it and you can already feel the tears starting to swell in your eyes. You’re thankful that Frigga placed that enchantment on your face as well of you would already be a hot mess.

Loki steps down the few steps separating you both once you reach the bottom of them and holds out his hand. Jane gently takes yours and places it in Loki’s. He nods his thanks to her and then looks back to you with a kind, calming smile. He then assists you walking up the few steps to stand at the landing in front of Goddess Idunn who stands a few steps above you. Looking beautiful in a gown that looks as though it is made of pure gold. A regal crown sitting on top of her head and when you look closer you can see apples are etched into it.

Once you and Loki are standing in front of her she holds her hands out, “Asgard. Today we witness the binding between one of the Norn’s fated couples. I have only seen one other fated couple in my lifetime and it is a true honor for me to have been asked by Prince Loki and Lady y/n to officiate this one. As we know, the Norn’s have a funny way of making themselves known. And even though these two standing before me did not expect each other. They were certainly destined for one another.”

She looks to the side to one of her ladies holding a rope and bids her forward. The lady hands the golden rope to Idunn and then steps back.

Idunn holds the rope up, “when I wrap this sacred binding around your wrists it will forever represent the bond that you both have. Forever you will know that you are tied together for eternity. To be each others strength as much as your weakness. To put none else above the other and most importantly. To love. Unconditionally.”

Loki turns you both to face each other, holding your entwined hands out for Idunn to wrap the rope around. Once she is finished the golden rope glows and you feel a pleasant warmth on your skin from it.

“Prince Loki, from my understanding you wish to say some words to your bride.”

“Yes Goddess Idunn, thank you.” He looks back to your eyes and takes a deep breath, “y/n. My fated. You have cured me of the one thing I thought would plague me for my many years to come. You cured me of my loneliness. For centuries I have been terribly lonely. I have always been different, always the one left behind. But with you…With you I never feel alone. I never feel left behind, for you are the mirror to my soul. The light in my darkness. Your paintings I have brought here tell a story of your love, your kindness, your patience. And apparently your love for the color blue.”

The hall laughs. You do as well and a few tears slip down your face. It was true, your paintings whether they were of flowers, oceans, forests, things around the palace, it didn’t matter. The color blue was always present. The color always reminding you of your fated love.

“I had them place these paintings here because I feel you in them. If I could I would fill every hall with them so there won’t be a room in Asgard where I won’t feel your presence. I want you with me always. And thanks to the Norns and the Goddess Idunn..you will be. I love you y/n and I hope I can make you feel just as happy and complete as you make me.”

You’re a fucking mess.

Tears are now free flowing down your face and there is no chance they are going to stop.

“Lady y/n. You may speak your words to Prince Loki.”, Idunn snaps you out of it.

It’s your turn to take a deep breath to calm your beating heart.

“Loki. I never thought I was going to be anything special in this life. My parents were well known doctors in their field, they succeeded and excelled in everything they did and of course my sister Jane continued that tradition. But I was terribly normal. Nothing special. I found myself hiding in books and occupying myself with things that never made me feel an ounce of passion. I felt like I was constantly looking for something. For meaning. And when I came to Asgard it was like a finally found my purpose..in you. It was like I knew there was something waiting for me. I just didn’t know what. And when the apple revealed itself to us, as scared as I was…deep down I knew that this was what I had been waiting for. Being with you. Loving you. Painting and reading…living. I wasn’t living until I met you. Just merely existing. You showed me that I am special…that I have always been special… Because I was made for you. And you were made for me. I’m so happy you brought my paintings here because as much as you see and feel me in them. I see and feel you. And I cannot wait to fill our walls with more as the years go by. I love you.”

You both look to Idunn who gives you both a tearful smile, “it is my honor to pronounce you husband and wife. Prince Loki, you may kiss your bride.”

Another Earth tradition you insisted on.

Loki smiles and brings you in for a kiss.

The crowd cheers and while you’re still kissing, Idunn announces over the crowd, “I present to you Prince Loki and Princess y/n. May the Norns continue to bless them for the years to come.”

You break away from your kiss and Loki moves to rest his forehead against yours. You close your eyes and breathe in so you can remember every smell. You listen to every sound. You want every bit of this day seared into your memory because it’s not everyday you get to marry your fated prince.

And it’s all possible because of one...fated…apple..

The end.

Tag List:

Bucky Barnes

ONE SHOTS: 

Oral Fixation by @boxofbonesfic

Body talk by @boxofbonesfic

Merciless by @buckycuddlebuddy

At Least I’ll Have Me by @buckyxplumsss

There Has Been a Misunderstanding by @touchstarvedirl

Through the Year by @punani

You’re a What Now by @floatingpetals

To Build a Home by @fanficimagery (warning! you will fucking have a mental breakdown reading this. I sobbed for days)

What the Fuck Did You Do by @sunmoonandbucky

Clockwork by @aries-writingblog

Tell Me Which Is Worse (Living or Dying First) by @nightowlwriting

Torture by @just-dreaming-marvel

SERIES:

The Old man’s Grocery Order by @yarnforbrains

Something More by @tellmealovestory

It’s a Deal by @justreadingfics

Harmless by @shurisneakers

To Be a God Or a Hero by @spiderbitchspiderbitch

Nostalgia for the New by @real-jane

Appointments by @buckycuddlebuddy

The Price of Truth by @cloneswars

All That’s Best of Dark and Bright by @ursulaismymiddlename

3B by @softlybarnes

Bad Match by @justreadingfics

Your Hands Have Made Some Good Mistakes by @thenhewaswrongaboutme

In The Embers by @foreverindreamlandd

If I Could Fly by @buckyys-doll

None Like You by @bonky-n-steeb

Maple Syrup Memories by @kinanabinks

Spill It by @adrinktostopyourthirst

Couldn’t Be Me by @drunken-imagines

I Won’t Give Up by @christycurlswrites

It Never Ends by @chouettedubois

The Mess by @sanguineterrain

Henry Cavill

ONE SHOTS:

You & I by @buckyownsmylife

Command and Obey by @wanna-do-bad-things

Dumbass Cat by @angelic-kisses13

Achey Thighs by @jadegrey711

Leave Me, but Don’t Leave Me by @buckysgoldenheart

For Auld Lang Syne by @daydreaming-in-letters

Toss a Coin to Your Witcher by @mel-the-fangirl

SERIES:

The One With the One Night Stand by @angywritesstuff

The One With the Advent Calendar by @angywritesstuff

Geralt of Rivia

ONE SHOTS:

Sorry Not Sorry by @thefanbasewhore

Vixen by @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

Leaving For Good by @cap-n-stuff

Jasker’s Plan by @anna-pixie

Sex Pollen by @clareguilty

A Jealous Man by @cap-n-stuff

Found by @kh-ael

Maneater by @thewritingdoll

SERIES:

Henry!Sherlock Holmes 

ONE SHOTS:

Jealously by @cinebration

Emotionalism by @cinebration

What I mean by @cinebration

Impressed by @cinebration

It’s Alright Darling by @thebadboyfanclub

The Only Women by @writingfortoomanyfandoms

SERIES:

Richard Madden

ONE SHOTS:

Or Else My Heart Consealing It Will Break by @rocketrhap3000

Eternal(ly Yours) by @ikaris-whore

Fighting Temptation by @ikaris-whore

SERIES:

Snapshot by @beananacake

Ikaris

ONE SHOTS:

Regrets by @girl-of-many-fandoms

Try by @thatfangirl42

When You Love Something, You Protect It by @ashc-from-ao3

Dead By Deviants by @starshipsofstarlord

Cruel Lover by @defaulttwig

SERIES:

Savior by @beananacake

Wayward Devotion by @ava-kedavra

Chis Evens

ONE SHOTS:

SERIES:

The Prenup by @vannybarber

Ransom Drysdale

ONE SHOTS:

Say It by @stargazingfangirl18

SERIES:

I Trust[ed] You by @likeahorribledream

The Assistant  by @trillian-anders

A List of Authors Whose Masterlist is Something I Binge Frequently 

@agentofbarnes Masterlist

Zee’s AUs literally bring me to life. My favorites of hers is; The Barnes au, Hacker’s Heart au, Dewdrop au, and Young & Free au! But every single work in her masterlist is amazing and a must read!

@angrythingstarlight Masterlist

I fricking love Star’s writing! The amount of feels she makes me feel when I read her writing! My personal favorite is her Biker au. I love how everything connects with each other and the plot! The plot is amazing!

@wkemeup Masterlist

Ok, listen, call me overdramatic but Kas’s writing is a work of art. The way she develops characters, plots and how she connects everything together is amazing. You get sucked in the world that she wrote and can get lost in there forever. My personal favorites are Graveyard & Sacrifice,The Witness, By Any Other Name, Delicate Edges, Suburbia, Behind the storm, and that is just naming a few.

@pellucid-constellations Masterlist

Kathie’s writing style unique, I can read a fic without looking at the author’s name and know its her. Kathie has drawn me in with every single work she put out. It’s so hard to choose my favorite but I love it when she writes for college!au bucky. Everyone must check her out, literally reading her masterlist is part of my daily routine.

@metalbuckaroo Masterlist

My goodness, where do I start? Darcy first grabbed my heart with her series Sweet Pea but once I started I could not stop. Her writing is fun, entertaining, wholesome but she can also break your heart in a dozen of pieces; like with her two parter (soon to be three) fic For the Best. Another fic that I normally read first when I binge her masterlist is The Bet.

@babyboibucky Masterlist

Bee is an amazing writer. She almost always have the holy trinity (smut, fluff, and angst) I love every piece of writing she has done but my personal favorites of The Match and Project V.

@babycap Masterlist

Devon has amazing writing skills. I love how she takes shows/movies or books and create her own little story with it. She goes in depth with all the feels and makes me honestly tear up at times. Some of my favorites are Not Other Shade of Blue, Security Deposit, and Just a Glimmer.

@littlefreya Masterlist/Drabble Masterlist

I’m new to the Henry Cavill plus his characters fandom but one of the first writers I have ever read for Henry was @littlefreya. Her writing is fun and exciting. I always look forward to read her stuff. Plus her smut is a A+, in my book. I don’t think I can choose my favorites as I love everything on her masterlists.

@mcubrunette Masterlist

Almost immediately after I watched eternals I went and search for Ikaris x reader fics. Thats went I read Fly Baby for the first time and was memorized. Since then @mcubrunette has added more fics and I have been loving every single one. If you want your heart to squeal, this masterlist is the one for you.

@cruelfvkingsummer Masterlist 

Your body tenses at the feel of him pressed against you and you mutter something inaudible under your breath before slipping from his grasp.

“Not even a thank you,” he muses as he turns to follow you.

“Weren’t you going the other way?” you shoot back.

“Just realized I forgot the pasta,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to whisper the words close to your ear.

You force your betraying body to remain calm at his proximity and then ignore the comment.

“What the hell are you gonna make with that mish mosh?” he asks as he peeks into your basket.

“Why do you care?” you counter with a brittle smirk.

He shrugs as the corners of his mouth turn up into a grin.

“Maybe something to poison you with…that would be nice.”

Your sassy remark makes his whole face light up with a smile and it momentarily roots you to the spot.

With one last disgruntled glance you stomp off in the other direction. “Since I’m new here you’d think you’d be a little more neighborly!”

“Fuck,” Joel mutters as he follows you.

“Ok darlin’.”

“Ok what?” you ask as you turn to face him.

“Maybe…” and he paused, studying you. “I could be a bit more friendly.”

He looks back down at your basket.

“You know if you grab some beans and a pepper you’ll be well on your way to making a great chili.”

“Chili,” you repeat.

You look between him and the basket. “That works. Although…”

“You’ve never made it before?”

At his question you fight back a sigh.

“No. I haven’t. But I’m capable of looking up a recipe.”

“Or I could just tell you about some good take-out places.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can manage to cook my own dinner, thanks!”

At the sarcasm in your tone his grin widens before he starts to step around you, his arm brushing yours with the motion.

“Great darlin.’ Just don’t burn the place down or anything. It’s the only bookshop in the neighborhood and we all love it.”

He winks and saunters off.

The urge to turn around and watch him is almost overwhelming but you square your shoulder and keep your chin up. “I can make chili,” you assure yourself.

Joel sits across from Tommy and sips his beer, waiting for his brother to make a dinner choice.

If Tommy notices Joel glancing too many times at the small bookshop across the street, he doesn’t mention it.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tommy remarks as he drops the menu and leans back. “What’s on your mind?”

Joel grunts before looking across the street again. “Work.”

“This new job we have is a big one. I want it to go perfectly so they hire us for the rest of it.” Joel continues.

Tommy nods in agreement but he’s battling a smile.

“Somethin’ you wanna say brother?” Joel asks.

Tommy grins. “I might have somethin’ to say.”

Joel grinds his teeth and tightens his grip on the beer bottle.

“Heard you had a little exchange with our new bookshop owner at the grocery store this mornin’.”

“Who said?” Joel asks, pinning Tommy with dark eyes.

“No one of importance,” Tommy shrugs. “You’re starin’ a hole through the window.”

Tommy’s eyes glitter. He’s clearly enjoying himself. “Heard she didn’t back down and run off over your…charm.”

“You’re worse than a school girl. Spreadin’ gossip around.”

That makes Tommy laugh and he takes a swig of his drink.

“Still,” Tommy says. “I can’t blame you…she’s real nice to look at and probably a lot of fun when you get her goin’…which you seem to enjoy doin’.”

“Tommy,” Joel warns as his jaw tightens. “Don’t go sniffin’ around any of that and don’t ask me to explain why.”

Tommy dips his head in understanding, his mouth tight in a straight line but his eyes bright with amusement.

“Not a single sniff. You’ve got my word brother…”

Tommy’s head swings around and his attention settles on something happening in the street. “What the hell…?”

Joel jerks his head in the same direction and in matter of seconds he’s out of his chair and charging through the door.

Without thinking he runs toward you and let’s out a breath when he looks you over, the large pot between your fingers and a garbage bag over your shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” you breathe, staring at him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

His relief at the fact that you’re unharmed is obvious even as he takes the pot from you and grabs your wrists, turning your hands over to check.

His skin is warm and his fingers are calloused. The sensations cause your mind to go blank and you stand there motionless.

Once he’s satisfied he looks down at the pot and the black contents inside. He’s still holding your wrists.

“I burnt it,” you say quietly. “The whole upstairs apartment smells awful so I thought I’d better get rid of it quick before the shop started to stink.”

“I can take care…” Tommy begins to speak and Joel whips his head around just now realizing he was even standing there and glares so Tommy snaps his mouth shut.

Joel looks back at you and slowly releases you, the loss of his touch something you instantly feel.

Tommy covers a cough and you drag your eyes away from Joel to glance at his younger brother.

“Hey,” Tommy says and extends his hand.

You reach out and shake it to introduce yourself.

“I was saying I could help you out with that but I think my brother here has it under control,” Tommy quips.

“Damn right I do,” Joel says, hands on his hips.

“Thanks Tommy, I appreciate the offer,” you smile.

Tommy tips his head and walks back across the street to the bar.

Joel’s hard eyes turn to you in an assessing way but he remains silent.

“Aren’t you going to make some shitty remark about my cooking skills,” you snip.

His broad shoulders slump and he holds out his hand.

“Here, give me the bag.”

You hand the bag over and watch as he empties what he can of the contents and then stares down at it with pursed lips.

“Might have to…” he starts.

“You can just get rid…” you say at the same time.

He drops the pot into the bag with a laugh.

It catches you off guard and when he meets your eyes again the surprise is evident in your wide-eyed expression.

“No shitty remarks darlin.’ Just glad you’re ok…and you didn’t burn the place down.”

The last part of his comment trails off into quiet mumblings but you still catch it.

“Couldn’t help yourself huh?” you say but you’re fighting back a small smile.

The two of you stand there on the sidewalk for what feels like forever until Joel clears his throat and you look up at him through your lashes.

“Guess your dinner’s ruined,” he states.

“You could say that. I’ll have to go aimlessly walk around the grocery store some more in the hopes of finding food.”

His large hand runs through his already mussed hair before it settles on the back of his head and he shoves his free hand into his jeans pocket.

“Hey uh, listen darlin’…I’m sorry if I was rude earlier…at the store…and the other times before that. It was wrong of me.”

Your expression softens.

“Thank you, I accept.”

Joel hums and flicks his head toward the bar. “I had just ordered dinner before you came running out. Go in and eat it.”

When you stare at him he plays back his words and realizes they came out as a demand.

“If you want to,” he adds. “Join me. For food.”

You smile and slide past him. Your distinct and soft scent wafts up to his nose and he instinctively inhales, his eyes closing briefly before he starts to move to follow you.

He motions to the small table and pulls out your chair, waiting for you to sit before he does the same. His thick fingers wrap around the fork, making it look comically small, before he hands it to you and pushes the plate closer.

You stab a French fry and pop it in your mouth.

“So Tommy…you guys work together?”

“Yeah. Construction. We actually have a big project coming up in the city. Working on one of the new fancy hotel buildings.

“That sounds exciting. I guess it’s not really a 9-5 job then?”

“Nah, not really. Some days we spend doing small, odd jobs around the neighborhood and other times we’ll be on one job for weeks or months.”

You nod. “What do you do in your spare time? Besides follow women around the grocery store and make snarky comment on their food choices.”

“Gonna hold that over my head for long?” he asks.

You look him over and pretend to think about it. “Not sure yet.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs, noticing you stopped eating and nudging your arm with his elbow. “Eat.”

“Are you always this bossy?” you ask as you chew.

His eyes drop to your mouth and the way you lick the salt from your lips.

“Maybe,” he replies, the sides of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“Fair enough,” you tell him, mirroring his earlier words.

The whites of his teeth appear with his lopsided smile

“You plannin’ on trying to cook chili again?”

“Maybe,” you answer, loving the way his eyes crinkle at your repeated and mocking words.

“So now that you know a little more about me why not tell me why you’re here in our little town?”

He settles his forearms on the table and leans in, watching you with intense eyes.

“Well,” you start with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted to run or own a bookshop but my job in the city was keeping me so busy I barely had time to read and of course it’s easier said than done. For a while I didn’t mind…the work that is. Sure I was busy but I figured my life was just what it was supposed to be. Had a nice apartment, steady job, steady boyfriend…until I didn’t. He broke up with me over a text and then refused to answer my calls and explain why. After that, my job became less and less appealing as did living in the city so when his opportunity came up I had to jump on it as scary as all the change is.”

You wait and hold his gaze. “What are you thinking?” you ask.

“I’m thinking a lot of things,” he says quietly before stealing a fry off the plate.

“Like?” you ask.

Like where I can find your ex-boyfriend so I can give him a proper beating.

When he still doesn’t speak you continue talking. “I’m thinking about the renovations I want to make to the bookshop. It’s nothing crazy. Just some minor changes to make it more of a cozy space.”

“That sounds nice,” he answers. “It could use some upgrades.”

“Definitely. And the door to my apartment upstairs doesn’t even lock! I need to get that fixed first.”

Joel’s eyes narrow at your statement. “That’s not safe.”

You smirk and steal the next fry that’s dangling between his fingers as they hover over the plate.

“Maybe I’ll look up some cute contractors online to come help me.”

He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs wider under the table. Your gaze moves to the way his biceps pop under the tight fabric of his shirt.

“You could. If you wanted the job done poorly.”

“Are you saying you’d be able to do a better job?”

“Damn right darlin.”

Was this still about renovations to the shop?

With that thought still floating around in his brain he watches you stand and pop one last fry into your mouth.

“Thank you for sharing your dinner with me,” you say before rounding the table. “I like it when you’re nice.”

And I even like it when you’re bossy. Maybe too much.

You kept that last thought tucked away and lean down to kiss him on the cheek before lightly brushing your hand over his shoulder and walking out the door.

Tommy drops into the now empty seat, grinning ear to ear.

“How’d that go boss?” he asks.

“Shut it,” Joel growls.

Later that week with the sun just peeking above the horizon you hear a knock at your door. It startles you into alertness and you sit up with a gasp, dropping your book to the bed.

Your feet hit the cool floor and you ask, “who’s there?,” hoping to keep the shakiness from your voice.

“It’s Joel.”

“Oh,” you whisper, now suddenly even more alert but much less jumpy.

Before you open the door you quickly run a hand over your face and scrub away the sleepiness. You turn the knob and have it halfway open before you realize you’re barely dressed, the only thing covering your body is the old tee shirt that hits way above your knees.

You stop and peek through.

“I’m um…I’m not really dressed. I was in bed reading.”

“Shit,” Joel mutters. “Sorry darlin.’ I didn’t even realize the time. I can wait till you’ve put somethin’ on.”

He doesn’t move away from the door and you open it a little wider before slipping away to grab shorts.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly but not quietly enough and your lips turn up into a triumphant smile.

When you return you open the door invitingly and then notice the toolbox at his feet and meet his eyes.

His cheeks are dusted with pink and not even the scruff lining them can cover it. It’s hard to hide your smug satisfaction but you do your best.

“What’s that for?” you ask.

“I came to change the lock for you,” he explains hoarsely.

“Oh,” you answer, feeling your stomach erupt with nervous energy. “Why?”

“I’m leaving this morning. To go to the city and start on that hotel job. Won’t be back for a few days. I just…”

He kneels down and starts rummaging through the tool box, metal clanging against metal so you can barely hear him when he adds, “wanted to make sure this place was safe and secure.”

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your old shirt.

“That’s really nice of you.”

“Well.” He stands and starts working on the door. “I saw you hadn’t done it yet and I didn’t want you calling any random guys.”

“Because you can do it better. Right?”

He doesn’t look up from his work and just grunts his acknowledgement.

You take the opportunity to move toward the small kitchen area and start making some coffee.

“Coffee?” you offer.

He looks up at you as you lean against the counter with your bare legs on display. His eyes drag down the length of them before he shakes his head no.

“Already had a cup thanks.”

He finishes the lock and puts his tools away before approaching. His hand moves to his back pocket and he pulls out some folded papers, setting them on the counter.

“I brought some take out menus.”

“It’s probably too early to be insulted.”

“This isn’t me telling you not to cook. These are just in case you don’t want to cook.”

“Ah,” you answer. “I could have just looked this up online.”

“Yeah well I don’t have your number so how would you know the best places to get take out.”

You stare at him from over the rim of your steaming mug.

“Maybe you should take it,” he says abruptly. “My number…in case…”

“I need cooking advice again?”

He makes an affirmative nod and smiles.

“Ok, what’s your number?” you ask as you reach for your phone.

The relief on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you and he recites the digits as you punch them in.

When you hit dial on his contact his eyebrows draw together as if he’s trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

“That’s you. Now you’ll have my number too.”

You giggle and the corner of his mouth lifts a little. “Right.”

You set your coffee down and push yourself up onto the countertop.

With one more almost imperceptible sweep of your legs he coughs into his fist and turns toward the door.

“Thanks Joel!” you call after him.

He waves with barely a turn and flies down the steps.

The rest of your day is spent figuring out the renovations for the bookshop space downstairs. You clean, declutter, and really start to map things out in your head. By the time the late afternoon sun is setting you realize you’ve missed lunch and you’re starving.

“I should try chili again,” you say to yourself.

After a quick and much less exciting visit to the grocery store you head back with a bag full of Joel’s recommended ingredients and get to work.

Two hours later you have a large pot of bubbling and unburnt chili on the stove.

Without thinking too much into it you snap a picture of the food and send it to Joel with the caption, “I did it! And it smells amazing!”

Before you even put your phone down his response dings in.

“Wow darlin.’ Looks amazing. Save me some.”

You’re about to reply that you definitely will when another text comes through.

“And I’m hoping you didn’t burn anything down?”

He follows it with a silly smiling emoji and you answer with, “nope! Everything and everyone is intact,” including your own smiley face emoji.

“Perfect. And I meant it. Save me some.”

“Please…” you type and then send another message saying, “so bossy!”

He responds quickly. “Save me some. Please.”

He adds a kissy smiley face and you giggle before sending one back with a thumbs up.

It’s easy to flirt over text. You aren’t overwhelmed by his masculine and sexy presence. By the smell of him. Woodsy and spicy. And his hands aren’t there teasing to touch you.

All you can think of while you enjoy your bowl of chili is how you can’t wait for him to come back this weekend.

When Joel returns from his trip he rushes home to shower and change. It’s already late but he needs to see you and you should have a bowl of chili waiting for him.

When he pulls up to the bookshop and parks his pickup he frowns at the darkened space.

Maybe you’re out? With someone…

Pushing the invasive thoughts aside he gets out and walks to the large windows, peering inside.

Nothing.

The scuffle of feet pulls his attention away and he catches sight of you sitting across the street by the park, your feet dangling along the pavement.

He approaches slowly, making noise so you don’t get scared. You look up and tense but instantly relax at the sight of him.

“Was wonderin’ where you were,” he murmurs.

“You’re back,” you say. “I have chili for you.”

You half smile but your eyes fall.

His chest tightens.

“Darlin’?” he asks before sitting down next to you.

His thigh brushes yours and his arm is close enough that you feel his warmth.

Your sniffle and hug your arms around your body.

Hesitantly he lifts his arm and rests it lightly across your shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

When you don’t pull away and instead lean into his strength he tugs you closer.

“I tried to start doing some work on the bookshop. I just wanted to take off the old and peeling wall paper but I think I fucked things up. I’m not sure how to fix it and really I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s a mess.”

Your confession softens him and he runs his calloused fingertips along your smooth skin, sneaking them under the sleeve of your shirt.

“I’ll take a look at it. I’m sure we can fix it.”

You were so soft. It took everything in him not to pull you even closer and wrap you in his arms.

“It’s a mess. I’m a mess. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!”

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t put yourself down. It pisses me off.”

You look up at him and gasp. “You? Pissed off? That’s new.”

The corner of his lips lift and his eyes sparkle. “I deserve that.”

You wipe your nose and give him a smile.

“Maybe. But only a little.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and sigh.

“We’ll sort it out,” he assures you.

You look at him with soft eyes full of gratefulness. His gaze moves lower…to your mouth and his lips part as if to speak but the sound of a loud car horn makes you jump apart.

“How about that chili?” you ask as you start to stand.

“Sounds great darlin’.”

You walk toward the building, tensing at his side the closer you get, knowing he’s going to see the disaster you’ve made.

He stops you with a hand over yours.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispers. “I think you’re really brave for comin’ here to start over.”

The tension slips from your shoulders and you take his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You did it,” you murmur. “I’m still upset but…I feel better. More hopeful.”

He smiles before you turn to unlock the door and your hyperaware of the feel of his hard body behind you. It takes everything in you not to turn around and throw yourself at him but you manage to get the door open and offer him some chili.

The next day, being Sunday, should be a day of rest but your new-found determination has you up and out of bed bright and early, ready to conquer the wallpaper debacle and then some.

You’re saved from wondering where to start when the front door of the shop opens and in walks Joel with a tray of coffee and a bakery bag.

“Hey there darlin’,” he says. “Thought you’d be up and ready to work.”

“Hey back,” you wave.

He fills the doorway with his body and you try to focus on the smell of fresh coffee and sugar.

“That for me?” you ask and point to the tray in his hand.

“Yeah.”

He crosses the small distance and places the tray down on one of the old tables. You reach for the coffee and open the top, inspecting the contents of the cup.

“You know how I take my coffee?” you ask, raising a brow.

“I pay attention,” is all the answer you get.

You stood dumbfounded for a moment until you remembered that you had made coffee the other morning when he fixed the lock on the door upstairs.

“Thank you.”

Your gaze travels to his and there is some kind of silent communication between you. You can’t believe how much he can convey without actually speaking. Your breathing becomes shallower as he continues to look at you and you know, by the determined set of his jaw and confidence simmering in his gaze that things have really shifted.

When he finally pulls his eyes away you let out an audible breath and take a sip of your coffee.

“What’s happening here?” he asks as he looks over the mess of a wall. “You want to get rid of this?”

He moves closer and toys with the wallpaper.

“Yes and then I want to…”

You start rattling off your ideas in a long run-on rambling sentence without taking a break and when you’re finally done you find him eyeing you with both an amused and thoughtful expression.

“Right,” he said. “Well I know a good place to get lumber and all that so we can shop later but for now let’s get this cleaned up.”

He turns and strides for the exit, passing your trash bag from yesterday that was too heavy for you to lift.

“You want this out for pick up?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you respond.

With zero effort, he tosses the bag over his shoulder and walks out. When he returns he’s carrying his toolbox.

You peer through the window and see his pickup truck and one trip at a time, he brings more supplies and tools.

Grabbing the back of his sweatshirt he drags it up and off, bringing his tee shirt underneath along with it, and you catch a glimpse of what’s beneath.

“Shit,” you mutter.

Now that he’s only in a tee shirt you can see the deep cut of his triceps and forearm muscles every time he lifts or handles something.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“You alright there darlin’?” he asks when he hears your quiet reflections.

“Huh? Me? Oh yeah, just fine thanks. Um…I want to help so just tell me what to do…you know be bossy. You’re good at that.”

He steps closer with a sideways smirk, his warmth coasting over you, and his gaze falls to your mouth, taking it’s time before finding your eyes again.

“Keep ripping that wallpaper down. I know it looks a mess but you’re doing it right.”

The words themselves hold no sensuality at all but the way he says them, the way he leans in close and whispers them along your ear…it sends a shiver right down your spine.

As the days pass you continue to work and make progress on the shop. Some days it’s just you and Joel and other days Tommy joins you both to help. On the days when Joel has to work he gives you detailed instructions on what to do and how to do it. You’re proud of how much you’ve accomplished together but also on your own.

At the end of the week, with the late afternoon sun already making it’s way toward the horizon, you notice the shop is oddly quiet. No sound of the saw or hammer.

“I have something to show you.”

His low and gravelly voice pulls you from your current task of polishing the small table tops and your nerves fire up.

When you stand and walk closer he looks you over from head to toe. You’re covered in dust and your skin is glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

You look down at yourself then back up at him.

“Is it that bad?” you ask with a halfhearted smile.

“You look beautiful.”

He holds his hand out and you take it, letting him pull you toward the back of the shop.

You step behind the last row of bookshelves and stop short.

“Joel…”

The large bay window is now framed by two brand new floor to ceiling dark shelves. The polished wood gleams in the setting sun and every beautiful accent swirl and grain is highlighted.

“It’s amazing! I just…I love it. Thank you!”

He takes the rag from his back pocket and cleans his hands while he watches you from under the dark strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead.

“Glad you like it darlin’.”

“No. I love it Joel. How can I ever thank you.”

“Have dinner with me…and not here…on the floor of the shop like we do some days. A real date.”

You suck in a small breath and curl your fingers together. “Did you think you needed to build me this to convince me to go on a date with you?”

“No,” he says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I was workin’ up the nerve to ask you and this was a good distraction.”

“Oh…” You say the words and your mouth forms a little ‘o’ shape. “I…I mean…of course. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

He looks down at his feet and nods firmly, a smile playing on his lips. “Alright then.”

He starts to gather and pack up his tools. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

You shake your head yes and realize you’re not speaking and as he turns to walk away you move forward while calling his name.

One second he’s holding the tool box and the next it’s on the ground next to him and he’s turning toward you. Your momentum brings you right into his chest and his arm wraps around your lower back.

He waits for you to speak, his eyes wandering over the features of your face before focusing in on your parted lips. His fingers splayed along your lower back dig into your skin and he tugs you closer as he dips his head.

Your palms land flat on his hard chest and slowly dance upward along his broad shoulders.

“Thank you.”

The words are just a whisper but you manage to get them passed your lips and he looks like he’s about to speak but instead covers your mouth with his.

The kiss is worshipful but you can feel his restraint in the tense and flexing muscles of his body and your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck and comb through his hair.

His hand slides up your back and he presses you closer as he lifts the other to cup your jaw. The callouses on the pad of his thumb scrape deliciously across your soft skin and he moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

When the need for air finally takes over he releases your mouth just long enough to look into your eyes before he dives back in, stealing your breath all over again.

The door to the shop opens, the newly installed bell atop it ringing loud and clear through your kiss filled haze.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Tommy says sheepishly when he appears by the window.

Joel breaks the kiss, his chest heaving with harsh breaths and he stares at your mouth for a few long moments while you cling to him. His hand eventually drops away from your back and his fingers trace along your jaw and then down your neck to pull your ear to his lips.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmurs. “Six.”

Sitting up, you squinted beyond the darkness.

On the far side of the room, a wing-back chair rose in the gloom. The draped silk of your discarded robe still hung over the armrest, but it shimmered. It was moving. Black became grey as your eyes adjusted, seeing pale fingers weaving silk between them.

You saw him now.

Legs crossed, back straight and chin dipped as he watched you sleep while he bathed in shadow. Curls sat effortlessly back from his face, slices of cheekbone protruding from blackest night.

The shade of his suit was at one with the leather behind, but Loki’s bright eyes smouldered; embers of starlight and dying galaxies deep in the darkness. “I didn’t wish to wake you, love” he murmured, pulling the silk hem through his fingers a final time before letting it fall.

One long leg unfurled over the other, the click of his heel meeting the floor making you clench beneath the bed-covers. You were wet already. So wet. Like your body could sense his presence, if not yet your mind. She always could.

Like a dream, you cast the duvet back and rose; bare feet padding across the boards towards him. Cool air sent gooseflesh rippling up your thighs, your arms; the curves of your body protected only by a flimsy camisole. Only a few more steps. The leather of the chair squeaked as his thighs spread against the sides. “Loki,” you breathed, cupping his face.

No sooner had the name left your lips than a row of candles flickered to life, illuminating him from behind. They floated in the air, rivulets of wax already spilling soft rolls down the sides. “Hel-lo,” he purred teasingly. One eyebrow cocked. And the threat of a smirk pressing against his cheeks.

For the first time, you noticed his unusual attire. A three piece suit, with its crowning glory the drip of starched ruffles cascading down his chest to the high waist of his trousers. He shifted in the chair, the pad of a fingertip brushing a close-lipped smile.

“Steve really went Ken-doll on you tonight, huh?” you teased, mirth ebbing to renewed desire as he drew the fingers to the bow-tie fastened at his neck.

He shrugged, tugging it slowly, letting the silk unfurl. It hung perfectly around his collar. You wondered if he would tie you up with it. You hoped he would.

In a flash, two large hands cupped your ass, pulling you down to his lap. With a gasp you managed to straddle him, slotting your knees on either side of his thick trunk. You kissed him deeply, savouring the softness of his tongue as it welled and licked and loved you. The ceremony was about to begin. His fingers spread against your cheeks, pulling and massaging as he groaned into your throat.

He tasted like jealousy. Traces of expensive perfume lingering on his skin and the faint hang of some rich whisky doing its best to conceal it. A thrill flooded through you, imagining the mark's desire roaring through her blood as she felt his muscle ripple beneath her touch. But Loki would never betray you, not beyond the emotionless tactics his position required.

Your thumb skated up his cheek, catching a patch of forgotten lipstick near his ear. Forgotten? No. You knew better than that. Whenever Loki came home from ensnaring a target with his wiles, he never missed the chance to make sure you knew who he belonged to. It was a mission. It was nothing. But ceremony must be upheld. His lips waxed and waned deeper, firing passion setting you alight. Every swallow was harsher and deeper than the last. Like he might lose you in the darkness. Loki grunted wetly as you scooted closer on his lap, chest flush to your colossus of a lover while his fingers wound in your hair. Your digits slid down his chest, feeling the ropes of muscle bound beneath starched folds. You broke apart just long enough to whisper the question he was waiting for. "You had to kiss this one?" You let the playful mist of a snarl hang on the air. Loki growled in response while you began working down his chin, along the long blade of his jawline. Letting the tip of your tongue run over the angle of his bone structure.

“Yes,” he rasped while you dropped lower, fastening to the slender muscle of his neck. You took a moment to appreciate his Adam’s apple work as he swallowed hard, ragged breaths ripping the air. His head fell back. “Only for a minute,” he panted to the ceiling. “It was perfunctory.”

Honestly from the god of lies, you’d found, was the greatest aphrodisiac of all.

“Where?” you asked, closing your eyes against his skin. “Against the wall,” he choked. His breaths were short. Loki’s fingernails grazed down the exposed skin between your shoulder-blades while you began to gently gyrate in circles. The god’s thick cock snaked down his thigh, ferociously hard against the tight fabric. At the mercy of your movements.

His brow creased as you slid back and forth, wetted lips parting with a needy gasp. “Did she want you?” you goaded, sliding the heel of your palm over one of his cheekbones. It raked through his hair. "Of course," he strummed, thighs beginning to tremble beneath your hips. Loki's hands ran in worship up the curve of your waist. "And did you want her?" you asked coyly. Loki pouted before a gentle tug of the camisole made your breasts spilled into his waiting hands. “Never,” he breathed; eyes flashing dangerously as he lifted them to meet yours. “Never.” You slid a hand down his torso, through the mass of white foliage ruffles which lapped against your palm in flickering candlelight. They were hard, and yet soft. Just like him. And stiff. That too, was a common attribute.

Slowly, you reached the button of his trousers. Loki thrust into the touch, biting his lip with a flinch. His brows knitted together.

One button popped beneath your fingers. Then two.

He leant forward, pushing your cleavage together and burying his face deep. The god’s nose slotted perfectly between the mounds of flesh he sought, drowning himself in the scent of you. The feel of you. His muffled moans of anticipation made you squirm on his lap, rubbing your bare pussy against his sprung manhood.

Pants and wet grunts of desire filled the air before Loki surfaced, kissing manically up the path to your lips. He consumed you again, his palm skating up the nape of your neck in a violent embrace. Waves of stiff ruffles grazed your nipples, sending electric shocks of pleasure to your dripping core. Had you ever needed him more than this? You were certain you had. But you couldn’t remember when.

Loki’s hands massaged your ass, pulling you deeper against his face. His shirt ruffles scratched your inner thighs, the tender caress making you mewl his name to the ceiling.

“Say you believe me,” he gasped in desperation.

It was a dark prayer. And a desperate one, at that. A ring of saliva was smeared across his lower face. The words chanted on repeat as your searching fingers lined him up between your slick thighs.

“Say you believe me,” he pleaded, slurring. His throat clung to the final syllable, rasping it through a torturous exhale.

The tip of his cock jarred against your slit, a sticky mess of pre-cum and arousal webbing with each slow buck. He was trembling with the effort of resistance.

He would not. Not until the ceremony of his forgiveness was complete.

You looked down at him, head resting against the back of the chair. Carefully coiffured hair now hung around his cheekbones, jutting at mussed angles. Half-lidded eyes observed you with reverence, submission. A pilgrim awaiting absolution. You smiled. Leaning in, you traced the taut vein popping in his neck. Felt every bob and tighten as he swallowed on your ascent. The little mewls from his pretty lips. And all the while, his hips rocked; cock licking and caressing your glistening sex.

The swirl of your tongue tasted bitter. Remnants of perfume from her wrists as she wound her arms around his neck, perhaps. But it would be gone soon. It always was. They always were. And you? You remained. You always did.

You reached the soft skin beneath his ear, humming a little before sucking his delicate lobe between your lips. “I believe you, baby” you whispered.

It was no more than a breath. The truth needs no more than a breath, you’d found. And with a broken sob of gratitude, Loki felt you sink deep onto his leaking cock.

Tags